Best Friends

Throwback #1 - Senior Year

Have you ever wondered what's inside Warren's head? Have you ever wondered why our dear Carla was friend-zoned? Why, seems like it's the other way around.

For those who liked Warren, here's a short chapter of when he was a HS senior.

Warren Evangelista

The news is all over the school.

I, the Basketball captain, can't play during the finals. And it is such an important game for me not to be there. We are going for a four-peat win this year.

Why can't I play?

Everyone is in panic because of my pulled ligament, and tomorrow is the big game.

Great. Just great.

Fuck it.

I slam the front door close and hurry towards the stairs, intent on making it to my room before my mom can nag. It seems like I am not so lucky.

"Warren?" I hear her voice from the kitchen. I cringe. I shouldn't have slammed the door.

"I'm going to my room to sleep," I holler out, swinging my backpack onto one shoulder.

I hear footsteps behind me. "I baked apple pie."

"I'm not hungry, mom!"

"Oh, yeah, not hungry? You're probably famished," another voice chimes, and a chuckle follows before I am tackled by a flour-covered Carla. We fall on the flour with her legs straddling me. Her wide, bright eyes appraise me, and a smile adorns her pretty face. "Yo, War."

"War yourself," I laugh as I sit up, ignoring the pain of my back. "Can you spell that?"

"What?" She blinks, and I can see white powder at the tips of her long eyelashes. For a moment, I am distracted. "W? Still there?"

Gingerly, I push her away.

I force a grin. "Just wondering how is it possible you don't know how to spell 'famish'."

She makes a theatrically sour face before slapping her hands on my chest. "Of course I do! Are you insulting your best friend?"

I simply laugh at her. She's so cute when she's all riled up.

"So, what brings a goddess to this lowly mortal's humble home?"

"Why," she rolls her eyes, "Same as you, ditching classes, of course."

She leans in close, and I can smell the delicious, mouth-watering scent of apples from her neck. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I already told Aunt about your injury. I told her to play it cool with the fussing. You're safe."

My heart is not.

My palms are sweating and my face is heating up, but I dare not make a move for fear that she'll somehow become psychic and know what I know. Besides, I like our position, no matter how compromising it seems. I like touching her, feeling her, just staying beside her. I can probably spend an eternity looking at her pretty face.

She just doesn't know it.

I've known Carla since I transferred to her school in second grade. I was the tall kid with the ugly braces, and she's the silent girl at the back of the room.

For some reasons, we were always made partners in the labs and projects. At first, it was awkward. Neither of us could hold a proper conversation. Maybe that was my fault, because it looked like I intimidated her.

After spending enough time with her, I discovered that we liked a lot of similar things, like stargazing, classical music and eating junk food. Just like that, we clicked. We became practically inseparable.

I didn't care what other people thought of us – and I never will. I hang out with her because she's cool and fun to be with. Not once did I think of her as ugly or fat or lame. She's just . . . herself.

With every passing moment I spend with her, Carla becomes more beautiful to my eyes. And to others as well.

Maybe she was scarred with all the years of bullying she experienced, but she never once believed it when I tell her that she's a beautiful, wonderful girl. When boys approached her, she always thought that they were acting out of a bet, or they had other ulterior motives. She shot them down without haste, unknowingly breaking young hearts.

Yeah, C is a real heartbreaker; she just doesn't know it.

Deep within, I am secretly happy that no one can take her away from me. But then, maybe that's the reason why I never really made a move on her.

Because she's my C, the one person who has seen me, all of me, from when I was just a nobody, the one person who understands me better than I understand myself.

I can't risk losing her.

Smiling, I carefully tuck a strand of her hair behind an ear. "Thanks, C. I owe you one."

"No biggie."

I wrap my arms around her, keeping her legs around me, so that she's clinging to me even as I stand on my two feet.

"Put me down, War. Your foot – " she protests, but I cut her off by putting my chin at the top of her head.

My heartbeat quickens. Can she hear?

"Just let me hold you for a little while longer, okay?"

She tightens her hold on me, meaning to comfort me.

Her presence makes me feel clumsy and stupid and impulsive. If only she knew.

"They'll win even without you," she murmurs against my shoulder.

I doubt that, but I tell her a "Yeah."

Because she knows me so well, she can tell I'm not convinced. "Really. Warren. Trust your team."

But no soothing words can calm my heart.

I vow to myself that she will never know the real reason why I got this injury. That I had a fight with my team mates over her after hearing them talk shit about her in the boy's locker room. And that truth be told, there was no injury, no torn ligament.

Just a torn heart. My torn heart.

Because the guy I had a fight with, my team's vice captain, the only guy who had earned her trust aside from me, is just playing with her because of a stupid bet.

Fuck them all.

Oh. Revelation.