Int Dev for the rest of June became a routine. I would walk up to the fifth floor, early enough to avoid running. Martin would get there before I did. Most days he was preoccupied: highlighting photocopied readings, doodling on his notebook, or solving Math probsets. My classmates could fall through the ground (not a bad idea) and I doubted he would care.
But without fail, he would look up from his paper and say hi: a wave, a small smile, or a quiet "Hey." I made sure to reciprocate with a "Hey" or a smile of my own as I would sit down. Then he'd go back to whatever he was doing.
During class discussions on theories, he would watch everyone recite, digesting what they had said with furrowed brows. There were times when he would squint in subtle disagreement.
There was one time when he couldn't help speaking up. Carlos said something about "being grateful but still critical" of the aid that we were receiving as a developing country. I remembered that he was the son of an embassy employee.
Martin raised his hand, unable to contain himself. "No one ever thought of calling these grants from colonizers as 'reparations'?" he said in a voice that boomed in our small class.
The surprised, scandalized reactions of my classmates? I wish I had caught it on tape. I bit the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from guffawing. Professor Ferrer tried to hide her smirk as well, sensing the quiet sharpness in his voice. She did her best to reconcile both points.
Our after-class conversations while walking down covered nothing in particular: his classes, mine, and the stuff that we needed to do. Gab had downgraded the flirting to a polite nod and an "All right, Martin?" whenever he would see us together. Martin would chime a "Hi!" before walking off to Math.
"You seem to be getting along," Gab had noticed once. I was trying to hear the intrigue in his voice.
"Nah," I said, my mouth dry. "Just requirements and stuff. How are your lab classes?" I had never swerved a conversation so fast in my life.
Because he was right, we were getting along. Y!M at night was our whole other world. He messaged me that night of the Carlos debacle.
martinchrisperez: Are you friends with Carlos Medina?
kyleramos1987: just a high school batchmate
kyleramos1987: what's up
martinchrisperez: I kinda feel bad for calling him out
martinchrisperez: Now that I've thought about it
kyleramos1987: is there more where that came from?
kyleramos1987: i'd pay to watch that shit hahahaha
martinchrisperez: 8-)
martinchrisperez: Also, I could see you earlier
martinchrisperez: You were about to burst out laughing
kyleramos1987: i'm sorry hahahahaha
kyleramos1987: is that why you took an elective?
kyleramos1987: to school us?
martinchrisperez: I'm a nice boy, I promise :))
kyleramos1987: not to carlos hahahaha
kyleramos1987: you're nice only to me
martinchrisperez: No choice. My grade depends on you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
kyleramos1987: watch me pull your GWA down >:)
martinchrisperez: Good night, Kyle. Hahaha
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...
