Erica Santos

I have always hated dealing with new people for as long as I can remember.

I don’t like the clingy type, those who nod and hang on every random word I spout. You know, the kind of individual who wholeheartedly believes me when I say that I keep a Micropachycephalosaurus as a pet. To dumb it down, yes, it is a freaking dinosaur.

 I also dislike the smart-asses, those who try to grab my spotlight, who think they’re better than everyone else because they know more. It was one shade of hell after another when bull-headed people like us clash. Challenge fires us. No one steps down. And based on experience, disaster lies down that path.

Even lightning will fear us when we scowled. Hah. Okay, that’s an exaggeration.

But when a new friend gets frank on you, I realized that it was nice to receive bits of reality every now and then, even if it meant I had to reshape my rock solid view of the world. Not.

***

Back to earth, the sound of shattering glass alarmed me. I dragged my useless foot as I braced myself against Jen’s ear-piercing scream.

“ERICA! Oh god, Erica! Kill it! Hurry! Kill it!” she shrieked frantically. “OMG! Kill it! Please!”

If Jen wasn’t in hysterics, I would have laughed at her position. She was standing in tiptoes on top of my couch, her face as bright and red as her hair, her arms flailing as she pointed all over the place.

“What?” I looked around bewildered. What could have terrified her? Jagged pieces of glass were dangerously sprinkled all over my cheap terracotta-colored carpet, reflecting specks of light like dew on the leaves at dawn. Jen was too preoccupied with finding a safer, higher place, so I had to repeat myself. “What?”

I groped my surroundings for something to throw, something to defend ourselves against the invisible foe. I found the oven toaster. And a sponge. And a soap?

“There! There!”

Was it possible that her voice got louder?

“Where?”

My other free hand wrapped around a plastic flower. The vase was missing.

“Oh my god!” Her terror was contagious, I couldn’t think coherently at all.

I threw the flimsy flower away, shuffling to the drawers in the kitchen. I finally got my hand on a knife. Bread knife. Great.

“What? Where?” I asked again.

 “Roach!” she cried. “Cockroach!”

“Where?”

Finally, I saw the source of all trouble.

Tossing the knife away, I strutted towards the thrown square pillow lying on the floor. A tiny black insect, the size of a penny, quickly skittered away.

“That’s a beetle.” I turned towards my ashen classmate who was reluctantly climbing down from my couch. “A baby beetle.”

"B-Baby?"

Really.

Jen was breathless and near tears, but I wasn’t in a mood to comfort her. The sight around us – the broken shards, the upturned table and worse, the CD rack that I bet she accidentally knocked down – wasn’t a particularly happy picture.

Cleaning things up isn’t my cup of tea. That’s the very reason why I avoid dirtying my place. Oh, my, immaculately tidy place.

I blew my bangs off. What a letdown.

“I-I am so so sorry...” she started, biting her lower lip in sincere apology. “I didn’t mean to destroy your place.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sniffed. Why were girls – scratch that – the majority of the female human race afraid of bugs? It’s not like they can eat you whole. Heck, we are technically a hundred times larger than them!

The cleaning supplies were hidden inside a wooden cabinet, that much I know, but I couldn’t seem to find them. After ten minutes of strip-searching, I located the brooms and a dust pan. And look, there’s my crutch!

“Watch out for the glass,” Jen warned when I re-entered the living room. Even after the beetle’s escape, she remained unnervingly cautious. Barefoot no more, I came back wearing two magenta bunny slippers. Some protection, I snorted.

“I prefer some help here, you know?” I tossed her one broom. She deftly caught it.

“But –“

“No offense, Jen,” I drawled, “You are acting like a brat. If you’re really sorry, and I believe you are, you’ll clean this clutter with me. In case you forgot, I can’t walk straight.”

“You can jump.”

“And you can crawl,” I jibed, making her give me a tight-lipped smile. “Now, let’s clean this up. There are still lots of pies left. If I die of starvation, my ghost will haunt you forever.”

She rolled her eyes, but she moved towards the heart of the mess with the handle of the broom in a death grip. Jen was still obviously waiting for the return of the beetle. Outrageous.

“The broom’s choking.”

“Shut up.”

I piled up the undamaged CD cases on one corner and the unredeemable on a separate stack. The rack didn’t seem badly injured, just toppled over and thankfully received a couple of scratches. So far so good.

Sweep, sweep, sweep.

“Uh, Erica?”

Sweep, sweep, sweep.

“I’m just wondering...”

Sweep, sweep, sweep.

“... where are your parents?”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Jen stood stiffly as she patiently waited for my answer. I should have known people would be curious. They all are. They always are. I didn’t want to lie again, but what else could I say? If I had to hide my past, I had to hide it well.

“Somewhere,” I replied curtly.

“They travel a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not scared of living alone?”

“No.”

“They must trust you a lot.”

I feinted a smile. “Of course.”

Her large chocolate brown eyes studied me as I continued to separate the CDs, DVDs and VCDs.

“You are lying.”

I didn’t allow my shock to surface, knowing that it would do me no good. I put on my carefully constructed blank mask. “What?”

“You are lying,” she repeated.

“How can you say that?” My voice was flat, inflectionless.

Her features softened, reminding me that she was the most perceptive person I’ve met. Maybe it was a bad idea to let her in.

She chose to ignore my question, and instead asked, “Why are you lying?”

“Am not.”

“You are.”

I was abnormally calm, a third person watching a stranger being accused guilty of a crime that was true. Not good, believe me.

“You’re really persistent, aren’t you?” I wanted to be angry, but the concern so evident in her eyes was dousing the fire in me.

“I wanted to be your friend.”

“Friends don’t pry.”

“Friends don’t keep secrets.”

I gently shook my head. “Jen, look, you’re really nice. I like you. Honestly. But that’s that. I don’t want to share anything with you. Sheesh, we've only started talking yesterday!”

It took her five long seconds to gather her wits.

“Can’t you trust me?”

“I can’t."

She turned her face away, probably to hide her tears.

“W-Why are you detaching yourself from everyone?” She cleared her throat. I was aware how painful my words are, that it was risking the friendship building between us. I wished I could tell her, but she was so bright, so kind, and so innocent. As much as I hunger for company, I was terrified for myself and for them. “I like you, you know. You’re different from everyone. You’re real.”

I shook my head at her, not saying anything.

“If you have a problem, there are always solutions. You don’t look like the type that’s easily broken. I can’t be of great help, but I can at least ease your burden. I promise I’ll zipper my mouth.”

If only she knew...

What’s the point of running to Georgia, millions of miles away from home if my problem was simple? What’s the point of me being totally independent if it was an easy teenage dilemma? What’s the point of cutting all my connections from home if I could effortlessly solve it? What’s the point of acting tough and untouchable around people if they see me as weak? What’s the point of sacrificing everything I knew and have known for this deception? What’s the point of lying? What’s the point of it all?

“Even Len looked willing to help you.”

Len, that guy who lied to me from the very first time we've met? Hans Verona. How stupid. How could I trust someone who couldn't even tell me his real name?

What did he know?

What did they know?

I unconsciously traced the small scar on my left wrist. “When you’re young, you’re pretty dense. You’re full of yourself, thinking that you’re somehow invincible. You don’t read people well, too busy worrying about yourself. You haven’t been lied to and cheated too much.”

I fixed her a stare that would leave no loopholes for misinterpretation.

"You don't know me. I don't know you. Period."

Jen simply stared at me, mirroring my expression from what seemed like ages ago, when I first heard that I was alone in the world. But that was the past. I could protect myself now.

“Did you know that you’re the most popular girl in school?” she asked after an eternity.

I shrugged. “Give Greene the benefit.”

“No.” She smiled sadly. “Everyone likes you, admires, although some won’t admit it. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re cool. And you always fight for what you think is right. You don’t seek privileges. You are so confident... so sublime... so full of life...”

“The point?”

“No one has the courage to approach you first... “ she continued, “because you seem so angry. So lonely. So distant. Always. You make it clear that there is a line, a thick wall, around you.”

Was I that obvious? Brava.

“I’ve always watched you,” she amended as she fidgeted, “so I know these things. I really wanted to befriend you from the very start. I feel that with you, I don’t need to pretend.”

Was she for real?

“That was why I was so happy when you talked to me in Physics.”

I felt so dismayed and so tired that I had to sit down. Jen scooted over and laid an affectionate hand on my shoulder. It reminded me so much of Jamaica, my deceased older sister. I missed her so much.

“A true friend lends an ear and a shoulder. Even both.”

Could I? Should I? I ran my fingers over my yellow shirt, eying the remaining pieces of glass on the floor, mulling over the fact that she was indeed telling me the truth. Was I that inhuman to deny her that?

“Trust makes one weak and vulnerable, but I guess humans are wimps to begin with.” I gave her a resigned smile. “Thank you, Jennsen. But not now, please, not now. When I'm ready, I'll tell you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I wonder if that was a promise I could keep.

...............................................................................

A/N:

I got this impression that a lot of you are having a hard time comprehending CING. Don’t worry! Things will soon clear up. Erica’s secrets, Hans’ mystery and the story’s real plot will slowly unfold. Of course, it isn’t fun if I dump the whats and the whys in one big chapter.

Remember: This is a romance-fantasy plus humor and slice-of-life. It's kinda crazy balancing them. Please don’t make me hurry the details, or the story will end up all wrong and messy. Just enjoy for a while. And SMILE.

And thank you for reading...