#romanceclass2016: Something To Say

Act 1. Chapter 2

I was in second grade when I heard about Yasmin San Carlos. I knew the name, knew that the face behind the name was the prettiest in our batch because everyone talked about her. But I never sought her out to confirm the statements, besides she was a first grader so I didn't have any business going to the other side of the building. Even then, I wasn't interested in girls as I was busy trading my NBA cards with my classmates, or helping out at the canteen where my father sold his baked goods.

My first encounter with her was in third grade. The year prior to that, my family was very tight on budget and I had to stop studying for a year—my choice not theirs—so I could help at our village bakery. I was prepared to stop school altogether but by the following year, my parents re-enrolled me at our school for third grade while my batchmates were in fourth grade, which wasn't a big deal either. I was highly introverted and kept to myself most times so nobody really asked me why I was gone for a year save for the teachers to whom my mother already explained everything.

So third grade. It was the first day of school and as usual and my father decided to sell bread at the canteen and asked me to help. There was a surge of people—parents to be exact—who brought their children to their respective classrooms and stayed behind to talk with the other guardians. It was the same reason why my father and I were able to sell all his Spanish bread, pandesal and pan de coco at the canteen. I was allowed to go to class earlier than expected, bringing a plastic bag which had my compensation for helping out: the last piece of Spanish Bread (yep, my father always saved something for me but the number of bread I got to take was inversely proportional to how many were left on his tray).

There was a buzz of excitement in our room as I entered and went straight to the only vacant seat. Good thing the teacher had not arrived yet.

"Is that Spanish bread?"

My head whipped to the side as I sat and immediately knew it was Yasmin. Imagine facing a celebrity for the first time and you were stunned into silence because you didn't know what to say. That happened to me. Coming face-to-face with her made me understand where all the boys my age were coming from. There was an air of regality around her that drew and held attention the way she held mine.

Even at the age of eight, she already had the making of the 'it' girl.

Conscious that I might have stared at her longer than what was polite, I nodded, not breaking eye-contact. The way she stared right into my eyes was like pulling me in a trance telepathically telling me to give the bread to her.

That might be the reason why I snapped back to reality because I blinked and told her: "I'm selling it at 50 cents." What? I earned my baon. I wasn't going to give it away free of charge. Especially if that meant I was going to starve.

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as if surprised she wasn't going to get it unless she paid. "Can't we share it instead?" she suggested.

I shifted on my chair, placing the plastic of bread on the desk just to entice her more while I pondered on her suggestion. If we shared such a small piece of bread, I would get hungry easily. But if she paid, I could buy something else that could be more stomach-filling. "Then 25 cents."

She gave me a long look, as if waiting for me to change my mind. But I didn't. So she simply lowered her lids, dismissing the conversation, and turned to face our teacher who just came in to welcome everyone. It took me five more seconds before I mimicked her position because I was not sure if our conversation was over.

"My name is Karlos Iñigo Vicente. When I grow up, I'm going to be a billionaire." It was my canned introduction every first day of class in grade school. My parents talked about business tycoons almost every day eventually teaching me to work hard and work smart. That went on without saying that as a kid, my role models were neither sports icons nor celebrities but billionaires like Henry Sy, the Zobel de Ayalas, Lucio Tan to name a few. So it was only logical that I wanted to be like them.

No further questions ensued so I walked back to my seat and everyone gave a customary applause as the person next to me walked to the front of the class. Everyone fell silent, hanging on to every word that she would say.

She smiled confidently and opened her mouth. "I am Yasmin San Carlos. When I grow up, I'm going to marry a prince."

Our classmates clapped their hands. I didn't. I was having a hard time wondering how she'd be able to achieve that. I got curious but didn't know how to strike a conversation that didn't involve selling bread or NBA cards. I didn't have girl friends either.

But she seemed to be a natural at making small talk. "How are you going to be a billionaire? That sounds nice." Though she only gave a small smile, her eyes sparkled like she really wanted to hear what I had to say. Maybe she was curious too.

"I'll be a businessman."

"Wow, that's cool." She nodded in agreement. "What kind of business are you going to have then?"

"A bakery," I said ( it was only logical as it the only business I knew then) before launching my own questions at her. "How about you? How will you marry a prince? You do know there are no kings and queens in the Philippines, right?"

It was an honest and curious inquiry that unfortunately offended her because she glared at me for a moment. As though catching herself, Yasmin went back to her default stance—prim and proper, her chin up, her face neutral.

To me, that seemed unnatural—like she always had to be in lady-like posture. I once thought she was being graded for that.

Which was why I found myself stealing glances at her, just to check if she'd slip into a more comfortable stance where she didn't need to act like an uptight princess. I wanted to call her out on the rare occasions that she was more herself, but I didn't know how to.

Because she never talked to me again outside the class where I was voted the Treasurer, and she, the Muse.