Settle the Score / Hustle Play

Chapter Two | Tale of the Tape

Freshman year.

I spent a stupid amount of time on the wrong side of campus and was already running late for orientation. As I brisk-walked to the Liberal Arts Building, someone in a green shirt sped past, bringing a quick gust of wind that effectively snatched my enrollment form from my fingers. I cursed when it flew up in the air, but the Flash suddenly turned around and helped me retrieve the piece of paper.

"Sorry 'bout that. Running late." He handed me my enrollment form, and I took it. Only he didn't let go just yet. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at the sheet. I gave it a tug, and he let go. "Sorry. I just realized we're in the same block."

"LA29?"

"Yeah." He jerked his head forward. "Want to go together? I'm still unfamiliar with the campus."

I tucked the form between the pages of a book I carried. "As am I."

"So let's go?"

I began walking again, checking my watch as I did. We were already five minutes late.

"I'm Charles, by the way," he said when he caught up with me by the entrance of the Liberal Arts Building.

"Garnet."

I noticed how our footsteps were in stride as we went up the stairs and how he was wearing classic and completely worn Chuck Taylors that were the same color as his shirt. "You must really like being a Sierran," I commented.

"It's a family thing."

"Ah."

"You?"

"Scholarship," I answered curtly as we got up to the third floor. Only a few strides away, Charles went ahead and opened the door to 315, then stepped back to let me in.

Having studied in an all-girls school from elementary to high school, this was entirely new to me. I stared at him for a second, and he did the same, unsure what to do next.

He cleared his throat and then tilted his head toward the open door. "Ladies first?"

"Oh. Thanks-you. I mean, thank you."

My little speech blunder left him grinning, making me drop my head in embarrassment as I entered the room. He sat beside me the entire day and even took the opportunity to remind me of my mistake when I lent him a pen.

"Thanks you."

I frowned and tried to snatch the pen away, but he was too quick.

"What kind of college student doesn't bring a pen to school?"

"The Crisostomo kind," came his casual reply. He scribbled something in his notebook, and the smirk he had revealed a dimple on his left cheek. That annoyed me for some reason.

How I was utterly convinced Charles and I would never be friends is still beyond me.

* * * * *

As days turned to weeks and weeks unfolded into new semesters, I learned more about "the Crisostomo kind." His was a family of achievers, generations of Sierrans who went into medicine, architecture, even politics. I was surprised he was part of that Crisostomo clan, because even as his outward appearance spelled "rich kid," his demeanor did not.

Okay, so maybe I stereotyped him, and I apologized for that. To which he responded, "If you're really sorry, buy me sisig."

Charles and I easily became lunch buddies, study buddies, insert-menial-thing-here buddies. We didn't have everything under the sun in common, but we found common ground in sports. I used to be part of my high school basketball varsity team, while he was into track.

It was in mid-freshman year when we both agreed to try out for sports teams. He was there when I tried out for the Lady Hunters, De La Sierra's female basketball varsity team, and I, in turn, went to his track-and-field tryouts.

That was where we met Justine, who was also trying to get into the team. Colby joined us during an athlete assembly before the collegiate athletic season began.

Ours became an odd kind of clique, in that Charles always seemed to want to hang out with us instead of the boys. Naturally, he had a circle of guy friends-some from our block, others fellow athletes-but sometimes we couldn't help but jokingly point out how he was ruining our girl time.

Colby bluntly voiced out her concern once: "Charlie, are you gay?"

His response was a loud, jovial laugh that irked me, only because it gave me warm, fluttery feelings in my stomach. And because it made me want to make him laugh all the damn time.

And I did, in various ways and increments. I found a weird sense of accomplishment in making him laugh even if it was so easy. At least, up until the time he injured himself so badly during a track meet and was told he'd never be able to run like he used to.

* * * * *

"Careful with that landing, Garns...," Charles told me during basketball practice one time. "You'll hurt yourself."

This was sophomore year, four months after Charles had a bad tendon injury. Back then, my go-to move was the reverse lay-up. Being the smallest Lady Hunter had its disadvantages, but I was fast, and I trained hard to perfect moves that assured quick points in the paint when outside shooting wasn't an option. Charles must have seen my tendency to land and pivot each time I did the move at high speed. Done wrong, it could be disastrous.

"Thanks for the tip, Coach," I said, lifting my jersey from the neckline so I could wipe the sweat off my face with it. As I sat with him on the bleachers, he pressed a bottle of blue Gatorade against my cheek. Surprised at the feel of the cold bottle against my skin, I pulled my head back and registered the cheeky smile on his face. He seemed to be in a good mood.

"What time are you heading home?"

"Eight, maybe?"

"I'll drive you," he offered. He'd gotten a car from his parents last Christmas and would often offer us rides home after practice. But Justine and Colby lived in the other side of the metro, so they would often say no. Lucky for me, I resided in a district near Charles' house, so I'd been able to bum free rides.

Something about his tone that night was different, however. It was as though he wanted time alone so we could talk about something important.

"Is something up?

His eyes widened. "You're scary."

"It's your tone. Spill."

He lifted a hand to the back of his head, the way he usually would when he attempted to come up with a lame excuse for something, like forgetting to study for an exam or being late to our weekly non-dates.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Charlie, just say it."

"I met this girl."

The Gatorade bottle almost slipped through my fingers.

. . . . .

Author's Note

Video attached to this chapter is a live reading of Chapter 2 | Tale of the Tape, performed by Salve Villarosa and Herv Alvarez at the 1st #romanceclass April Feels Day in 2016.

Video credits to Will Read For Feels channel on YouTube.