Keeping the Distance (I Heart Iloilo Book 1) Read online

  How could she answer that?

  She turned around with a huff and headed for the bar’s glass doors. She heard him laugh behind her, trying to get her to come back. When he didn’t get a response, he cupped his hands around his mouth and said, “And I’m stone cold serious! I really like you, Mel. See you at detention tomorrow.”

  Chapter Ten

  Melissa walked toward the second classroom they were painting that Saturday, not knowing what to expect or what to do.

  How did one react to a possibly drunken confession in a bar parking lot?

  For starters, one did not panic.

  Also, one did not start referring to oneself as one.

  She was driving herself crazy, going over and over what happened in circles.

  Upon reaching the hallway that led to the classroom, her feet skid to a halt, almost as if glued to the floor.

  Someone had already hauled the desk and shelves out of the classroom, cluttering the hallway. It was Lance, she knew, but they were supposed to divide the work equally. Her steps quickening with each second, she ran toward the classroom and stopped in the doorway.

  He stood in the center of the classroom, surveying his surroundings. Her eyes wandered down and took in the way his white V-neck T-shirt hugged his torso. All that basketball practice had done the boy good. He looked so hot it was a wonder his jeans didn’t catch fire.

  She, on the other hand, had agonized over her outfit for longer than necessary. She wanted something that made her look good but not like she was trying, you know? Her white floral blouse and pink denim shorts were almost there, and she’d woven her hair into a milkmaid braid. The hairstyle made her look cuter than normal, but it was also something he’d already seen.

  Lance had stripped the walls bare of posters and drawings, swept the floor clean, and unfolded and spread newspapers over the floor.

  Was it all for her?

  She wouldn’t dare voice the question out loud.

  When he caught sight of her, he stopped, his hands on his hips. They stared at each other for a tense ten seconds.

  Scenes from last night rose out of thin air and enveloped them. His face so close to hers that she could feel his warm breath. His hands on either side of her waist as he crowded her against some stranger’s car.

  “I… I think I like you,” he breathed out.

  Suddenly, breathing became a little harder. She blinked the images away.

  “Good morning,” he said, sounding unsure.

  She cleared her throat and pulled the collar of her blouse away from her neck. “Good morning.”

  Outside, the morning air was slowly transitioning from cool to hot as hell. She blamed it for her sweaty palms.

  A tiny explosion broke the tension between them. Mr. Chua sat in a corner like last week, his thumbs tapping away on a game on his phone where apparently a lot of things were being blown up. The sound of explosions followed one after another.

  Her eyes snapped back to Lance and found him still staring at her. She suddenly felt childish in her stupid milkmaid braid and floral shirt. Sure a blush was spreading across her cheeks, she said, “We should get started.”

  Without waiting for his response, she walked over to the wall on the left corner of the room, picked up a brush, and dipped it in paint. She began her work, trying to ignore the presence of the boy behind her the whole time.

  Her brush stopped in mid-air when the ukulele version of an indie song she loved started playing. She turned around and found him innocently painting his own corner of the room, his Bluetooth speakers and phone connected to an electrical socket.

  Her heart began to seesaw back and forth. As the chorus played, the lyrics about how love blossomed between two people who never expected it, he glanced at her over his shoulder.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, pretending her heart didn’t need a straitjacket at that very moment.

  He grinned in response, that perfect grin that lit up his whole face.

  Then, he winked at her.

  The blush that spread across her face earlier returned in the speed of light. She whipped around to face the wall again, so he wouldn’t see her reaction.

  This didn’t make any sense. He was Lance Ordonez, the boy who’d placed a cockroach in her bag.

  He might’ve said he had feelings for her, but he wasn’t even her type.

  Honestly.

  When another ukulele cover started playing, she could no longer tell herself it was a coincidence. She didn’t know how, but he’d most certainly discovered her love for the ukulele. This time, however, she resisted the urge to turn around and stare at him.

  For two whole minutes.

  She pretended to stretch her arms, paintbrush still in one hand, and as slowly as possible, swiveled her neck to look at him, wishing her hair was down so she could hide behind it.

  Lance stared back at her. The corners of his mouth tilted up, holding back a laugh.

  She was so busted.

  It was his fault for being too pretty.

  In addition to the humiliation of getting caught checking him out, two drops of paint dripped down from the paintbrush she still held over head and made two bright spots on her shirt. She sighed.

  This was what she got for ogling Lance like he was the pair of pink sneakers she wanted to order online a few days ago. Limited edition and almost too cute.

  Feeling a little angry at herself, she started painting the wall again with more force than necessary, her brush scraping against the surface. She was the one who asked him to stay away. Ignoring him should be easy. Again and again, she told herself those things, realizing that she believed herself less every time.

  Melissa continued to attack the wall until she felt his presence behind her. Without saying anything, Lance placed a plastic bag by her feet and moved back. She looked down and almost swore her vision was blurry when she saw that it contained a Slurpee, her ultimate 7-Eleven addiction.

  She dropped the paintbrush on the newspaper-covered floor and bent down to retrieve the plastic bag. Moisture had already spread around it. She took a sip. It was cola-flavored.

  He remembered.

  During the Economics class that now felt like a lifetime ago, she had babbled on and on about the things she spent her money on—the cutesy pastel dresses, that one floral swimsuit she had been unable to resist, and most of all, cola Slurpees. He had listened to her and thought the things she said were important enough to remember.

  It was unbelievably sweet.

  And so unlike Lance.

  The thought dawned on Melissa that maybe she’d been wrong about him. It made the delicious Slurpee taste like ash in her mouth. She wished she could read his mind, so she could figure out what was going on in that head of his.

  Melissa could barely paint the stupid wall after that, but she tried anyway, paintbrush in one hand and Slurpee in the other.

  After asking someone to stay away, how did you thank them for the kindest of gestures? After a boy told you he liked you and you didn’t quite know how to feel in response, what were you supposed to do?

  She didn’t think she had the guts to walk up to him and say… thanks. That simple monosyllabic word.

  By the time their second hour in the classroom rolled around, the sounds emanating from Mr. Chua’s phone stopped. He placed his phone in his pocket and stood up. “Okay, kids, time’s up. You can both go home now.”

  He surveyed their work one more time, eyeing if it was good enough or if they’d have to eventually bring in professionals. Satisfied, he waved at them and walked out the door.

  Melissa remained in her side of the room, clutching the paintbrush like her life depended on it. Lance, on the other hand, began putting things away. She watched him roll up the newspapers, stacking them for the janitors to pick up and throw away.

  She was supposed to mirror his movements and get to work, but as the silence between them stretched longer and longer, she began to get angry. Not at Lance but at herself.

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nbsp; Why she couldn’t do something so simple like thank him for listening to her, for thinking she was significant enough to listen to? It was supposed to be easy. Her grip on the paintbrush tightened, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

  Melissa didn’t want to be this girl anymore, the one who was scared of thanking this beautiful boy who had done something for her.

  She dropped the paintbrush on the ground and crossed the few steps that brought her closer to Lance. He was crouched over the floor, checking to see if any stray paint drops had fallen. She tapped him on the shoulder.

  When he saw her, he pulled himself up. It was then that she realized she had failed to measure her steps. They were a little too close, only a few inches left between their chests. Her heart started needing that straitjacket again.

  “Thank you.” She may have conjured the guts to talk to him after last night’s events, but not enough to give her courage to look him in the eye while doing it. “For the Slurpee. And for the songs.”

  Blowing her expectations out of the water, Lance didn’t respond with anything remotely resembling a pick-up line. He simply said, “You’re welcome.”

  She should’ve left it at that. A smarter girl would’ve let it drop, but she couldn’t. Not this time. The courage to look him in the eye finally decided to make an appearance. Her chin lifted, and she looked into the eyes that Grade Nine girls swore could make anyone swoon at will.

  “You said you liked me. Why?” she finally asked. “Why me?”

  At first, Lance didn’t answer, all signs of amusement evaporating from his face. “I don’t know.” Then, he tapped his temple and said, “You’re just stuck here.”

  The fear returned. He wasn’t Lance, the boy who annoyed her every change he got. He was also Lance, the boy who once broke up with Lyka Abella, their class salutatorian, in the most horrible of ways.

  He had a reputation for pulling back when things got a little serious. She couldn’t trust him. No matter how much she was tempted to do so.

  One foot took a step back and was followed by the other. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this, Lance. Not right now. Not with you.”

  She turned to leave without waiting for his answer. She grabbed her backpack from the floor, and didn’t even bother to pull its straps over her shoulders. Before she could reach the door, his hand wrapped itself around her arm and pulled her back. Lightning fast and not giving an inch.

  “Is this about Hunter?” He stared down at her, the haunted look in his eyes made it hard to look away.

  She shook her head.

  And that was the truth. No, this wasn’t about Hunter. Not anymore. It had stopped being about Hunter the second Lance said those words he couldn’t take back.

  It was about the two of them. He was Lance, she was Melissa, and there was no way this was going to end in anything other than complete disaster.

  “What’s it about then?” Lance asked. “I think you could like me, too. If you give me a chance.”

  “Maybe I could,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter.”

  Her father’s disappointed face flashed in her mind. She could only imagine what he’d think of her going out with Lance Ordonez. He would freak. Any temptation being with Lance might’ve held paled in comparison. Her father’s expectations were like a vise around her throat, slowly tightening. She swallowed.

  “Is this about your father?” Lance read her mind correctly. His face hardened.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and almost ran for the doorway.

  Sure that he wasn’t going to follow her, she blindly made her way to the nearest ladies’ room and sank down to the floor, her back sliding against a cubicle door.

  She had done the right thing. She just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

  ***

  People chased after Lance, not the other way around, but chasing people was all he seemed to be doing lately.

  He stopped in the middle of his morning run on Iloilo River Esplanade. Pebbles flew up as his feet skid to a halt. He stared out at the water surrounded by the crooked oval-shaped path full of people in workout gear. An elderly couple walked past him in matching gray running shoes, and the woman gave him a smile. He tried to muster the energy to smile back.

  He tilted his face up to the sun, sweat dripping down his temples. This was his favorite time of day, the hour between sunrise and the time heat made the entire city feel like a sauna. Too bad he couldn’t enjoy it today.

  He gulped down half the contents of the water bottle he held in one hand and started running again. His feet pounded against the pavement, but Melissa inched back into his mind with every step. He couldn’t keep her out.

  Some people ran with music, but he never did. He thought there were too many things going on around him in this little corner of the world, and he didn’t want to miss it. Now, he thought people who ran with music blaring in their ears were on to something. Music would’ve helped block out thoughts of her.

  But his earphones were back in his car. He had no choice but to let the thoughts fill his mind, circling him and waiting for the right moment to swoop in. God, her face when she said it didn’t matter whether she could like him or not. She had no idea how much it mattered.

  He’d been impulsive when he followed her to the parking lot on Friday night and blurted out how he felt about her. He hadn’t even given himself time to think if it was the right thing to do.

  Why had he done that? He rubbed his face with the hand not holding the water bottle in frustration. He pushed too fast. Too far. He knew that now. So, what next? He didn’t have a goddamn clue.

  He stopped again, almost colliding with the chubby woman power-walking in front of him. She glared at him over her shoulder and continued on her way.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  So, what, indeed, was next? Melissa clearly wasn’t ready to take a risk for him. Was he supposed to move on to the next girl? It was what he was used to. It wasn’t like he’d ever considered other options before.

  As if the universe agreed with him, he saw a pretty girl in a yellow tank top and black shorts in the distance. Her ponytail bounced with every step. As she jogged past him, their eyes connected and she smirked, as if she knew what he was thinking.

  She was his type. He could jog after her, strike up a conversation, and forget all about Melissa Ortiz. It would be so easy.

  It would also be impossible.

  He raked his hands through his hair in frustration. No, he couldn’t move on, not without giving winning Melissa over his best shot. Since he didn’t know what to do, he had to ask for help. Jace or any of his teammates wouldn’t offer any useful advice, so he called the one person who would.

  “Yes, little brother?” Julianne’s voice sounded amused over the other line.

  How much he missed his sister hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water. He hadn’t seen her in months, hadn’t talked to her in almost a week, and it was so good to hear her voice.

  “I need your help,” he said.

  “As if I expected anything else,” Julianne teased.

  “It’s about a girl.”

  Julianne got so quiet on the other end that he thought she had dropped the phone. Then, she snorted. “Is this the same one you bought the dress for?”

  He mentally prepared himself for what was coming next. His sister was going to help him, but she was going to make him suffer first.

  “Are you in luuurve?” Julianne cackled like the witch she secretly was. “Oh, you totally are. Please, please tell me she hates your guts.”

  He cleared his throat. “She does.”

  She might’ve been in another continent, but he could swear she was right next to him when she howled with laughter. It was that loud.

  “Okay, spill,” she finally said once she got control of herself.

  “She thinks I’m too much of a flight risk.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Not anymore.”
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  “Oh, Lance.” The line got quiet again. It had finally dawned on his sister how important this was, what depended on it. “Does she know that? If she doesn’t, prove it to her.”

  “I’m trying.” His grip on the phone tightened.

  “Try harder.”

  “Okay,” was all he said in response.

  “I’m proud of you, little brother. You’re growing up.”

  His sister disconnected the call, and Lance found himself standing once more in the middle of Iloilo River Esplanade, staring off into the distance. This time, though, he didn’t feel like he was running in circles. Literally and figuratively. Julianne was right.

  He took off with renewed energy. His mind was made up.

  He wasn’t giving up on Melissa Ortiz. Not yet.

  Chapter Eleven

  Their classroom was slowly turning into a circus. Girls whipped compact powders out of backpacks, swiped lip gloss over their lips, and combed their hair until the strands shone to perfection. Their male classmates huddled together in one corner of the room, too clueless to ask questions.

  Melissa sat in the back of the room and watched. Even Cam wasn’t immune from the mania. Her best friend brushed green apple lip gloss over her lips, swiping at the corners with her thumb.

  “How do I look?” Cam puckered her lips for added effect.

  “Like you ate a glazed donut.”

  Cam narrowed her eyes.

  “It’s supposed to be a good thing.” She laughed.

  Today, Saint Agnes Catholic Academy was playing against The Partridge School, an all boys’ school known for its excellent curriculum and good-looking students. It also happened to be Hunter’s school. She needed to figure out how she was supposed to feel about that.

  Things had been weird between them after she attended his gig. After what happened with Lance.

  She still couldn’t believe he liked her, that he’d said the words out loud. She didn’t know how to feel about that, either.

  “You’re being weird again.” Cam crumpled a piece of tissue paper she had used to wipe off excess blush earlier and hurled it in her direction. It bounced against her nose and fell to the floor.