Keeping the Distance (I Heart Iloilo Book 1) Page 2

  Wasn’t that enough?

  She didn’t dare look up, didn’t trust herself enough to not say the words that were threatening to claw their way out of her lips.

  “I’ll try to do better, Pa,” she said, keeping her eyes glued to the floral pattern on her bedspread.

  He stood up and rubbed her hair. “That’s my girl.”

  Melissa flopped down on her bed the second the door closed behind him. She couldn’t take another conversation like that in the near future, so she had to make sure of one thing. She was staying as far away from Lance Ordonez as possible.

  Another knock sounded at the door, and she almost pulled the covers over her head at the thought that it might be her father again. It was someone else entirely. Her mother nudged the door open, bearing a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies. Concern wrinkled her brow. “Can I come in?”

  Even in her current state, how could she possibly resist oatmeal cookies?

  Her mother looked like she stepped out of the pages of Good Housekeeping, crafted shabby chic things like it was her calling, and most of all, baked cookies that tasted like angels had thrown them down from heaven.

  She walked into the room, placed the plate of cookies far out of her reach on the desk, and sat beside her. “So, I heard your conversation with your father.”

  “Was that a conversation? I thought it was more of a lecture.”

  Her mother chuckled lightly in response, fingers reaching out to run through Melissa’s hair. “He asks for a little too much sometimes, but you know he means well, especially since he knows how smart you are.”

  If her father thought she was smart, how come every conversation with him made her feel so stupid?

  Melissa sighed and let her mother continue running her fingers through her hair. Something told her oatmeal cookies and words of comfort were starting to be, well, not enough after seventeen years of enduring her father’s expectations.

  Pretty soon, something had to give. She only hoped it wasn’t her.

  ***

  It’s a school night.

  The words slithered into Lance’s mind and made him pause in the middle of bringing his beer bottle to his lips. Their sudden appearance was strange. He put the bottle down on the table in front of him, beads of condensation sliding down its sides.

  For a second, he had to reorient himself to his surroundings. Up on a wooden stage, a live band whose combined age was about 200 played their version of a popular rock song, its rhythm scratching against his head like nails. The rusty kind that left angry, red marks.

  Inky darkness turned the bodies on the dance floor into silhouettes. Red and blue lights whirled around them, highlighting a face, grasping hands, or a bare midriff in random succession.

  He buried his face in his palm and groaned.

  Was there a time that this, getting wasted for no apparent reason, had been fun?

  On a school night, no less, added a voice that sounded suspiciously like Melissa.

  “You’re boring me,” Jace Hernandez said over the desecration he wouldn’t call music. The lights danced their way across Jace’s face from time to time, highlighting his freakishly symmetrical features.

  Lance watched Jace, his best friend, wipe the lip of the bottle with a tissue before taking a sip of his beer. He knew Jace was going to pull hand sanitizer out of his pocket as soon as the bottle was empty.

  Aside from being a neat freak, the second most notable thing about Jace was that he had perfected what Lance referred to as The Glare—a look that combined derision, contempt, and irritation in one fell swoop. A look Jace was currently aiming in his direction.

  “Are you moping because you got the principal’s daughter kicked out of class?” Jace said, the hint of a smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

  Apparently, even if he was assigned to another class section, his supposed best friend knew everything and was offering no sympathy.

  “I like you more when you’re quiet,” he said in response.

  He wasn’t in the mood to discuss what happened earlier with anyone. Jace got the hint and sank back into his seat, grabbing handfuls of peanuts every few seconds. Lost in the sea of people without anything to do, Lance grabbed his beer bottle, but instead of chugging down its contents like he usually would, he twirled it around in his hands.

  His mind drifted back to Melissa’s moles, the Big Dipper on the universe of her skin, and he almost laughed at himself.

  He was a red-blooded eighteen-year-old.

  Boobs, gigantic ones in particular, were supposed to be higher than moles on the Richter scale of body parts.

  Maybe he was drunk, but no, he’d only had a sip or two so far. He was completely sober. Maybe it was the night and the way it dragged on and on with no end in sight, sucking in his good mood like a vacuum.

  Giving up getting wasted on a Monday night as a lost cause, he returned the beer bottle on the table and pulled a few bills out of his wallet. “I’m calling it a night.”

  Jace merely nodded, his gaze somewhere in the distance.

  He tapped his friend on the shoulder one last time and made his way to his parked car, a red Nissan Juke. The SUV was an eighteenth birthday present—a bribe, really—from his father, like owning the vehicular equivalent of a parent’s affection made up for all the missed birthdays and vacant seats at basketball games.

  Lance shook his head as he drove out of the parking lot. Now was not a good time to let his thoughts go down that road. He decided to concentrate on the feel of the steering wheel beneath his hands.

  Before he knew it, he was home, leaving the dark streets and yellow streetlights behind in a blur. The kitchen lights almost blinded him the second he turned them on. He rummaged through the fridge, creating a formidable tower of food composed of a loaf of bread, peanut butter, blueberry jam, and a gallon of Double Dutch ice cream. Grabbing two spoons and tucking the tower of food under his chin, he made his way to the family movie room.

  Calling it a ‘family’ movie room was pushing it, though. He couldn’t remember the last time all three of them—his Dad, his sister Julianne, and Lance himself—had been in this room together, had enjoyed the plush seats that were more comfortable than the ones found in a modern movie theater.

  His father was always in Manila where the headquarters for their construction company could be found. Julianne was completing her master’s degree in Australia, and she wasn’t coming home for another six months.

  His mother left when he was five, around the time their business seemed like it was going under. It taught him at a very young age that people always left when things got hard, so why bother putting in effort?

  He pulled his phone out and found a text message from his father’s assistant telling him his allowance for the month had been deposited to his account. Not even a word about how his father was doing, no questions about his first day back at school.

  Nothing new.

  He knew Julianne wasn’t going to pick up, but he dialed her number anyway. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine her standing in front of him, all that long-hair she dyed aquamarine at the ends and the face that was a mirror image of his.

  “Hey,” he said after the beep signaling the recording had started. “I’m calling to say you should start collecting cats soon. They’re going to be your only companions when you grow old. I suggest you name the first one Sleepy.” He sighed. “I know you miss me, so give me a call when you have time, okay?”

  He dropped his phone on one of the chairs on the first row and picked out a brainless comedy. In the end, he couldn’t even pay attention to the movie. For the second time that night, he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

  What was wrong with him?

  He was Lance Ordonez. He had more friends than he could count and lived in a twelve-room mansion with five maids, a gardener, a pool boy, and a driver. He was surrounded by more people than any human being could possibly want to meet in a single lifetime.

  So, why was
loneliness still threatening to devour him alive?

  Chapter Three

  The clouds were an overcast gray when Melissa arrived at school the next day. Fat raindrops fell from the sky, making tiny puddles on the pavement. It was the kind of day that was begging to be wretched.

  She didn’t care. It might've as well been full of sunshine and rainbows when she walked into her first period classroom and found Lance nowhere in sight. His annoyingly gorgeous self was not parked on the seat behind hers.

  Wonder of wonders.

  She wanted to beg her mother to bake the banana chocolate muffins she only made on special occasions and share it with every person in the room.

  "Why are you so happy this morning?" Cam took the seat next to her, shaking droplets of rain from her hair.

  Melissa chose not to answer. Instead, she meaningfully slid her eyes over to the empty desk.

  "I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you," Cam said, her eyes on the doorway.

  Lance strutted into the classroom like it was a Calvin Klein runway with two minutes to spare, vintage Ray Ban sunglasses perched on his perfect nose. Even when functioning on little sleep and fresh from a night of partying, he still looked 110% better than three-quarters of the school's male population. It was grossly unfair.

  Lance oozed—glided, if she was being honest—into his seat and took off his sunglasses. When he saw the two of them looking, a slow grin spread across his face. “Worried I wasn’t going to be around?”

  His eyes were distracting, so brown they made a girl want to order up an espresso.

  She didn’t even drink coffee.

  Melissa knew he was itching for banter, a little skirmish to start the day, but she had learned her lesson well. Thankfully, she was saved from replying when Ms. Mendez, their Christian Living teacher, entered the classroom, trailing a cloud of flowery perfume behind her.

  The lecture started, but she kept on twirling her gold pen between her fingers, unable to comprehend anything beyond a stray phrase. Behind her, Lance was suspiciously quiet. No pick-up lines or further invitations to “hang out” which she believed were code for "let's make out until I get bored and break your heart."

  Was that disappointment brewing in her chest?

  She grabbed that thought by the throat, threw it on the ground, and stomped it to death.

  There were fifteen minutes left in Christian Living when the other shoe, the one she'd been waiting for all along, dropped. One hand reached out and yanked her pen out of her hands. Lightning fast, like a snake snatching up its prey.

  Her first instinct was to turn around, but she caught herself right in time. Lance wanted to push her buttons. Well, she was going to show him they were locked away in a secure vault with a fifteen-digit security code he was never going to have access to.

  "You know, I've been wondering why you write with gold ink instead of the black we're supposed to be using," Lance said from behind her. She heard wood scraping against the floor, the sound of him moving his chair closer.

  Melissa’s jaw dropped open. How could someone so self-absorbed have possibly noticed that?

  When she offered no explanation, he came up with one himself. "You've got a rebellious streak underneath all that pastel. You're just too afraid to show it."

  Looking down at the gold letters written on her notebook, she got the horrifying feeling that he’d hit the nail on the head. Sometimes, an itch to dye her hair cotton candy pink, get three piercings in one ear, or go out with someone her father would never approve of gnawed at her.

  Breaking the rules a little by using different colored ink? She feared it was only the beginning.

  It was her best-kept secret.

  And for some twisted reason, Lance, of all people, had figured it out.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Ordonez?” Ms. Mendez said from the front of the room.

  This time, she couldn’t help herself. She turned around to look at him, waiting to see how he was going to charm his way out of this one.

  Banking on looks that made female hearts within a five-mile radius flutter, Lance leaned back on his chair, placed both hands behind his head, and said, “None at all, Ms. Mendez.”

  Their teacher placed a hand on her hip. “Then, perhaps you can answer my question.”

  Melissa almost smiled.

  Watching him squirm was going to be entertaining.

  Lance’s cool didn’t slip at all. He beamed down at her like his day began and ended with every minute spent in her presence. “I’m sorry, Ms. Mendez. I didn’t hear your question, because I was too busy admiring Melissa’s profile. Have you ever noticed how cute her nose is?”

  The whole class burst into amused laughter.

  Except her.

  The urge to bludgeon him with her 400-page Physics textbook became almost unbearable.

  Even Ms. Mendez wasn’t immune to the scourge on the female population that happened to be Lance. The teacher’s mouth pulled up at the corners, threatening to turn into a full-blown smile. “You can admire Ms. Ortiz’s profile some other time, Mr. Ordonez. At the moment, I require your full attention.”

  “I’ll try my best, Ms. Mendez,” Lance said with a wink.

  She couldn’t believe it.

  He actually winked.

  Melissa made a mental note to talk to her father about the disciplinary procedures in Saint Agnes Catholic Academy. The teachers, especially the younger ones like Ms. Mendez, were too lenient. Why couldn’t they all be into Chinese water torture like their monster of a Physics teacher?

  The next period flew by in a somewhat tense blur. Lance conveniently forgot to return her pen.

  Despite the number of times he kicked her chair and the numerous pick-up lines he hurled in her direction, Melissa didn't give him one speck of attention. She pretended he was nothing more than vapor, which was pretty impossible considering he was six feet and two inches of delicious boy.

  When the bell rang, she bolted out of her seat, like she'd been sitting on burning coals for the last hour. Side-by-side, she and Cam walked to the cafeteria together. It had stopped raining, and fat, fluffy clouds began to populate the sky.

  A bunch of Grade Ten girls sitting on the benches surrounding the quadrangle tittered into giggles when they passed. One girl pointed at her with a French-manicured finger.

  Unease began to crawl up her spine. She wasn’t at the top of her class like her father wanted, but she wasn’t stupid. Lance had something to do with those giggling girls; she was willing to bet her ukulele on it. Her eyes darted from one corner of the quadrangle to another, but he was nowhere in sight. What had he done this time?

  “Oh, Mel.” Cam’s lips turned into a thin line, fighting back a laugh. Her best friend removed a piece of notebook paper that had apparently been taped to her back the whole time and handed it to her.

  It said, LANCE ORDONEZ IS A SEXY BEAST.

  The words were written in gold ink.

  Melissa stared down at the words without saying anything for what seemed like a lifetime. In her mind, a thousand volcanoes exploded, lava decimating entire civilizations. She almost balled up the notebook paper and marched right back to their classroom to stuff it down Lance’s throat.

  But she remembered she was the principal’s daughter and was never allowed to lose her temper.

  She was done getting angry.

  She was getting even.

  ***

  By taping that heinous piece of paper to Melissa's back, Lance had outright declared war. It didn’t matter that she had lived in the world of pastel clothing and romantic comedies all her life and clearly had no experience in warfare. She was a fast learner.

  "We need to come up with something that will obliterate him." Melissa stared down at the ideas written on her notebook. The words were written in purple ink. Lance's little prank had left her with a sudden distaste for her standard gold.

  "Obliterate? We're still talking about a prank, right? Not homicide?" Cam said, taking a sip of her mango
Slurpee.

  They were seated on one of the tables at a 7-Eleven branch about a block away from Melissa's house, almost pressed up against the glass wall. Two packs of cheese-flavored Ruffles, chocolate bars, Cam’s camera, and their respective Slurpees were scattered across the table surface.

  Outside, late afternoon slowly transitioned into evening, the sky a hazy cross between pink and red. The pavements were still wet after another rain shower, puddles splashing every time a jeepney drove by.

  "No, let's make homicide a last resort." She wrote down the word 'homicide' and crossed it out to Cam's delight. "Lance's ego is his most prized possession, so we should start with that."

  "As long as he looks like that, I don't think we can do much damage," Cam said, waggling her eyebrows meaningfully.

  "He doesn't look that good."

  "Your nostrils flare every time you lie," her best friend since kindergarten pointed out. "If you open the dictionary and look for the word 'gorgeous,' you'll find his picture. We both know it."

  The words she was about to utter dissolved on the tip of her tongue, because the love of her adolescent life, Hunter Alvarez, pushed open the doors of 7-Eleven and stepped inside. All the usual Hunter Sighting signs scrambled for first place—tripled heart rate, clammy palms, and the utter inability to string words together.

  He stood in front of the aisle containing shampoos, staring down at the array of products with his intense, deep-set eyes. Melissa had never wanted to be a bottle of Rejoice so much in her entire life.

  Their parents were friends, so she had always known Hunter, attending his birthday parties since the year the orange-haired mascot at a fast food chain that shall remain unnamed made them both cry.

  Things changed at the start of high school. Hunter shot up by several inches, became a drummer for a rock band, and grew his previously short hair into a spiky faux-hawk. She started wondering how his vintage The Ramones T-shirt smelled, which was pretty pathetic.

  She checked her reflection on her phone's screen, wondering if the floral playsuit she was wearing made her look like a grandma or like she'd been dressed by a six-year-old.