Black Sheep

Chapter 2

Arlene "Ling" Silva held on to the side of the tricycle, wedging one box between her calves and balancing another on her lap. This would have been easier if her companion and supposed assistant, Hera Jimenez, was assisting her in any sort of way. Instead, the girl was giggling as she typed furiously on her phone, completely oblivious to her boss's dilemma.

Unbelievable. She'd been the one who screwed up the order, and yet she didn't even attempt to make things right. It had been Ling, coming off three hours of sleep after securing that week's shipment and checking the inventory, who'd realized the mix-up. Good thing the guy from Azucarera de Papi had been so patient on the phone.

"Hee!" Hera squealed and bounced in her seat just as the tricycle made a hard right towards Nomnom Commons.

"Hera!" Ling gasped as the box on her lap almost flew out. "Can you stop wriggling? What if the barquillos break?"

"Ahay, Manang Ling." Hera looked at her with pity. "Kaluoy sa imo. Let me hold that."

"Thank you," Ling said sweetly, although at this very moment she wanted to reach over and pull Hera's hair.

She settled for a deep sigh. Taking Hera in was the least she could do for her Tita Emma.

When she was 11, her parents had been in such dire straits that she had to be sent away to study, and it was Tita Emma in Bacolod who housed her and sent her to school. When she decided to pool all her savings to start a business, it was Tita Emma who backed her and provided her with the contacts to start supplying quality Negrense goods in Manila.

So when Tita Emma called, making kwento all about her partner Tita Bebot's troublemaking niece Hera, and how the family concluded that the best thing for her was to learn a little independence in a big city, like Manila, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that Ling would volunteer to take the 19-year-old in.

At first, she'd wondered why they were all so troubled by the slender girl who only spoke when spoken to and mostly giggled into her phone. It seemed that the only thing that was 'wrong' with Hera was her refusal to go to college just yet--which Ling understood completely. If she had her way, she'd rather have been an apprentice and learned a hands-on trade rather than sit in class bleeding money for four years. But all her sympathy fled when she'd given Hera the simplest of tasks and found that the girl was simply not interested in doing anything. At all.

The tricycle approached Nomnom Commons' parking lot. Ling pasted a sweet Customer Service smile on her face. She would smile, simper and grovel to make sure she kept this client. She would be damned if a careless teen like Hera would cause her baby to fail.

She paid the fare and trudged to the entrance, lugging the heavy box filled with tubs of dulce gatas--a classic Negrense concoction of carabao milk simmered with sugar until it browned and thickened into a chunky treat--and the plastic packets of premium piaya. Hera followed behind, thankfully not forgetting the box of barquillos inside the tricycle.

"So where is the client, Manang?" Hera asked.

They scanned the food park, overwhelmed with the variety of colors, designs and cuisines offered by the many stalls. The place seemed teeming with life despite it being 10am on a weekday. There were several al fresco seating areas where a few parents seemed to have gotten their coffee and baked goods on, keeping one eye on the children's playground right across the entrance.

"It might be on the other side," Ling murmured, leading Hera inside. They had just passed the reading nook, under the tree in the center of the park, when she spotted it.

The corrugated metal walls of the food stall were painted matte black to serve as a canvas for the art spray painted upon it. There were astronauts clutching piayas, wolves howling at a leche flan moon, trees whose leaves were fantastical (but still recognizable) sugary treats. In front, right under the window for ordering, was a stern, Mafioso-looking cartoon man in sunglasses, fedora hat and gold chains, the words 'Azucarera de Papi' beside him in giant stylized violet script.

"I think this is it," said Ling.

"You think?" Hera snorted.

The stall's side door opened and a man in a plain white shirt, black apron, faded jeans and scuffed Converse stepped out. He picked up one of the boxes stacked outside the stall. Ling caught a glimpse of his face as he stood.

She yelped, and faster than she thought she could possibly move while carrying a heavy box of sweets, pulled Hera behind the tree, her heart beating a hundred miles an hour.

"Oh my God," she gasped.

"What's wrong?" Hera stuck her head around the tree, earning her a yank on the arm. "Why are you so flustered by that cute boy?"

"It's because I know that cute boy."

Leche! Of all the food parks in the world, he just had to be working in this one.

Hera looked at her in a new light. "How do you know the cute boy?"

"He's kind of my ex."

Evil light sparked in Hera's eyes. "Kind of?"

Ling realized what she'd blurted out to her assistant and groaned. "Forget I said anything."

"Good luck with that." She took a tiny peek back at the stall. "You dated?"

The astonishment in Hera's voice stung. True, over the past ten years, Ling had been too busy to date: she worked part-time to put herself through college, and then after graduation, it was day job after day job with many rackets after hours. Until she had saved enough to get started on her dream: her own business.

But a long time ago, back when her waking hours weren't filled with a relentless drive to succeed, back when she was in grade 6 and most definitely shouldn't have been in any sort of romantic thing -- Ling had a little mutual understanding with a classmate. A schoolgirl crush.

Except that little M.U. crush thing had felt so pure and true, it had stuck with her for years. She often thought of the boy she'd shared that time with, and concluded he'd probably forgotten about her. Surely only people who were too busy to have space for anything else in their lives pined for an elementary school sort-of boyfriend?

And now here he was. Her client. Whose first-ever order she had just messed up.

Not only was she probably going to be confronted with the fact that he had totally forgotten about her, she might even get yelled at for being a bad supplier.

Screw it.

Squaring her shoulders and recalibrating her Customer Service face, she stepped out from behind the tree and approached Azucarera de Papi. Music started playing from the loudspeakers mounted near the dining area, suddenly filling the air with a salsa beat. The two men behind the counter, busy over a couple of plates of dessert, had their backs to her.

"Excuse me," she called.

No response.

Rolling her eyes, Hera reached out her fist and knocked smartly--and loudly--on the corrugated steel wall.