I Think This is Love

5: Banana Split

GABBY

His statement dissolves the tiny bit of regret I've been feeling into thin air.

"What do you mean by that?" I challenge, my voice sharp.

When he says 'we're on the same level', he doesn't mean it as a compliment. What I hear is 'you both are beneath me.'

"You're both... nerds."

I scoff, "Francis is just intelligent. Is being smart a bad thing? And me? I'm not smart. I'm nowhere near as smart."

We step onto the ascending escalator, and his butt is right on my eye-level. I try not to look. Seriously, I'm not looking!

He turns around, giving me a condescending stare over his shoulder. "Tsk. I bet you're trying hard to get your names next to each other on that stupid honor roll."

I clench my teeth. He's somehow nailed it, but that was before. Until junior year, I was aiming to bump my grades up and transfer to Section A. But it's too late.

"Shut up," I hiss. "You're just jealous."

"Of what? I'm handsome."

I grimace. "Good looks won't get you far if you're dumb."

He swivels around once more, glaring at me. "You!" He utters through his teeth, barely managing to control his frustration. "I'm not dumb!"

I stay silent as we step off the escalator, satisfied.

It's been ages since I've been inside the mall. Everything looks the same—same boutiques, same retail stores. A few new ones I haven't heard of have popped up. But as usual, I don't have an idea what to do there. When I shop, I do it online. Being a consistent XS helps me avoid the crowd.

"We've been walking forever, and you haven't said exactly where we're going."

"That's because your mouth keeps interrupting me."

He accelerates, and my nostrils flare as my fists curl at my sides. Geez. One moment we're fine, the next we're ready to brawl.

I don't bother trying to match his pace. One of his strides equals two of mine, and I'll exhaust myself just trying to keep up.

He finally stops in front of a pizza place, and I crane my neck to look inside. "What're we going to do here?"

"This is a restaurant. What do you think people do in restaurants?" he replies sarcastically.

Typical Kevin–always giving useless answers. If I were vindictive, I'd record his snide remarks and expose him for who he is.

"You're eating?"

He lets out a huff, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "We're eating. Don't worry, it's my treat."

I deadpan, "No, thank you."

Kevin disregards me entirely and swings open the door, indicating that I should enter. Reluctantly, I acquiesce to avoid drawing any unwanted attention from the diners and staff.

We sit by the glass window, and I notice a queue of jeepneys waiting for passengers. The waitress gives us glasses of water, and Kevin places an order for the two of us. He thanks her with a smile that garners a blush.

After the server leaves, I finally inquire, "Shouldn't we wait for Francis?"

He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dunno."

"Dunno?" I repeat, annoyed at his lack of sense. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Kevin leans back in his seat, crossing his legs. "He hasn't texted me. But I'm already starving."