OUTCAST: A Stepbrother Romance (29 page)

“
H
e must’ve sneaked in
,” she reasoned out. “He has always been good with that, you know? Slinking in and out of the house.”

O
h yes
, I was very familiar with that.

“
W
ell
, tell me if something else comes up, alright?” I told her. I deemed it best to just leave her happy like that instead of bringing her back to the depressions of reality. “I have to prepare for school, but text me if you’ll discover something else, okay Aunt Susan?”

“
I
sure will
,” she fervently replied. “Who knows, he might be waiting for you in your classroom.”

I
gulped at that thought
.

I
went
back upstairs to dress up for my classes. No one was forcing me to get back to school a little over a week after the incident, but I’ve missed a lot of days already. I was afraid my grades would suffer, something which I couldn’t afford considering that I have yet to choose a university to attend for college. Yes, I was accepted at UCLA, but I was having doubts about going there.

A
ctually
... I was having doubts about going to college immediately after High School.

I
was seriously considering foregoing
college until I give birth. Still, the UCLA application doesn’t allow deferments for the next school year, and I needed good grades if I were to find another university that would accept me.

I
almost cursed
my worn-down car on the way to school. The shocks were really old, something I could tell with the way the vehicle clinked and clanked on the smallest of humps. The air-conditioning was busted, as it always was. And the damn window on the driver’s seat won’t open again...

O
r so I thought
.

A
s I repeatedly pressed the
button of the window out of frustration, the glass suddenly moved. I pressed the button again, and it went all the way down. I pressed the other button and it went up. Its movement was smooth and quiet, as if it was brand new.

T
hat has never happened before
.

I
t must’ve been jammed
. After I banged it with my fist that night of the Homecoming party, the wirings must’ve been messed up. And when I wildly pressed the buttons, the wirings may have... I dunno... joggled back into place.

T
hat was
the only reasonable explanation.

I
mean
... how else could the window have fixed itself?

A
s I arrived in school
, everyone - and I do mean everyone - greeted me with smiles and hugs and even small kisses on the cheek. They asked me how I’ve been, how my family has been dealing with the tragedy that befell us, if I needed some help with catching up on the lessons I’ve missed... and how my pregnancy has been going. They asked me if the baby has started kicking inside. I told them it was too early for that. They asked me if my child was a boy or a girl. I told them that it was too early for that too. They asked me what name I’d give him or her. I told them I haven’t thought about it yet.

N
o one asked
me who the father was.

I
don’t think
it was because they didn’t care.

I
think
it was because it didn’t matter. I was the one they knew. I was the one they went to school with. And I was the one they were concerned about.

A
fter school
, I decided to go to the gym and express my gratitude to the basketball team who went to Paydirt Drive that night just to ensure my safety, as well as the cheerleading squad who visited us during the wake and stayed there well into the night until it was time to go to school the next day.

F
inn was there
and he led me towards the team. I thanked them one by one. I may not know everyone by name, but their faces - filled with smiles and warmth - would forever be etched in my heart.

T
hereafter
, I went to the other side of the court where the cheerleading squad was practicing. Before I could say anything, three of them approached me and held my hand.

“
A
ndrea
, come quick!” one of them said. “We’ve got a new routine. Please watch it and tell us what you think, okay?”

“
U
hm
... I don’t think I’m a qualified critic for that kind of stuff,” I reminded her. I was the one who can’t even execute the most basic steps when I was a part of their team.

“
N
onsense
!” she replied. “You were one of us... and you still are. You know what we’re doing. Just watch us and tell us if it’s good or not.”

W
averingly
, I agreed. They eagerly performed their number, with me as the solitary audience seated on a plastic chair in front of them. Their performance was good. It was really, really good... not just because of the complicated steps, but because there were some acrobatic stuff added in between their segments. I clapped my hands after they finished and they were genuinely happy that I liked it.

D
uring their number
, however, I noticed that Jaynie wasn’t around. Kyla was the one who led the girls during practice.

K
yla probably noticed
the confusion plastered on my face. She approached me and said hello. At first, I was afraid that she’d deliver one of her cryptic messages again. But her smile at that moment was filled with honesty and compassion.

“
W
ondering where Jaynie is
, huh?” she asked.

“
S
ort of
...” was my dispassionate answer.

“
S
he quit
,” Kyla said.

“
W
hat
? Why? When?” Her reply shocked me.

“
T
he Monday
after the Homecoming Dance,” she continued. “The Saturday when you... well... you know... that kidnapping thingie... everyone found out that Jaynie was responsible for the video that was played onstage. Martin ratted her out, as he saw her insert a USB drive on the video machine. I guess Jaynie wasn’t used to being scorned at. So she quit. Since then, she just arrives in time for class and leaves for home the moment the bell rings.”

“
T
hat’s
... that’s so sad...” I uttered. Sure, Jaynie wronged me. But I didn’t think she deserved a hermit’s life, especially with how she fed off the attention from people.

K
yla patted
me on the back.

“
Y
ou’re a good kid
, Andrea,” she remarked. “But sometimes, you gotta toughen up, more so with a baby on the way. You’re gonna be a mother soon. And mothers are supposed to be tough.”

I
looked
at her and smiled.

“
S
o be tough
, girl,” she added. “Toughness will get you places. Take it from a bitch like me.”

W
e giggled
like little girls until she went back to practice.

I
decided to stay there
. I was so used to being alone that the presence of so many people actually became a welcome change for me. The basketball team were shouting and laughing during the scrimmages. The cheerleaders were snickering in between their sets. There was so much energy in the gymnasium.

S
o much life
.

I
needed that
.

I
needed
to be reminded that I was still breathing... that I had to be happy and strong for the baby I was carrying in my womb.

B
asketball practice ended
and Finn as well as the other players left the court. Cheerleading practice followed suit, and the girls said their goodbyes and proceeded to the exit. I stayed on my chair. The gymnasium’s lights went out. The area became dark, but not totally black. Some of the spotlights were still on, providing a little bit of illumination to the place. Mr. Herbert probably saw that I was still there, and he left some lighting on until I would leave the gym.

A
round ten minutes
of sitting there all by myself, I finally stood up.

I
don’t why
, but I was compelled to look at the bleachers, particularly the uppermost row towards the left wall... the same spot where Nash used to
spy
on us... where Nash used to watch over me.

H
ow was
the view up there, I wondered?

W
hat did he see
?

W
hat ran
through his head as he observed our practices.

W
ith slow steps
, I went up the stands towards that very spot. I looked down and saw the court. It wasn’t really the best view in the house. The row was just too far from where the activities were held.

I
walked
towards the leftmost corner, where the shadows used to fall on his handsome face... his strong and rigid profile that gave him a rough kind of appeal that was enchanting and terrifying at the same time, his deep-set eyes that seemingly glowed with savage fire, the tender outline of his jaw that belied the coarseness of his demeanor, his thick black hair that tapered neatly to his collar.

W
ell
, it wasn’t really the shadows that concealed most of his face, though. It was that damn hoodie... the one which he always wore... the one that I always wondered about whether he ever washed it or not.

A
smirk formed
on my face.

T
he joy of fond memories
.

B
ut as I
approached the area where he once sat, the smirk vanished. It was replaced by shock... complete and utter shock... the kind that devoured the soul and made hearts thump in agitation and inquietude.

F
or on the
seat where my brother, my lover and the father of my unborn child sat, I saw something that shouldn’t have been there.

A
hoodie sweater
.

D
ark blue and dirty
, with stains all over, crumpled on the surface of the bench.

H
is
hoodie sweater
.

I
arrived
at Fiji’s Japanese Restaurant a little past seven in the evening. I drove straight to that place after I received a text from Aunt Susan, inviting me to have dinner with them.

T
hem
.

T
hat included my father
, who I haven’t seen since yesterday morning when he walked out of our home after I revealed my pregnancy. I didn’t know if that dinner was arranged by my stepmother who wanted us to patch things up, or by my dad who wanted an opportunity to tell me how disappointing a daughter I was to him.

Q
uite frankly
, I didn’t give either possibilities much thought.

M
y mind was still preoccupied
by what I saw in the bleachers.

H
ow could
his hoodie be there? Was it even right to hope for the best... that somehow, someway... Nash was alive and he left his sweater there as a proof of life? Or would that be a crazy thought? We buried Nash. He’s gone. I saw him get shot. I saw him swallowed and taken away by the rampaging currents.

M
aybe he just left his
hoodie there from way, way back. Maybe, more than a week and a half ago, he dropped by to see if I was still practicing with the squad, laid his sweater on the bench and forgot about it. Yes, yes... that was probably it.

B
ut then again
... why did I have that unnatural feeling in my gut? A feeling of elation and apprehension, of excitement and fear, of delight and perturbation?

I
saw
my folks on the table at the far corner of the restaurant. I pulled up a chair and sat. Aunt Susan engaged me in some small talk but my dad didn’t even bother to say hello. He burrowed his face on the menu he was reading.

S
o I just grabbed a menu of
my own and started to peruse the restaurant’s offerings. I called the waiter and gave him my orders.

“
I
’ll have
a plate of
Shake Sushi
and a Coke please, regular, not diet,” I said.

B
efore the waiter
could even finish jotting down my orders, however, my dad quickly interjected.

“
N
o
, no... she won’t have sushi,” he stated firmly, almost yelling. “Give her a bowl of Garden Salad.”

“
W
hat
?!” I exclaimed. “But... I... I don’t like lettuce...”

“
A
h
, lettuce,” he uttered as if he had a lightbulb moment. “Waiter, what kind of lettuce is included in your Garden Salad?”

“
R
omaine
, Sir,” the waiter answered.

“
G
ood
, good... are you sure it’s not iceberg lettuce?” he asked once more.

“
Y
es
, Sir. I can assure you it’s Romaine,” the waiter confirmed.

“
A
nd strike
that Coke off your list,” my father continued. “Give her a glass of orange juice.”

“
T
he hell
...” I began to complain.

“
L
anguage
,” he reminded.

“
I
don’t drink
orange juice!” I protested. “You know that. Orange juice scratches my throat and makes it itchy for days.”

“
W
ell
, you will have to learn how to drink that stuff from now on,” he adamantly declared.

I
saw
Aunt Susan with her hand on her mouth and her eyes squinting. She was trying her best to hide her laughter.

“
O
kay
, what’s this all about?” I demanded to know.

“
S
ushi has raw fish
,” my father explained. “Uncooked. Contains parasites that may find their way to your womb and harm your child. Coke is full of calories and sugar that will just flood your system with junk and leave little room for nutritious alternatives.”

I
looked
at him with shock. I had to remind myself to close my mouth, least he wonder why I was agape. Did he actually show concern for me and my baby?

H
e looked
at me and saw the startled look on my face.

“
W
hat
? You think I don’t know how to use Google?” he asked.

I
just smiled at him
.

S
ometimes
, words and long talks weren’t necessary to know what each other was feeling. That was one of those moments. He knew I was the repentant daughter who realized that she disappointed her father and would do anything just to win his affections once more. I knew that he was the understanding father who, though derailed by his disgruntlement, has come to remember that he loves his daughter as much as she loves him.

“
B
y the way
, Dad,” I started to say in the middle of our meal. “I passed UCLA.”

M
y father
almost spewed the food he was chewing. He coughed a bit to clear his throat, then quickly took a swig of water.

“
W
hat
?” he uttered in thrill and disbelief. “You did? When did you find out?”

“
A
round five or
six weeks ago, the day you bought me that car,” I answered.

“
W
hy didn’t
you tell me back then?”

“
W
ell
... at that time, I didn’t know if I wanted to attend UCLA or not,” I said. “Actually, I didn’t know if I wanted to attend college at all, at least for next year, because...” I looked at my tummy, hoping he’d figure out what I was saying without me having to blurt out the P word.

H
e wiped
his mouth with the tablecloth.

“
M
y daughter is going
to college next year,” he rigidly said. “And my daughter is attending UCLA. I don’t care if I’d have to rent a hospital ward to serve as your dorm, I don’t care if I have to bribe all your teachers so that they’d go easy on you whenever you get those stomach cramps or whatever, and I don’t care if I have to live with you there while you’re pregnant.”

“
D
ad
!” I called out, trying to remind him that his ideas were quite unreasonable.

“
T
he fact is
,” he continued, “you have this very, very rare opportunity that only a few are gifted with. You will persevere. You will get through this. And you will share your blessing with us, your family, and we’ll be very, very, very proud of you, Andrea.”

“
T
hanks Dad
,” I muttered. “I know how much college means to you...”

“
W
ho said
I was talking about college?” he asked.

M
y eyes widened
.

“
I
was talking
about your pregnancy, Andrea,” he said as he gave me the warmest smile I have ever seen from him.

I
was so overjoyed
that I couldn’t think of any words that I could respond with. So I just returned his smile with my own.

“
B
ut you’re still going
to UCLA,” he proceeded to say. “It’s going to be hard, but let that be your first university lesson... that nothing in life comes easy.”

T
he drive home
was filled with gleeful moments, something that our family has needed since the incident at Paydirt. Dad was actually telling jokes. Most of them weren’t funny though, but they were so bad that we had no recourse but to laugh. Aunt Susan noticed that my window was fixed once again, and he started to speculate. My dad dismissed her false hope by delivering more jokes.

T
hen I remembered
Nash’s hoodie.

I
didn’t want
to tell them about it. I didn’t want to add fuel to something that will surely end up as gravely disappointing. My family was well on its way to recovering. I didn’t want to ruin that by giving them an empty kind of optimism. Thankfully, I placed Nash’s sweater on the driver’s seat, and I was sitting on it throughout the entire ride. They didn’t get to see it, which was good.

T
hey retired
to their bedroom as soon as we got home. I went back to the car to get the sweater, then I dashed towards my chamber.

I
sat
on my bed and smelled the hoodie. His scent was there. It was distinctly his.

B
ut
...

I
t seemed so fresh
, like it was just yesterday when he last wore it.

I
wanted
to slap myself for overthinking things. A smell can linger on something for a long, long time, after all. Animals can track scents that were many months old. I swear I could still smell my mom’s perfume on the hankie I stole from her drawer a week after she passed away. It should be the same with Nash’s hoodie.

I
t should be
.

T
here’s
no such thing as miracles.

N
o such thing
...

N
o such thing
...

N
o such thing
...

I
fell
asleep with that thought repeating in my head. I may have even uttered those words in my slumber. I may have dreamt of something that was connected to it, though I couldn’t remember how that dream went.

I
may have been
asleep for a few minutes or for many hours, I wouldn’t know.

B
ut what I
was cognizant of was that I was awakened by a sound on the window.

A
familiar tap
.

I
got
up from bed and saw the shadowy figure of a man precariously balancing himself on the ledge.

W
ow
! Finn was taking this godfather thing to the extreme, I thought. Perhaps, his idea of taking care of his future godson was checking up on the baby’s mother throughout her pregnancy. It was just last night when he was there on the sill. Would he be doing this every single night, I wondered?

I
quickly walked
towards the window. I had to let him in as soon as possible, least he lose his balance again and fall to the ground once more. He was lucky to have escaped without any kind of serious injury last night. He may not be as lucky that evening. Sure, he was athletic and all, but when it comes to balancing and stuff, he was kind of a klutz. He’s not good at it. He wasn’t Nash.

H
e wasn’t Nash
...

B
efore I could even open
the glass pane, I got a better glimpse of the man outside.

I
t wasn’t Finn
.

H
e was leaner
. He was perched on the sill with a lot of confidence and grace. And... and...

H
e was wearing a hoodie
.

I
pulled
up the glass panels and I saw him.

A
nd my heart
exploded out of my chest. For a few seconds, I was breathless. My hands started to tremble. My knees became so weak that I almost collapsed on the floor. Tears started to roll down from my eyes.

E
xultation
.

H
orror
.

E
uphoria
.

P
aranoia
.

E
xuberance
.

T
repidation
.

M
yriad emotions
, all conflicting with each other, flooded my being. I wanted to believe that it was him. I
so
wanted to believe that it was him. But that was impossible. That was
very
impossible.

Y
et
, there he was, roosted on the ledge, his deep-set eyes looking straight into mine, his lips curling slowly into a smile.

“
Y
ou’re not dreaming
,” he calmly said. “I’m so sorry I’m late...”