The Guitar Man

Chapter One - Strike Three! (2 of 3)

Chapter One (2 of 3)

Strike Three!

June 7, 1999, Monday, 7:49 a.m.

The thirty late-comers and offenders head to the quadrangle. Diva and I join the formation of the seniors in Bonifacio section. We are greeted by familiar faces, friends and classmates from the past years.

“Ediiiit!” An excited Prue hugs me. I hug her back.

Prue, short for Prudence, is a plump girl, about the same height as me, with little round eyeglasses. We are friends since freshmen. She has grown plumper in the summer, but I dare not mention it. She gets overly emotional when it comes to sizes and weights.

“How did your summer vacation in Vigan go?” I ask.

“Oh! It was incredible! The city has this fried orange turnover, empanada. It is so tasty, made more delicious by their home-made vinegar. Not to be missed is their famous longganisa!” She holds a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Wow! You should have brought one as pasalubong.”

“Actually, I have them for lunch. I brought enough for our group.”

“That is so nice of you! I can’t wait for lunch.” You can always rely on Prue to nourish our circle of friends.

Just then, an arm entangles with mine, the force shoving me forward. “Hey, hey, girlfriends!” It is Tanya. Her other arm hooked with Prue’s. Diva and a short boy, Owen, tag along. Owen waves his hanky to us, and then blows his nose with it.

“Where is Steph?” I inquire.

“Over there. Well, she’s Rizal now,” Prue answers dejectedly. Rizal section for seniors is reserved for the athletic geniuses, gods of math and science and school club leaders.

“She’ll join us for lunch,” Tanya comments with a wink.

Tanya joined our circle in sophomore year. She transferred from Malaysia, where her father works, after her parents decided to live separate ways. She is an athlete who plays basketball, but never joins the varsity in St Andrew. Her athleticism matches her profile: tall, tomboyish, full of energy.

“Now I’m handing the tutoring job to Steph,” Owen says, sounding nasal. The group laughs.

Owen is the shortest and only boy among us (Diva as I told you, is a lady), but the smartest. He never makes it through the elite section because he consistently fails physical education, home economics, music and the arts. He is our official tutor. Hankies are part of his dress code, for he always gets colds, and on a good day, he still sniffs out of habit.

My eyes wander, searching for Steph, hoping to get a quick wave of hand or a wink. Instead I notice chinito jerk and headphones guy in our section.

No damn way! They can’t belong here.

Tanya, Diva and the rest are quick to catch me staring at them.

“Looks like someone has a crush!” Diva tease in sing-song way.

My face grows hot and I know my cheeks are burning bright red. “I just thought I have never seen the transferee before.” What a lame excuse! I should have said “these transferees”.

“Nice catch, lady love!” Tanya quips. I am now in the group’s spotlight. “That guy there,” she adds, pointing at headphone guy, “is Red. He came from the fourth section last year. He’s not from other school.” Our section, Bonifacio, is on second. Most schools in the country are sectioned by performance – the first section having the brightest students and the last having the most difficult kids to teach, if not lazy ones.