I clutched the straps of my backpack as I ran up two steps at a time. The stairs and hallways were deserted, a sign that I was late for my 2:30 PM class.
"Gab Lo, I'm gonna kill you!" I cursed under my breath.
Who in their right mind would drive to the nearest mall and dare someone to cut the first meeting of an elective class? Who would assume that the professor wouldn't show up because "No one shows up to the first day of class, stupid"?
"No, you're stupid, Gab!" I muttered as I huffed out breaths.
But there I was hours earlier, believing him anyway. Until I received a text from my classmate Carlos: "Prof Ferrer is here."
Maybe it took two to be stupid.
That was us, Kyle Stephen Ramos and Jose Gabriel Francisco Lo, best friends for over a decade. We surprised ourselves by passing the country's toughest college admissions test. We were juniors keeping our heads above water.
I grunted at the never ending stairs, my cheeks heating up from the run. Thank you, enlistment gods, for assigning my class all the way up the 5th floor. And thank you, McDonald's french fries, for keeping my cheeks intact.
I finally reached the 5th floor and made a beeline toward the restroom for a mirror check. I swiped my hair to the side, wiped off my forehead sweat, and willed my annoying red cheeks back to its paleness.
I strolled to 504, pretending to be calm and inconspicuous. I could hear someone addressing the class about course details.
Shit.
I took off my backpack and hunched my 5'10" of a frame in. But I was taken aback when I saw the professor.
She looked young enough to be my classmate: long hair in a ponytail, fair complexion, white blouse, and jeans that covered long legs. She was sitting on the table, like cool profs did, holding a piece of paper.
"May I help you?" she asked, bemusement with a tinge of mockery. I didn't realize that I was staring at her; and so was the rest of the class, at me.
"Uhm uh," I stuttered. Great first impression, Kyle. "Intro to International Development? Prof Katrina Ferrer?"
"Take a seat," she gestured at the back row. I gave the room a quick glance. The small class was sitting together, typical for a major subject where everyone knew everybody already. There was only one person occupying the last row.
He was staring at me with examining eyes.
I realized they weren't so much his black eyes, but his heavy scrunched brows, almost meeting in the middle. He was pushing his lips together, as if trying to stop himself from talking. It hollowed his cheeks, showing dimples and a light scruff.
It was unnerving, but I shook the intimidation off. What was this dude's problem?
Personal space dictated that I'd keep an empty seat between us. I dumped my bag there, sat down, and squinted at the pretty professor, trying to catch up.
"As I had mentioned earlier," Professor Ferrer said with an edge, as if saying "Before I was rudely interrupted."
Great. I never knew it was possible to start off the semester already behind. But it was me and well, what was new.
Did I mention that I would kill Gab Lo?
"I know most of you from last semester," she said. The co-eds in front nodded and murmured in agreement. They were smartly and sharply dressed: grade-conscious, future lawyer types who would all jostle for Cabinet posts one day. Or god forbid, the Presidency of the Republic.
"Apologies if I had short-notice absences," Professor Ferrer said with a shy smile. She was so cute. "I was managing projects in the provinces, but that's done now."
"Also," she said, consulting her class list. "There are two names that I don't recognize."
She looked at the back of the class–and so did everyone else. I decided to save whatever was left of my dignity by speaking up first.
"I'm Kyle Ramos," I said. "I'm a junior from the College of Business Administration."
"And what is a BA major doing in Introduction to International Development?" Professor Ferrer asked, curious but guarded.
"I, uh," I searched for an answer. The truth? I ran out of electives and enlisted under the first class that my friend Andi had suggested.
"I like development," I said, blacking out. "That's uh, international in nature."
The class snickered. Professor Ferrer was smiling, but she looked like she was about to crumple the paper and lob it to my empty head.
"I suppose you also like introductions?" she questioned, tone spiked in sarcasm. The class erupted in louder laughs. I felt my face heat up.
Professor Ferrer turned her head to my seat mate. He stood up. I looked at him because really, people still did that?
"I'm Martin Perez," he said in a confident baritone. His hands betrayed him as they fidgeted behind his back. Drawing up to his full height, he was about as tall as me, a few shades browner with a leaner frame.
"I'm a freshman from the School of Economics," he continued. "I took this class because a development survey course gives one perspectives on a variety of topics."
A freshman. That explained the whole formality shtick. But "perspectives"? "Variety"? Who was this kid? He didn't look like people from Econ, who seemed to treat school as an excuse to dress up. He was plain: solid navy shirt, jeans, and black Chucks. He could brood and blend in the corner and I wouldn't notice. Except that I did.
Professor Ferrer looked at him with kind, regarding eyes. "This is a course for upperclassmen," she explained like she was apologizing. "I don't know how the system got you enlisted."
"I... I..." the guy named Martin stammered and started opening his plastic file case. A file case? Man, was this guy for real?
He fished out a paper and raised it with a shaky hand.
"I got a special permission from the department," he said, his voice smaller. Professor Ferrer continued to look at him. She seemed to feel for the kid.
"I promise to keep up and participate," he finished, both convincing and pleading.
Everyone was staring at him then at Professor Ferrer. She sighed.
"See me after class?" she said. "And you don't need to stand for recitations here," she reminded him, like a kind elderly mother. He nodded and sat down, looking at the floor.
Professor Ferrer discussed the syllabus. The class sounded hardcore: 6 major topics, 2 papers, regular recits, a ton of readings, and a buddy system.
Everyone started shifting in their seats, signaling to be partners with each other for the rest of the semester. I was trying to catch the attention of Carlos, my high school batchmate. But he was already giving the girl beside him a high five. So much for years of schooling together, Carlos.
I glanced at the Martin guy. He was still staring at the floor, unsure if he would be allowed to take the class. I could... But would I want to be partners with Mr. Accelerated Freshman?
Everyone started grabbing their bags and pushing their chairs. I didn't notice that Professor Ferrer had already dismissed us. I grabbed my bag as my classmates filed out.
"Never change, Ramos!" Carlos hollered while looking back to me. We were friendly, but I wanted to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. I gave him the finger and the same smile.
My eyes fell on Professor Ferrer as she saw the exchange. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, sighed, and let out a tiny eye roll. I was about to become her problem student. I just knew it.
I made a beeline toward the exit. But before going out, I saw Martin square his shoulders. He dragged his feet to the teacher's table, steeling himself for a conversation.
YOU ARE READING
In Motion
Teen FictionKyle Ramos was expecting to cruise through his junior year at the University of the Philippines Diliman like he always did: overworked, too-cool-for-school, and maybe a little oblivious. Except his freshman classmate Martin Perez piqued his interest...
