Settle the Score / Hustle Play

SETTLE THE SCORE / Chapter One | Personal Foul

Kissing Charles Crisostomo was never part of the plan.

So what was, you ask? See, that's the thing: I never had one in the first place.

Typical Garnet Figueroa.

Now, contrary to what you might think, I don't hate plans. To a degree, I like making them for the sake of my sanity, but my plans were run-of-the-mill types and usually only covered weekends, special occasions, or bigger things like life after graduation.

None of them involved setting up a play to rescue Charles from his cheating girlfriend.

* * *

"Wait, Nica-are you seriously hooking up with Kelvin Vicente?"

The things you learn in the women's locker room, ladies and gentlemen.

"OMG, Cassie. Would you be quiet?"

In my defense, I never intended to eavesdrop on this conversation. I was there first, icing my ankles behind a row of steel lockers. The women's locker room on the third floor of the De La Sierra University sports complex was infamous for ghost sightings, which explained why it wasn't as utilized as the ones on the other floors.

I liked it there because it was mostly quiet. I could hear myself think.

Save for days like this.

"But what about Charlie?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

I clenched my teeth upon hearing this, closed my eyes, and counted backwards from ten the same way I did on the rare occasions my temper flared up on the basketball court.

Ten, nine, eight...

"Charlie's just too goody-goody for me," Nica went on to say. "He's cute and all, but he's... boring."

Seven, six, five... How dare you.

It took a tremendous amount of willpower not to reveal myself then, because I really, really wanted to stare at Nica Samson's face while she justified-and so nonchalantly too!-cheating on my friend. But I remained still and let a quiet storm simmer inside my chest.

Four, three, two... one.

Charles must know, and telling him was easy.

Making him believe wasn't.

* * *

"Garnet, did you put eyeliner on?" asked Justine Estacio, the Emerald Tracksters' current queen and three-year consistent silver medalist for individual sprint events.

"Why would I do that?" I snapped, annoyed.

"Kidding. I'm just amused to see the fierce glint in your eyes usually reserved for the Scorpions."

"There's an idea. Next time you're up against the Scorpions, picture Nica's face on the ball."

I snorted at Colby's quip.

Colby Manalo-co-captain of the Emerald Lady Spikers-was known for the Manalo Serve, a killer spike that guaranteed points 99% of the time. Also a move I would love to practice on Nica's face.

"Coach Castro will wonder why she's hitting the backboard too much."

The two giggled and exchanged high-fives. We belonged to different sports teams, but all three of us were on the same team now: Team Charlie.

"There she is...," I heard Justine say. She nodded toward the sidelines where I caught glimpses of Nica. She smiled up at Charles, who fixed the feather on her cap. The sight made me want to gag, but I couldn't avert my gaze. My ears began to burn.

"We are back here at the Manila Grand Coliseum for the Twenty-First Annual Collegiate Cheerdance Competition, and boy, is this place on fire right now!" the event host enthusiastically said to the crowd. The coliseum erupted in cheers as the next performers, the De La Sierra University Emerald Cheer Squad, were announced.

Our cheer squad's theme had a Peter Pan feel to it. Everyone wore black tights under their bright green tunics, silver belts adding sparkle to the otherwise plain ensemble. On their heads were hats with a single silver feather on them. The lively color spilled out of the sidelines and onto the performance area while the collective noise of drums proceeded to pump up the crowd.

"Go, Charlie!" Justine and Colby yelled. I'd have yelled too, if I'd been alert enough. I did see Charles turn his head and flash us a smile-and-wink combo, though. That, and a salute I felt was directed at me.

We waved our little green flags to the rhythm as the music began, cheering passionately as the dance routine picked up. I'd been privy to the squad's routine, owing to the fact that De La Sierra's basketball courts were often shared with the cheer squad. Frankly speaking, I didn't think we were going to win any of the top three spots, but that didn't mean I wasn't proud of how much they'd improved. Charles, most especially.

It was a shame how there wasn't enough time to focus on Charles and how he managed to make the choreography look effortless, though, all because Nica caught my attention with her extra-cutesy movements that seemed to have a single target somewhere in the front row.

It was Kelvin Vicente of the soccer team.

"I hope you fall, bitch," I muttered under my breath, holding my flag in a death grip as the squad began to build their final and most complicated pyramid.

Nica Samson, most popular Emerald Cheer Squad member, backflipped twice and was tossed in the air, landing perfectly on the forearms of two other cheerleaders.

Clearly, I didn't have special evil powers.

The routine ended, and we raised our green flags in the air, chanting "De La Sierra! Fight! Win! Fight!" together with every Sierran present at the coliseum. The cheer squad ran around and across the floor, a "final lap" to mark the end of their performance.

And then Charles entered my line of sight as he ran toward us, wearing that megawatt smile he was known for. I saw the thin sheen of sweat on his face that made him glow even more under the coliseum lights, the heaving of his shoulders as he breathed through his parted lips, and my brain just... threw all caution and logic out the window.

Because one moment he was leaning across the barrier to give each of us a hug, and then my wrists were locked behind his neck the next, my lips tasting our favorite blue Gatorade from his.

Foul. Number 21, Figueroa. First personal.

Very personal.