untitled, but subtitled: nikki's shoujo billiards telenovela 1/?
i really did try to make this the reading level equivalent of a teenage romance pocketbook, so please don't be too disgusted. or laugh too hard in case i fail.
PS: I'M SORRY. i'm especially sorry to nikki, len, chris(sie), ms. punzalan and everybody else who's probably going to cameo in this thing at one point or another.
any likeness to persons living or dead may or may not be purely coincidental. honestly, guys, apart from the names, i don't think you'll find much effort to maintain a resemblance. i can assure you, however, that no malice was intended in the creation of this silly little thing.
please don't sue/kill me. let me know what needs fixing via email/text/comments and i'll fix it ^^
PPS: FIXING, THE GRAMMAR NEEDS. DOING IT, I AM. EVENTUALLY.
I like to say that I really like Maths. That's why I'm working so hard to get such good grades.
I used to be afraid that my friends would disown me if they knew the truth.
But some of them, like Chris and Len, have known me forever. And of course, even if I hide it, they'll catch on.
Just now Chris muttered "Heads up. Hot stuff passing through."
I may be busy erasing the blackboard, but not too busy to look out the door when Chris gave the signal.
It is hot stuff. It is very hot stuff. I have to admit, I'm glad Chris drew my attention to it. From where I'm standing it's the hottest stuff in the whole freaking school.
It's Dylan Aiba, the vice president of the Student Council at our high school. Also known as the coolest guy on campus.
Dylan is rich, handsome, and boy is he smart. While other girls pass the time by discussing his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his chiseled features, his long legs, his flawless Japanese mestizo skin, and/or his piercing light-brown eyes (trust me: I hear them talking about him all the time in the girls' bathroom, in-between classes, before and after classes... it's a bit surreal), I pass the time thinking about how smart he is, and how awesome it is that he sails through his studies so effortlessly.
Word on the street is that he only ran for vice president this year because he foresaw he was going to be too busy with other club activities, on top of getting all 90+ grades on his report card. If he didn't care so much about his academics, he would've run for president and won - that's how popular he is.
...Which is funny, because he really isn't a friendly guy. In fact, he gives off the air of being a Greek god - untouchable to the rest of us lowly mortals.
Or maybe a "diva" would be more appropriate? Boys like to say Dylan is a snob. Which he is, I'll have to admit.
That doesn't stop him being a cute snob!
"Hmph. That's not so hot," Len points out when he's passed.
I barely hear her because I'm too busy staring out the door at Dylan walking away.
"But it looks like someone disagrees!" Then I have to look at her, because her smirk comes across to me loud and clear.
Chris and Len snicker at me.
"See, Len? I knew it," Chris says proudly. "I've known it since last year."
"What are you guys talking about," I pretend to say indignantly. But I fail at indignation when I'm secretly relieved to know that my best friends can see right through me, after all.
"Come on, Nikki!" Len comes up to give me a pat on the back. "You can't keep any secrets from us. We've been friends since elementary school! We know who all your crushes are, we just want you to own up to them!"
"You do not know who all my crushes are," I argue. "I just admire him, okay? I mean, how can I not?"
Chris rolls her eyes. "Exactly. He's totally your type. Nikki, how many times have you fallen for the winner types?"
"Exactly! the winner types," Len exclaimed. "Just like..."
But Len knows me well enough to know that she shouldn't continue.
"Like...?"
"Nobody," Chris answers quickly. "Anyway, we've noticed that you act differently around him. You get all meek and shy. You aren't like that around other boys."
"...Well, maybe I do like him. A LITTLE," I emphasize. "But you know how it is, guys. Winner types like winner types, too. I don't stand a chance with a guy like that."
That doesn't stop me from trying, though!
Or, well... sort of trying. Chris is right, I instantly become shy and quiet-like when I'm around him.
Maybe it's just the serious aura he projects - it forces other people to be humble around him. I know he certainly has that same effect on a lot of other girls.
I knock nervously on the student council office door when I know he's inside.
"Come in," he says.
His voice is even cool and mature from behind a shut door! How many high school boys can you say that about!
I take a deep breath and step inside.
As I expected, he's sitting behind the student council desk, typing busily at a new laptop computer. It's a different model from the one I last saw him with - I guess he traded in the old one. Pretty sure he didn't even keep that one for a whole month.
"I just," I begin, "Miss Punzalan asked me to deliver these papers to the student council office."
"That's fine. Put them there." He gestures briefly to a spot at the big table his laptop is on.
I put them there. Then I summon my courage and hope for the best, as I say:
"Hey, I hear you got a 100 on your Math periodical. Congratulations!"
He looks up from the laptop at me, his eyes registering mild surprise. "You knew about that?"
"Oh..." How do I know about that again? "My friend Chris' older brother who's in your class told her, then she told me. Chris said her brother said your Math teacher is boasting to everybody about you being her student."
"Ah." The surprised look goes away as quickly as it came, and it's back to being stonefaced. "It was nothing."
NOTHING?!? Well, maybe for him! He's made it to the Math quiz bee nationals since he was a freshman. Teachers all over the region have said that he's a real natural.
NOTHING?!? I want to shout at him. Of course it's not "nothing"! It's great! Brilliant! There's nobody in school as cool and smart and special as he is! Someday I want to be as cool so maybe he'll notice me and ask me out so we can have cool intellectual math-type discussions together! Over a burger or fishballs or something! But I'm not that clueless, I know that'll only happen if I become as cool as he is. Which might not be for a while - or ever - but I don't mind, and I'm going to keep trying, because he's so worth the effort and he's just that cool okay!!!
But I take too long trying to figure out exactly how to say all that. He looks up at me again.
"Need anything else?" he asks. "I'm wrapping up here. I have to lock the office when I leave."
"H-huh?" I stammer. "Oh m-me too. Yeah. We gotta go. I mean, I gotta go. So... see you around?"
He raises an eyebrow. And completely ignores me from that point on.
I turn around and stride out the door feeling like a complete lunatic. I must have stared at him for something like TWENTY WHOLE MINUTES for him to notice me like that!!
And I just had to stammer as I said goodbye, to boot! If I'd only tripped over my own feet on my way out it would have been the perfect end to a perfect day!!
As soon as I'm safely out of sight, I breathe. It's about time I went home, too. I need to look unruffled and not blushing when Kuya Stephen comes to pick me up.
As I make the way back to our classroom, where I'll pick up my things before heading out to the gate, where Kuya Stephen will be on standby any time now, I think about what Chris and Len were saying. They were saying I went for winner types... like whom?
But I think I know the answer.
My name is Nikki.
Right now I'm an only child.
But I used to have an older brother.
His name was Roger, and he was six years older than me.
I really looked up to him. He made me laugh and taught me a lot of things... like how to defend myself from other, bigger kids who thought it might be fun to bully "the quiet girl."
When I was ten years old, and Kuya Roger was sixteen, he was killed.
He was walking home alone from a billiards hall late at night, and an unknown person stabbed him in the back several times. He still had his school uniform on.
He was dead before he reached the hospital.
Witnesses say they didn't see anything. But rumors circulated that Kuya Roger was killed because he was involved in some shady betting business.
You see, Kuya was an excellent billiards player. One of the best.
People came from all over to see him play. And, of course, to bet on games that he played in.
But he had plenty of admirers and friends. Kuya Roger was a cheerful guy, well-liked by everyone. It was hard to believe that anyone had killed him out of hatred.
If whoever killed him, had killed him bceause of billiards, it could have been for a number of reasons.
My older brother had a best friend named Stephen. He's a billiards champ too.
Kuya Stephen and my brother made a pact to rise to the top of the billiards world together. They were always challenging each other and daring each other to become better players.
When my brother died, people said Kuya Stephen should stop playing billiards. It would only land him in hot water, they said, just like my brother.
But Kuya Stephen hasn't given up. He quit school so he can play billiards for money. But since it doesn't earn him much to play, he also takes odd jobs, like helping out relatives at the wet market, or package delivery.
He has three younger siblings, and his father is out of work. So it's only himself and his mother earning. Between billiards and work, he hardly has any time to spend on his own, much less with his family.
But Kuya Stephen still takes me to and from school every day.
"What took you so long?" is his acidic greeting. "Hurry up, I got a game!"
Kuya Stephen is usually hassling me for one reason or another. Usually he needs to get to a game or to his job or to a family member who needs his help, so "move your ass!" is a common greeting for him.
I understand how much he goes through for his family, of course, so I never get upset. In fact, i welcome the chance to snark at somebody on a daily basis.
"Why rush? You're going to lose, anyway." I snap on the spare helmet and jump onto the space behind him on the seat.
"As long as you're not coming to watch, I'm going to win." He starts up his motorcycle's engine.
I wrap my arms around Kuya Stephen's waist, and hold on tight. What a loser, I think affectionately. He's really good, but since my brother passed away, and he quit school, six years ago, he hasn't been in top form.
Maybe it's because working so much takes a lot of his energy and concentration. It isn't easy for him to provide for his family, either.
I know this for a fact, because he never stops grousing about how difficult his younger siblings are and how sick his mother always is and how his father keeps blowing all the household allowance on drink.
He likes to tell me not to come and watch his games, because I'm his "bad luck charm"... but he often wins when I'm there, so I know this is really just a crazy pet name.
"Is it a big game?" I ask. "A lot at stake?"
"Big," he agrees. "Rich boy from the other side of town. People say he's cleaned out all the money players in his side, so he's branching out, looking for new territory to take over."
Kuya Stephen always smells like sunlight and sweat and soap and a bit of the last thing he delivered. Today, it seems to have been fish paste.
Or something equally fermented.
"Yu~ck," I remark. "You'll face him smelling like fish paste?"
"I can't help it!" he yelled. "I already scrubbed down twice, okay? The smell won't come off! He'll have to stand it if he really wants my money."
A red light. Kuya Stephen slows to a stop, then smells the front of his shirt. He doesn't smell too bad, he definitely knows how to keep clean - I just like making him do that.
"I don't get it," I muse aloud. "You say he's rich? Why would he want your money? You barely have any!"
Kuya Stephen shrugs. "You know it's never just about the money," he reminds me.
I nod. I've been to too many games with Kuya Stephen and Kuya Roger: I know it too well.
Green light. Kuya Stephen starts up the engine again.
"Anyway, this one seems to be a real character. Won't meet up except for a schedule he sets, and says he can't play before 6 pm. Seto's guessing he either has an office job, or studying." He chuckles. "Classic cushy brat, if you ask me."
"Why does Kuya Seto need to guess what he does?"
"Ah well..." He hesitates. "Seto says he's not a big talker. So people don't know much about him. Just comes in for games and leaves, I hear."
Weird.
But no matter how weird this new opponent seems to be, Kuya Stephen never turns down money games.
"Did you hear me earlier? I said don't go to today's game!" he snaps over his shoulder. "My mother needs cash for her medicine, so I have to win, no joke. I'll play him for double."
"If you lose, you have to pay him double, and then your mother really won't have cash for her medicine," I snap back, "idiot."
"I won't lose!!" he cries. He accelerates round a corner, pretending to be mad. I bite back a laugh and hold on tighter to him, pretending to be scared.
to be continued
PS: I'M SORRY. i'm especially sorry to nikki, len, chris(sie), ms. punzalan and everybody else who's probably going to cameo in this thing at one point or another.
any likeness to persons living or dead may or may not be purely coincidental. honestly, guys, apart from the names, i don't think you'll find much effort to maintain a resemblance. i can assure you, however, that no malice was intended in the creation of this silly little thing.
please don't sue/kill me. let me know what needs fixing via email/text/comments and i'll fix it ^^
PPS: FIXING, THE GRAMMAR NEEDS. DOING IT, I AM. EVENTUALLY.
I like to say that I really like Maths. That's why I'm working so hard to get such good grades.
I used to be afraid that my friends would disown me if they knew the truth.
But some of them, like Chris and Len, have known me forever. And of course, even if I hide it, they'll catch on.
Just now Chris muttered "Heads up. Hot stuff passing through."
I may be busy erasing the blackboard, but not too busy to look out the door when Chris gave the signal.
It is hot stuff. It is very hot stuff. I have to admit, I'm glad Chris drew my attention to it. From where I'm standing it's the hottest stuff in the whole freaking school.
It's Dylan Aiba, the vice president of the Student Council at our high school. Also known as the coolest guy on campus.
Dylan is rich, handsome, and boy is he smart. While other girls pass the time by discussing his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his chiseled features, his long legs, his flawless Japanese mestizo skin, and/or his piercing light-brown eyes (trust me: I hear them talking about him all the time in the girls' bathroom, in-between classes, before and after classes... it's a bit surreal), I pass the time thinking about how smart he is, and how awesome it is that he sails through his studies so effortlessly.
Word on the street is that he only ran for vice president this year because he foresaw he was going to be too busy with other club activities, on top of getting all 90+ grades on his report card. If he didn't care so much about his academics, he would've run for president and won - that's how popular he is.
...Which is funny, because he really isn't a friendly guy. In fact, he gives off the air of being a Greek god - untouchable to the rest of us lowly mortals.
Or maybe a "diva" would be more appropriate? Boys like to say Dylan is a snob. Which he is, I'll have to admit.
That doesn't stop him being a cute snob!
"Hmph. That's not so hot," Len points out when he's passed.
I barely hear her because I'm too busy staring out the door at Dylan walking away.
"But it looks like someone disagrees!" Then I have to look at her, because her smirk comes across to me loud and clear.
Chris and Len snicker at me.
"See, Len? I knew it," Chris says proudly. "I've known it since last year."
"What are you guys talking about," I pretend to say indignantly. But I fail at indignation when I'm secretly relieved to know that my best friends can see right through me, after all.
"Come on, Nikki!" Len comes up to give me a pat on the back. "You can't keep any secrets from us. We've been friends since elementary school! We know who all your crushes are, we just want you to own up to them!"
"You do not know who all my crushes are," I argue. "I just admire him, okay? I mean, how can I not?"
Chris rolls her eyes. "Exactly. He's totally your type. Nikki, how many times have you fallen for the winner types?"
"Exactly! the winner types," Len exclaimed. "Just like..."
But Len knows me well enough to know that she shouldn't continue.
"Like...?"
"Nobody," Chris answers quickly. "Anyway, we've noticed that you act differently around him. You get all meek and shy. You aren't like that around other boys."
"...Well, maybe I do like him. A LITTLE," I emphasize. "But you know how it is, guys. Winner types like winner types, too. I don't stand a chance with a guy like that."
That doesn't stop me from trying, though!
Or, well... sort of trying. Chris is right, I instantly become shy and quiet-like when I'm around him.
Maybe it's just the serious aura he projects - it forces other people to be humble around him. I know he certainly has that same effect on a lot of other girls.
I knock nervously on the student council office door when I know he's inside.
"Come in," he says.
His voice is even cool and mature from behind a shut door! How many high school boys can you say that about!
I take a deep breath and step inside.
As I expected, he's sitting behind the student council desk, typing busily at a new laptop computer. It's a different model from the one I last saw him with - I guess he traded in the old one. Pretty sure he didn't even keep that one for a whole month.
"I just," I begin, "Miss Punzalan asked me to deliver these papers to the student council office."
"That's fine. Put them there." He gestures briefly to a spot at the big table his laptop is on.
I put them there. Then I summon my courage and hope for the best, as I say:
"Hey, I hear you got a 100 on your Math periodical. Congratulations!"
He looks up from the laptop at me, his eyes registering mild surprise. "You knew about that?"
"Oh..." How do I know about that again? "My friend Chris' older brother who's in your class told her, then she told me. Chris said her brother said your Math teacher is boasting to everybody about you being her student."
"Ah." The surprised look goes away as quickly as it came, and it's back to being stonefaced. "It was nothing."
NOTHING?!? Well, maybe for him! He's made it to the Math quiz bee nationals since he was a freshman. Teachers all over the region have said that he's a real natural.
NOTHING?!? I want to shout at him. Of course it's not "nothing"! It's great! Brilliant! There's nobody in school as cool and smart and special as he is! Someday I want to be as cool so maybe he'll notice me and ask me out so we can have cool intellectual math-type discussions together! Over a burger or fishballs or something! But I'm not that clueless, I know that'll only happen if I become as cool as he is. Which might not be for a while - or ever - but I don't mind, and I'm going to keep trying, because he's so worth the effort and he's just that cool okay!!!
But I take too long trying to figure out exactly how to say all that. He looks up at me again.
"Need anything else?" he asks. "I'm wrapping up here. I have to lock the office when I leave."
"H-huh?" I stammer. "Oh m-me too. Yeah. We gotta go. I mean, I gotta go. So... see you around?"
He raises an eyebrow. And completely ignores me from that point on.
I turn around and stride out the door feeling like a complete lunatic. I must have stared at him for something like TWENTY WHOLE MINUTES for him to notice me like that!!
And I just had to stammer as I said goodbye, to boot! If I'd only tripped over my own feet on my way out it would have been the perfect end to a perfect day!!
As soon as I'm safely out of sight, I breathe. It's about time I went home, too. I need to look unruffled and not blushing when Kuya Stephen comes to pick me up.
As I make the way back to our classroom, where I'll pick up my things before heading out to the gate, where Kuya Stephen will be on standby any time now, I think about what Chris and Len were saying. They were saying I went for winner types... like whom?
But I think I know the answer.
My name is Nikki.
Right now I'm an only child.
But I used to have an older brother.
His name was Roger, and he was six years older than me.
I really looked up to him. He made me laugh and taught me a lot of things... like how to defend myself from other, bigger kids who thought it might be fun to bully "the quiet girl."
When I was ten years old, and Kuya Roger was sixteen, he was killed.
He was walking home alone from a billiards hall late at night, and an unknown person stabbed him in the back several times. He still had his school uniform on.
He was dead before he reached the hospital.
Witnesses say they didn't see anything. But rumors circulated that Kuya Roger was killed because he was involved in some shady betting business.
You see, Kuya was an excellent billiards player. One of the best.
People came from all over to see him play. And, of course, to bet on games that he played in.
But he had plenty of admirers and friends. Kuya Roger was a cheerful guy, well-liked by everyone. It was hard to believe that anyone had killed him out of hatred.
If whoever killed him, had killed him bceause of billiards, it could have been for a number of reasons.
My older brother had a best friend named Stephen. He's a billiards champ too.
Kuya Stephen and my brother made a pact to rise to the top of the billiards world together. They were always challenging each other and daring each other to become better players.
When my brother died, people said Kuya Stephen should stop playing billiards. It would only land him in hot water, they said, just like my brother.
But Kuya Stephen hasn't given up. He quit school so he can play billiards for money. But since it doesn't earn him much to play, he also takes odd jobs, like helping out relatives at the wet market, or package delivery.
He has three younger siblings, and his father is out of work. So it's only himself and his mother earning. Between billiards and work, he hardly has any time to spend on his own, much less with his family.
But Kuya Stephen still takes me to and from school every day.
"What took you so long?" is his acidic greeting. "Hurry up, I got a game!"
Kuya Stephen is usually hassling me for one reason or another. Usually he needs to get to a game or to his job or to a family member who needs his help, so "move your ass!" is a common greeting for him.
I understand how much he goes through for his family, of course, so I never get upset. In fact, i welcome the chance to snark at somebody on a daily basis.
"Why rush? You're going to lose, anyway." I snap on the spare helmet and jump onto the space behind him on the seat.
"As long as you're not coming to watch, I'm going to win." He starts up his motorcycle's engine.
I wrap my arms around Kuya Stephen's waist, and hold on tight. What a loser, I think affectionately. He's really good, but since my brother passed away, and he quit school, six years ago, he hasn't been in top form.
Maybe it's because working so much takes a lot of his energy and concentration. It isn't easy for him to provide for his family, either.
I know this for a fact, because he never stops grousing about how difficult his younger siblings are and how sick his mother always is and how his father keeps blowing all the household allowance on drink.
He likes to tell me not to come and watch his games, because I'm his "bad luck charm"... but he often wins when I'm there, so I know this is really just a crazy pet name.
"Is it a big game?" I ask. "A lot at stake?"
"Big," he agrees. "Rich boy from the other side of town. People say he's cleaned out all the money players in his side, so he's branching out, looking for new territory to take over."
Kuya Stephen always smells like sunlight and sweat and soap and a bit of the last thing he delivered. Today, it seems to have been fish paste.
Or something equally fermented.
"Yu~ck," I remark. "You'll face him smelling like fish paste?"
"I can't help it!" he yelled. "I already scrubbed down twice, okay? The smell won't come off! He'll have to stand it if he really wants my money."
A red light. Kuya Stephen slows to a stop, then smells the front of his shirt. He doesn't smell too bad, he definitely knows how to keep clean - I just like making him do that.
"I don't get it," I muse aloud. "You say he's rich? Why would he want your money? You barely have any!"
Kuya Stephen shrugs. "You know it's never just about the money," he reminds me.
I nod. I've been to too many games with Kuya Stephen and Kuya Roger: I know it too well.
Green light. Kuya Stephen starts up the engine again.
"Anyway, this one seems to be a real character. Won't meet up except for a schedule he sets, and says he can't play before 6 pm. Seto's guessing he either has an office job, or studying." He chuckles. "Classic cushy brat, if you ask me."
"Why does Kuya Seto need to guess what he does?"
"Ah well..." He hesitates. "Seto says he's not a big talker. So people don't know much about him. Just comes in for games and leaves, I hear."
Weird.
But no matter how weird this new opponent seems to be, Kuya Stephen never turns down money games.
"Did you hear me earlier? I said don't go to today's game!" he snaps over his shoulder. "My mother needs cash for her medicine, so I have to win, no joke. I'll play him for double."
"If you lose, you have to pay him double, and then your mother really won't have cash for her medicine," I snap back, "idiot."
"I won't lose!!" he cries. He accelerates round a corner, pretending to be mad. I bite back a laugh and hold on tighter to him, pretending to be scared.
to be continued