From: Your Secret Admirer

Chapter Ten

You know I'm always here for you, right? :)

***

Intramurals week came and Nursing students who did not join any sports or cheer-dance competition were required to assist the Red Cross volunteers. As a result, I accompanied my seniors to the medical booth allocated for the soccer match. Not that there were great chances that someone would get seriously hurt like a broken skull or fractured ribs, but just in case.

Today's match was between the College of Architecture and College of Nursing. The players from the College of Architecture were quite good. They were able to make three succeeding goals, making them the lead on the score board. Mark belonged on their team, and I have to admit he really did know how to play --he was good. So good in fact, that right after he made another goal he was able to wave at me, give me a wink (which caused several people to gush and say things like "ayiiieee!"and "Kyla you are sooo lucky! Sooo lucky!") and run fast to play defense.

I rolled my eyes. He should be focusing on the game! That jock, he was so full of himself. Okay, okay. What he did was flattering. And I did like the attention. It made me feel, I don't know, pretty I guess.

I studied Mark as he ran on the other side of the field to play defense again. His short, slightly curly hair glistened with sweat and his face was a mask of concentration as he ran towards the left side of the goal. He pulled the neck of his jersey and used it to wipe the sweat off his jaw. I suddenly found myself unconsciously grabbing a small white towel and had this urge to run towards him. Darn. The heat was making me feel crazy things.

The match was over. College of Architecture won. Hurray! Why was I cheering for them anyway? I should feel bad because they beat our college. It's the heat, I tell you, the heat that made me switch sides.

I saw Mark limping his way towards our booth. He was still sweaty; he was grimacing a little, but suddenly broke into a smile when he saw me. "Hey Dumbo! Sorry for trouncing on your team."

"Yes, well, our soccer team was lousy to begin with." I hoped no one from my college heard me. "What happened to you?"

He sat on the chair near me. "Just a sprained ankle. No biggie."

I remembered the towel I was holding, so I handed it to him. "Here. How are you going to play tomorrow with a sprain ankle? You are so careless. If you're still not aware, you're not a god of Olympus, Mark. You're just a mere mortal, and mortals get sprained ankles."

"You talk too much. Just do your stuff and patch me up here."

What a jerk. I grabbed a couple of bandages, a pair of scissors and a tube of pain-relieving gel. "I'm going to apply some gel on it first. Can you remove your shoes and socks?"

He did as what he was told. I examined his ankle. It wasn't really that serious but he needed to take care of it since he would still be playing tomorrow. I crouched in front of him. I uncapped the tube and was about to rub the gel on his ankle when he said, "Shouldn't you be wearing gloves and be sterile or something?"

"I really hate you, you know that?" I grumbled. "And there is no need to be sterile." But I still donned on some clean gloves and started rubbing the gel on to his ankle.

"I made four goals earlier," Mark suddenly said.

"Uh-huh. Good for you," I answered, still focused on applying the medicine.

"I was spelling your name every time I made a goal."

"So you know how to spell. That's nice," I said as I started rolling the bandages around his foot.

"One goal for each letter of your name."

"Oh, gee, I'm ecstatic," I absent-mindedly told him as I continued to roll the bandage.

"Tomorrow, I might only make three goals."

"Too bad."

"It's intentional."

"And why is that?"

"To represent the three words I want to tell you."

"Three goals for 'I'm a moron'?"

"Three goals for I like y --ouch! What did you do that for?"

"Because it has to be tight. The bandages has to be tight." I briskly stood and turned around, facing away from him. I could literally feel my face burning. Oh god, why were there butterflies inside my stomach?

"You okay, Dumbo?"

Oh my gee, oh my gee, oh my gee. Why won't my blush go away? "I'm okay. And quit calling me Dumbo --my ears are normal." I pretended to fix the first aid kit on the table.

He chuckled. "Sorry, Kyla. Hey, do you wanna go and grab some frappe? My treat, you know, since you fix me and all."

Darn. I could still feel my cheeks were warm. "Uhm, sure."

"Great! I'll just go to the locker room and change. Just wait for me here."

"Okay." I bit my lip to keep me from screeching like a banshee with too much emotion that wanted to burst out of my chest cavity.

Mark and me, mortal enemies since fifth grade, were going to grab some frappe. Go figure.

***

I was stationed the next day at the medical booth for the basketball game. This time, Mer was with me.

Today's game was between Ryan's college of Science and Mathematics and the College of Education. Of course, I would be cheering for Ryan's team since he was playing for them. He was one of the forward (or was he the shooting guard? Frankly, I really ddin't know the difference), and he was really good at three-point shots. Trust me, I saw him play before and he was totally awesome.

And just as I suspected, Ryan became the star rookie and everyone on the bleachers were chanting his name. Some, if I may add, were shouting "marry me Ryan!"

I was one proud best friend.

As predicted, his college won with a score of 110 to 85. I saw him walking towards their bench after the game. I grabbed a bottle of water, a towel to give him and was about to approach him when suddenly Olivia was already beside him and wiping the sweat off his forehead with a towel she was holding. I saw Ryan bestowing a charming smile at her as he said his thanks. She smiled back and touched his cheek.

They looked like a perfect couple. And suddenly, I felt a knot in my heart. It was as if I was wishing I was standing there instead of Olivia. I mean, I'm his best friend. I knew him since we were little! I knew all the scars on his body. I even knew he has a birth mark on the right side of his butt. So why shouldn't I be the one who would be saying congratulations to him first?

"Kyla," Mer started, "you're the best friend, and Olivia is the girlfriend. So let the girlfriend tend to her boyfriend while the boyfriend's best friend stays with the other best friend."

"W-what? What are you saying?" I asked innocently.

"I'm saying for you to come here and help me fix the booth."

I threw another glance at the two. They were now going outside of the court, and Ryan's arm was around Olivia's waist.

I guess I was not the only girl in Ryan's life now.