Girls' Night Out
Girls' Night Out
Author: Mushroom
Author's Notes: Something new and different. Official short story for Sir Flores' Creative Writing class.
Summary: For the first time ever, Claire de Guzman joins Vanessa and her friends in their famous Girls' Night Out.
Claire quickly grasped the opportunity when they invited her to join them in their exclusive Friday, night-time gimmick. They had to accomplish a group report about the Casimir effect, among other Physics theories, and a wholly academic, intellectually-stimulating night-out was the perfect time to discuss their upcoming presentation. Vanessa came up with the whole idea of dealing with their report in a famous café near their school, and she looked so beautiful then-her lips curved upwards, her eyes shaped as brilliant crescent moons-that Claire de Guzman said yes, calling herself a lucky girl.
Finally, Physics class was over. Claire’s newfound friends giggled past her desk, saying that they should freshen up in the comfort room. Claire shoved her schoolbooks in a faded brown shoulder bag, which was also frayed (fashionably, her brain insisted) at the edges. Her thin wallet was lodged between her face towel and pencil case, and she took one last peek at it before closing her bag and following suit.
Vanessa and her friends had an odd habit of locking the girls’ bathroom once they were all inside, so that nobody else could enter. A year ago Claire was one of the unfortunate girls who were forced to wait outside, crossing their legs in pain, until Vanessa’s group was done with their primping.
The comfort room seemed different now that she was actually inside with Vanessa and the other girls. The walls were higher, leaning over their heads, and the air held a scent of pricey perfumes.
“I’m glad we’re friends now, sweetie.” Vanessa informed her, and she even offered to style Claire’s hair to prove her pleasure. Vanessa was three inches shorter than Claire, so she asked her to lean forward and place her hands on the sink. “I was afraid that you’d be stuck alone forever. I always wondered what you were really like, reading those humongous fantasy books that smelled like burnt socks and granny panties.”
The other girls snickered.
“I borrowed them from the library,” Claire supplied, squirming in place.
Vanessa let out a short laugh. “I was kidding, sheesh! But at least you’re actually taking me seriously. You never really noticed me, even when I was practically dancing in front of you.” She brushed Claire’s hair gently, using a roller brush to curl the tips inward. “I liked the cover of the last one, though. The one with the cute fairy.”
“Tithe by Holly Black,” Claire whispered, and warmth slowly tiptoed across her chest when Vanessa smiled in recognizance.
“Yeah, that one.” Vanessa nodded, and she squeezed Claire’s shoulders. “There, I’m done.”
Claire’s hair was straight but wavy at the edges, and it oftentimes annoyed her when the tips pointed upward during a windy day. Vanessa’s hair was faultless, however; she had long, straight hair with wispy, red-hazel bangs above her perfectly plucked eyebrows. Ann, Camille, and Diane were there as well, with similar rebonded hairdos. They all stared at the mirror, smiling and winking at their other selves, except the other Claire looked anxious, frightened.
“Let’s go.” said Vanessa.
They walked to their destination, on a cramped, uneven sidewalk decorated with candy wrappers, colourful plastic bags and the occasional cigarette butt. The night was moonless and only a few stars bedecked the sky; they were either swallowed by dark, midnight-blue clouds, or covered by towering buildings and blinking signboards.
“Shouldn’t we get a tricycle?” asked Ann, eyeing the crowd. It was rush time, and all sorts of people were hurrying to the jeepney terminal, eager to go home. They could not afford to be courteous if they wanted to arrive on time, so the girls were being rammed by random elbows, shoulders, and handbags.
“I want to pee,” added Diane, who was already skipping in place, her face contorted in frustration.
“But we already passed the station! I don’t want to go back,” Vanessa said, “We just had our hair done, too.”
“I don’t see the connection,” Ann argued.
“Really now, I’m astonished at your lack of faith in me this evening. It’s not like I’m taking you to a bar or to Hotel Sogo. Lighten up.” Vanessa looked at her pointedly, and Camille snorted.
“I just think we should be careful,” said Ann, a little put out, but the rest of the girls were already moving so the question was ultimately ignored.
Claire held her bag close to her chest, mindful of the curious-or suspicious-stares of the passers-by, because that was what her mother taught her. Claire’s bag contained her most important possessions: her notebooks filled with immaculate handwriting, her wallet crammed with formal photos of smiling classmates plus a small picture of Vanessa, and her cellular phone. Her brother already lost two cellular phones; his first phone was snatched away from his hands while the second one was taken at knifepoint at a murky alleyway near his college. Claire’s brother was scolded for his carelessness, and her mother held a family meeting over dinner one slow evening, stating the obvious with a slightly worried tone: that the city was a bad, dirty place, teeming with bad, dirty people.
And the city was filled with all sorts of dirty kids with unkempt hair and scary men with dark, bottomless eyes and yellow teeth, whose voices cracked with something more than mere physical hunger. The way to the coffee shop featured these sorts of people, so the girls huddled close together. Camille was tall and had broad shoulders, so she lead the group, eyes darting to the left and right, wary of suspicious-looking people and fast motorcycles. Claire urged herself to stare at Vanessa’s pretty barette, but the filthy figures wrapped in things representative of garbage continued to be distracting, even if they were just sleeping on fruit carts, oblivious to the mass of schoolgirls walking past.
It was already eight when they caught sight of the coffee shop’s sign overhead-a beaming siren with twin tails, drawn with wavy white lines on a green and black background.
“Never again,” huffed Ann, “Will we walk all the way to this place.”
Claire silently approved. The walk made her uncomfortable.
In contrast, the coffee shop definitely looked inviting. Students from other schools left the shop carrying coffee cups wrapped in cardboard, looking very relaxed, while a band of teenagers sporting trendy clothes entered, like paper dolls cut out from glossy magazine covers. There were rows of square tables outside the café, taken by people with cigarettes. Ominous, white smoke hovered above their noses like mist.
This time Vanessa led the way, after straightening her blouse and skirt.
“Stop clinging on each other like a bunch of idiots,” she said, but her voice shook with edginess. “It’s really fun inside. They have big couches were we can lounge in, and the drinks are delicious. I always hang out here. I stay outside though, because daddy smokes.”
“I hate smoke.” Ann wrinkled her nose, waving imaginary swirls of smoke away from her face. Claire was getting fed up with her complaining, even if she did agree with her most of the time; it was her nasal tone that made it hard to bear, and the fact that she was so antagonistic when it came to Vanessa.
“We’ll stay inside. Besides, we need the quiet. Claire’s going to help us, aren’t you, Claire?” Vanessa looked at Claire expectantly.
Claire managed to find a smile to show her, dug up from the recesses of her head, even if her jaw ached. Vanessa’s cheerful demeanor was contagious, and she was known to make even the strictest, most indocile teacher crack a slight smile.
The door made a jingling sound as they went inside. Suddenly, Claire felt very conscious of her navy blue plaid skirt and crumpled blouse as twenty heads turned to their direction. Curious, judging eyes crushed the remnants of her confidence, and she held on to her bag with fear; it was as if she had only woken up and realized that there were other places in Earth besides home and school.
However, in that alternate, mind-boggling universe, Vanessa walked on proudly. She perked up when she found an unoccupied table, one surrounded by warm, inviting sofas. They tried not scurry towards it, but Diane needed the comfort room, and Camille needed to drop her laptop on something soft, as it was hell on her shoulder blades.
Claire looked around her with blatant interest; she never knew coffee shops were quite large and well-decorated. Tall shelves near the entrance featuring all sorts of thick mugs in maroon, blue, white and red colors, a variety of tumblers with bright, vibrant designs, and packaged brown bags of whole and pre-ground beans. The walls were chocolate brown, decorated with square, frameless paintings, but on their side the wall was fully painted with abstract shapes and fancy, yet unreadable writing. The ceiling was high but the lamps were long, gravitating towards their heads, and they offered a soft, golden light.
Light music lulled Claire’s ears into a sense of security and home. It was a chill-out bossanova tune, an eclectic mix of percussions and guitar strings plucked by gifted fingers. The singer had a melodious, syrupy voice, and Claire felt like she could relax in the coffee shop with no worries. One glance at Camille as she prepared her laptop brought her back to the real world, where numbers scribbled on report cards were of great importance. This thought made Claire quite depressed.
Several people dined in round, checkered tables beside them, murmuring to themselves. Many businessmen who dined alone were reading the local newspapers, arms outstretched. She noticed that the headlines featured a recent calamity that seemed a million light-years away.
Meanwhile, a group of college students were chatting animatedly at their right, while at their left a couple shared one espresso cup, staring at the laptop screen in front of them. For a coffee shop it was quite jam-packed and noisy; Claire had the impression that they were usually silent, only frequented by lonely old men and solemn artists or writers. It was a comforting sort of noise, though, because there was something very business-like in the customer’s hushed voices, something very mature and urgent in their expressions. It made her feel better.
“So,” said Camille, gathering her courage, “Who’s going to order first?”
“You guys go ahead,” said Vanessa. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Claire blindly searched for the menu on the table, so she was surprised to see the choices on the wall behind the bar. “I’ll stay, too. Uh, I haven’t been here before.”
Diane shrugged and they walked away. Claire watched them leave, and then her eyes lingered on the pastries displayed on the glass counter. They looked quite delectable even if they were only small, colorful bits of sugar. Her mouth watered; it was time for dinner, after all.
“This place is great, isn’t it?” Vanessa crossed her legs and raised her arms, resting them on the arms of the sofa. “For many people, it’s a great place to chat with friends, catch up on the latest news, and indulge on some really delicious baked goods while sipping on a great cup of their famous coffee.” Her voice carried on, catching the attention of the regulars surrounding their table. “When their first branch in the city opened my older friends and I lined up just to be the first ones in-you remember Joshua and Kenneth, right?”
Joshua and Kenneth were from the exclusive all-boy’s school right across theirs, and Vanessa loved narrating her adventures with the two rascals. They went to different places every week, and both boys even managed to take Vanessa to Pampanga in just one day. Claire only met them once, at the chapel beside their school. To Claire they were typical, arrogant men, and she especially hated the way they would wrap their arms round Vanessa’s waist when she wasn’t aware of it. They were practically manhandling her.
“Yeah, they were with me. It was a grand opening, with ribbon-cutting and lots of free stuff. Joshua treated me to coffee. It was great. Best thing ever.”
“What did he get you?” asked Claire, immediately planning to order the same thing.
“Oh, I forgot. It was an iced something. Oh, here comes Ann and the others. Let’s go, then?” Vanessa took her wallet, a black leather Girbaud, and circled her arm round Claire’s elbow, tugging her along.
Claire allowed herself to be pulled until they reached the bar, and when the baristas greeted them with linear, toothless smiles she lowered her head and stared at the counter. Her eyes feasted on a wide variety of pastries and confections displayed in glass cases: large, homemade chocolate chip cookies, fresh bagels, flavoured muffins and fruit scones were neatly stacked on shallow baskets, while several coffee cakes were laid on plastic trays. They were scrumptious desserts, but the prices attached to their containers made her choke on her own spit. Claire quickly scanned the menu after recovering, only to find out that there were no rice meals. She grunted in disappointment.
Vanessa leaned forward, tapping her nose, while the tall, male barista with a black apron looked at her keenly, nodding as she spoke. “I’ll have the Iced Caffè Mocha with um, Toffee Nut Crème, please.” The barista repeated her order, and glanced at Claire, who was still ogling the menu written with multicolored chalk.
Vanessa coughed and then let out a soft, guarded laugh that seemed to Claire as if it slowly hiked up her throat and wriggled out of her lips. Claire’s face became red in an instant, so she groped around her bag, trying to find the familiar, reassuring warmth of her wallet. The barista was looking at her like a cat about to pounce on a fluffy, small catnip toy.
“I’m not sure.” She took out her wallet and gripped it tightly. Her brain was in a crisis. She wanted to make sure but she couldn’t, not in front of the expectant baristas and Vanessa. She opted to buy a glass of mango juice instead, as it was the only familiar beverage she could get, and even ended up buying two raspberry muffins to satisfy her tetchy stomach. She barely noticed that she had no change, and that her wallet was bare.
They returned to their table just in time to hear the others engage in a lively conversation that consisted of gossiping, laughing, and gulping down caffeinated drinks between chuckles. All traces of nervousness the three girls had shown earlier disappeared as they grinned into their cups.
The chosen victim of their gossip session was Ms. Garcia, their fifty-year-old Physics teacher who had a tuft of gray hair on her upper lip, which to the students explained everything about her and her existence. Ms. Garcia was also the culprit behind the group presentation that was due next week. Camille’s laptop was open, plugged to the wall, and Claire peered at the screen. It showed a picture of a handsome Caucasian man strolling on a beach, wearing nothing but khaki shorts.
“I bet she dumps all her anger at us because she’s unmarried.” Camille pouted, scanning the other pictures from a folder entitled ‘Chad Michael Murray’.
“But she has a son, right?”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yes,” said Ann. “She said that her son drank a glass of poisonous liquid used in insect-killing sprays. It was really morbid, but he managed to survive. And that’s when they finally patched things up with his elusive father. She said it to encourage us, to continue to dream, crap like that.”
“That’s supposed to be a heart-warming story? It’s stupid.” Diane snorted.
“And impossible,” Camille added. “Her son should’ve died immediately. It’s just a bunch of nonsense. She’s probably senile.”
“Why,” interrupted Claire, “are we talking about Ms. Garcia and her illegitimate lovechild?”
“Because her personal life is more interesting than the rest of her?” Vanessa piped in, and they all laughed. Claire could not help but agree; she loved the subject, but their teacher was mind-numbing and insisted on using shabby manila paper with coffee stains. It was more fun to exchange notes in class than to listen to her lectures about magnetism, Claire thought, and she hated herself for realizing it too late. High school was supposed to be the happiest time of your life, because you could act like all grown-up but not worry about life and all its dreary seriousness, but she had wasted three years thinking about the future. Her future. Not anymore, Claire thought, and she grinned at the girls surrounding her, feeling loved.
“So, shall we begin? I’m not sure if we should discuss the Casimir effect though, it seems dreadfully complicated. We can talk about the common stuff, like Electromagnetism, but to make our report more interesting, we can make a play. What do you guys think?” Claire asked, bringing out her notes, and began writing her plans furiously. She only stopped two minutes later when she realized that her friends were staring at her.
Claire blushed. “I’m sorry, I thought that maybe we should collect our ideas first.”
“It’s alright, Claire,” soothed Vanessa, patting her shoulder. “It’s just that it’s too early, you know?” Her smile visibly widened when Claire looked at her blankly. “I mean, it’s too early to plan our report. The presentation’s next week, so we don’t need to worry.”
“But I thought we were going to work.” Claire felt something cold and bitter creep across her chest, a feeling she associated with dismay.
Vanessa shook her head, and this time the other girls were smiling unevenly as well. “No, no, sweetie. The group presentation can wait. For now, we can just hang out. Come on, it’s Friday night! You’re part of our group now, and as everyone knows, we spend Friday nights scouring the city for a good time. It’s about time you had fun, Claire.”
Claire gestured towards Camille’s laptop. “And that?”
“For entertainment purposes,” Camille clarified, and true enough, she opened another folder filled with photos of Hollywood stars.
Claire knew that they shouldn’t procrastinate and rush things a day before the deadline, but she couldn’t say no to fun and the girls. She definitely did not want to be a wet blanket. It was her first night-out, after all. She inhaled deeply, and then said, “Okay, so what do we do now? What do you guys do during Girls’ Night?”
“That’s the spirit, Claire!” Ann tore her gaze from the laptop screen, and then she cleared her throat. “Anyway, Girls’ Night Out is a time when we go to a cool place, stuff ourselves with food, and talk about random people. We already took the liberty of beginning the Girls’ Night session a while ago, when we opened the topic about Ms. Garcia.”
“Basically I give a name, and we talk about that person? That’s it?”
The girls nodded. “We provide our insights, talk about his or her clothes. It’s like this really opinionated conversation,” said Diane. “And since you’re the new girl, we give you the privilege to give us the second name of the night. Come on, give us a name!”
Claire could not stop herself; the name was just begging to be released from her parched lips. She couldn’t remember how many times she uttered that name after every sigh, in a hushed whisper that resonated in the bedroom she shared with her siblings. She did not even need to stop and consider other options.
“Vanessa.”
The other girls blinked. Vanessa leaned forward, curiosity creeping across her face. Claire suddenly felt braver. “Come on, let’s talk about Vanessa.”
“Why?” Diane asked, looking sideways at the subject of their chat. “She’s here, beside me, if you haven’t noticed. Or are you telling us a crazy metaphor or something?”
“You told me to give you a name, and I did. I want to know what you guys think of Vanessa.”
“An open forum,” Camille breathed, and Claire nodded. “Hey, that sounds like a great idea. Open forums were banned in class for some reason, right?”
Vanessa’s head was bowed. She was staring at her cellular phone. “I thereby declare this Girls’ Night as Open Forum Night,” she said gently. “Fire away.”
The café started to be really full and noisy, so the girls had to raise their voices if they wanted to hear each other. Nevertheless, it was the opportune moment to exchange secrets, because no one was listening. Claire smiled, proud that she was able to contribute something to their special night.
“Vanessa’s fine, what is there to talk about?” asked Camille, looking bored.
“Well, I think Vanessa leads a perfect, enviable life.” Diane began, and her voice was shaking. “She knows a lot of boys.”
No, she only has two male friends, Claire corrected in her head, but she remained quiet.
“Yeah, but sometimes it’s just too much, you know?” said Ann as she swallowed a mouthful of her iced Caffé Americano, which was only just dark coffee with whipped cream. “No offense, Vanessa, but aren’t you being too flirty with them and stuff? You always mention them, too, like they’re your boyfriends. I mean sure, it’s really cool that you have these guys all over you, but sometimes I feel like you’re rubbing it in. I’m not jealous or anything. I’m just worried about how your other friends feel.”
The atmosphere seemed like Manila traffic-suddenly, every car, jeepney and bus halted, every road in the city was clogged, and there was no way to clear the mess.
“I get hurt when you boss me around, Vanessa,” said Camille, and she avoided the pointy glare Claire shot at her, “I know you don’t mean it, but sometimes you can be overbearing. Sometimes. No offense meant, though.”
“You tend to have this bossy, arrogant side, I think.” Diane agreed. “It’s probably part of your nature.”
Vanessa did not leave her gaze on the cellular phone. In fact, it seemed like she was looking at it rather too intently, willing the screen to break. Claire could only look on, horrified at what she had started. “Wait, I thought we were supposed to talk about Vanessa’s good traits!” She demanded.
“Weren’t you listening to our Ms. Garcia bash-fest a while ago? We don’t just talk about the good stuff during Girls’ Night,” said Ann snippily. Suddenly Ann was not passive and reluctant; she straightened her back and looked at Claire with disdain. “What’s the point in that? I’m willing to hold criticism when it’s my turn under the spotlight. You have to be very frank when it comes to these discussions.”
“Well frankly, I think Vanessa’s awesome. She’s really talented and street-smart and experienced. You’re being too mean.” said Claire hotly, unable to pause and process the words spilling out her mouth. She knew she sounded foolish, but she was just so angry at herself for hurting Vanessa’s feelings.
Ann crossed her legs and sighed, making it very hard for Claire to fight the urge to stand up and shout at her. “Vanessa’s awesome, sure. I was just pointing out less-than-desirable factors of her personality. That’s what you do in open forums.”
“But you didn’t have to be so nasty.” Claire shot back.
“What’s with you? We didn’t mean any offense. Besides, she’s cool with it, right?” pressed Ann, and they all stared at Vanessa’s way. Her blank, unmoving eyes were glued to her cellular phone, and no hint of rage or depression was evident in her face.
“You say you don’t mean any offense, but I think that’s just a dumb excuse-“
“You’re the one who started it, anyway!” Ann looked furious by then. Camille looked at the two angry girls wildly, and then resorted to sipping her coffee in nervous silence.
“I-I didn’t want this night to be a Vanessa-bashing session!” Claire’s voice started to break. “Honestly, we shouldn’t do this, it’s like we’re ganging up on her!”
“What, so now you’re going to defend yourself?” Ann had her hands on the table, as if she wanted to stand up. “You started this, and you want to stop because it makes you look bad?”
“No, I didn’t-“
“Please, let’s talk about someone else,” urged Diane, finally getting a clue. She gestured expansively as sweat beads rolled down her cheek.
“Me next,” Ann announced, and her tone was determined. “I say we talk about Claire. Claire, Claire. No offense to her, but I think she’s being unfair and childish. I take it back, she’s the one who’s overbearing. Being all defensive, like she fancies Vanessa! No wait, it’s like she’s totally in love with her.” She finished triumphantly, giggling a bit at the end.
The café was jam-packed by the time an awkward silence reigned at their table. Ann’s giggle gradually died down, replaced by a regretful hiccup.
Claire closed her eyes tightly. She could see-or maybe feel-yellow and white lines between the darkness, and perhaps patches of red, like blood.
She opened them again to see Vanessa with a wide grin on her face.
“Oh my god, I think Ann’s drunk. What, caffeine makes you insane?”
A classic reaction that was Vanessa-flavored. In an instant, all the girls laughed. Camille tinkered with her laptop and soon enough the girls were too preoccupied to comment any further. Claire absently munched on her raspberry muffins while Ann, Diane, and Camille resumed their celebrity-viewing session, squealing when the picture was to their liking. Vanessa cheered on during the first ten minutes, but saw the look on Claire’s face and grew silent, checking the messages on her cellular phone.
“How’s the food?” she asked Claire.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you having fun?”
“I’m okay.”
Vanessa dropped the phone on her lap, and moved towards her. Claire looked up and thought that Vanessa had a beautiful, pert nose, only she’s known it before. She’s the only one who noticed things about Vanessa; her unseen idiosyncrasies, her assorted smiles, even the way she sipped her coffee-slow and unhurried, careful and conscious. Claire wrote her discoveries on every surface she could find, things like She smiles lopsidedly when she’s nervous and I don’t really know, but I think she hates high school.
She also knew that Vanessa did not, and will never, look at her the way she did. So it surprised her to see Vanessa’s searching, concerned eyes. Claire was now the subject of her inquisitive gaze, one that asked What is wrong with you, but she could not write it down.
“Please tell me you’re having fun, Claire.” Vanessa pleaded. “Please.”
Claire nodded. The muffins tasted like sawdust.
Fifteen minutes later, their beverages were consumed, but it was only after ten o’ clock when they realized that they had to go home or face the ire of their parents. Camille packed up her laptop, Diane made another trip to the comfort room, and Ann began telling jokes, to cover up her earlier cynicism.
Claire hid her hands on her pockets, fumbling. It was empty. Then she remembered where her wallet was, and almost breathed a sigh of relief, until she tasted the crumbs of the pastries in her mouth.
The taste of regret.
The girls rushed outside, tired and sleepy. Ann and Diane boarded a tricycle, while Camille headed to the FX terminal. They waved their goodbyes and claimed that they enjoyed their first Girl’s Night with Claire, that they learned a lot from her. She reminded them that they had to work on their Physics presentation. They merely laughed.
Claire looked around her. She saw the poor children, the beggars sleeping on fruit carts, and everyone else loitering outside the coffee shop, staring at the people found inside. She managed to stay inside for three hours, but she emerged and immediately reverted back to her old self.
Some events are just not life-changing, she thought.
Vanessa spoke up when the street children were out of sight.
“So, how was the mango juice?”
“Honestly, it…tasted like mango.”
Vanessa grinned. “At least it does! I remember buying mango juice in this posh restaurant last month. Tasted like bleah. I wasted eighty pesos on that crap.”
They both laughed happily, feeling very foolish for going to a cafe just for a drink. Claire remembered her predicament, however, and her smile wavered.
“Listen,” Vanessa pulled out Claire’s hand from her pocket, noting her bare palm. “I was an idiot back there, so let me make it up to you. You look tired, so let me take you home. We can work on the Physics presentation next week, during lunch period.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t-“
“You could. Think of it as a thank you for being with me tonight.”
The girls lingered under the waiting shed while Vanessa called her driver to come and pick them up. The coffee shop was still open; more people were arriving to grab their intense, frothy beverages; others worked on cramming their papers. The smiling mermaid twinkled behind Claire and Vanessa, trying to lure them back in.
Yet the girls pressed close together, looking ahead. Vanessa’s hand ghosted over Claire’s-fleetingly, like the memory of their first Girls’ Night together. Soon Vanessa’s car arrived, and all was forgotten.
Author: Mushroom
Author's Notes: Something new and different. Official short story for Sir Flores' Creative Writing class.
Summary: For the first time ever, Claire de Guzman joins Vanessa and her friends in their famous Girls' Night Out.
Claire quickly grasped the opportunity when they invited her to join them in their exclusive Friday, night-time gimmick. They had to accomplish a group report about the Casimir effect, among other Physics theories, and a wholly academic, intellectually-stimulating night-out was the perfect time to discuss their upcoming presentation. Vanessa came up with the whole idea of dealing with their report in a famous café near their school, and she looked so beautiful then-her lips curved upwards, her eyes shaped as brilliant crescent moons-that Claire de Guzman said yes, calling herself a lucky girl.
Finally, Physics class was over. Claire’s newfound friends giggled past her desk, saying that they should freshen up in the comfort room. Claire shoved her schoolbooks in a faded brown shoulder bag, which was also frayed (fashionably, her brain insisted) at the edges. Her thin wallet was lodged between her face towel and pencil case, and she took one last peek at it before closing her bag and following suit.
Vanessa and her friends had an odd habit of locking the girls’ bathroom once they were all inside, so that nobody else could enter. A year ago Claire was one of the unfortunate girls who were forced to wait outside, crossing their legs in pain, until Vanessa’s group was done with their primping.
The comfort room seemed different now that she was actually inside with Vanessa and the other girls. The walls were higher, leaning over their heads, and the air held a scent of pricey perfumes.
“I’m glad we’re friends now, sweetie.” Vanessa informed her, and she even offered to style Claire’s hair to prove her pleasure. Vanessa was three inches shorter than Claire, so she asked her to lean forward and place her hands on the sink. “I was afraid that you’d be stuck alone forever. I always wondered what you were really like, reading those humongous fantasy books that smelled like burnt socks and granny panties.”
The other girls snickered.
“I borrowed them from the library,” Claire supplied, squirming in place.
Vanessa let out a short laugh. “I was kidding, sheesh! But at least you’re actually taking me seriously. You never really noticed me, even when I was practically dancing in front of you.” She brushed Claire’s hair gently, using a roller brush to curl the tips inward. “I liked the cover of the last one, though. The one with the cute fairy.”
“Tithe by Holly Black,” Claire whispered, and warmth slowly tiptoed across her chest when Vanessa smiled in recognizance.
“Yeah, that one.” Vanessa nodded, and she squeezed Claire’s shoulders. “There, I’m done.”
Claire’s hair was straight but wavy at the edges, and it oftentimes annoyed her when the tips pointed upward during a windy day. Vanessa’s hair was faultless, however; she had long, straight hair with wispy, red-hazel bangs above her perfectly plucked eyebrows. Ann, Camille, and Diane were there as well, with similar rebonded hairdos. They all stared at the mirror, smiling and winking at their other selves, except the other Claire looked anxious, frightened.
“Let’s go.” said Vanessa.
They walked to their destination, on a cramped, uneven sidewalk decorated with candy wrappers, colourful plastic bags and the occasional cigarette butt. The night was moonless and only a few stars bedecked the sky; they were either swallowed by dark, midnight-blue clouds, or covered by towering buildings and blinking signboards.
“Shouldn’t we get a tricycle?” asked Ann, eyeing the crowd. It was rush time, and all sorts of people were hurrying to the jeepney terminal, eager to go home. They could not afford to be courteous if they wanted to arrive on time, so the girls were being rammed by random elbows, shoulders, and handbags.
“I want to pee,” added Diane, who was already skipping in place, her face contorted in frustration.
“But we already passed the station! I don’t want to go back,” Vanessa said, “We just had our hair done, too.”
“I don’t see the connection,” Ann argued.
“Really now, I’m astonished at your lack of faith in me this evening. It’s not like I’m taking you to a bar or to Hotel Sogo. Lighten up.” Vanessa looked at her pointedly, and Camille snorted.
“I just think we should be careful,” said Ann, a little put out, but the rest of the girls were already moving so the question was ultimately ignored.
Claire held her bag close to her chest, mindful of the curious-or suspicious-stares of the passers-by, because that was what her mother taught her. Claire’s bag contained her most important possessions: her notebooks filled with immaculate handwriting, her wallet crammed with formal photos of smiling classmates plus a small picture of Vanessa, and her cellular phone. Her brother already lost two cellular phones; his first phone was snatched away from his hands while the second one was taken at knifepoint at a murky alleyway near his college. Claire’s brother was scolded for his carelessness, and her mother held a family meeting over dinner one slow evening, stating the obvious with a slightly worried tone: that the city was a bad, dirty place, teeming with bad, dirty people.
And the city was filled with all sorts of dirty kids with unkempt hair and scary men with dark, bottomless eyes and yellow teeth, whose voices cracked with something more than mere physical hunger. The way to the coffee shop featured these sorts of people, so the girls huddled close together. Camille was tall and had broad shoulders, so she lead the group, eyes darting to the left and right, wary of suspicious-looking people and fast motorcycles. Claire urged herself to stare at Vanessa’s pretty barette, but the filthy figures wrapped in things representative of garbage continued to be distracting, even if they were just sleeping on fruit carts, oblivious to the mass of schoolgirls walking past.
It was already eight when they caught sight of the coffee shop’s sign overhead-a beaming siren with twin tails, drawn with wavy white lines on a green and black background.
“Never again,” huffed Ann, “Will we walk all the way to this place.”
Claire silently approved. The walk made her uncomfortable.
In contrast, the coffee shop definitely looked inviting. Students from other schools left the shop carrying coffee cups wrapped in cardboard, looking very relaxed, while a band of teenagers sporting trendy clothes entered, like paper dolls cut out from glossy magazine covers. There were rows of square tables outside the café, taken by people with cigarettes. Ominous, white smoke hovered above their noses like mist.
This time Vanessa led the way, after straightening her blouse and skirt.
“Stop clinging on each other like a bunch of idiots,” she said, but her voice shook with edginess. “It’s really fun inside. They have big couches were we can lounge in, and the drinks are delicious. I always hang out here. I stay outside though, because daddy smokes.”
“I hate smoke.” Ann wrinkled her nose, waving imaginary swirls of smoke away from her face. Claire was getting fed up with her complaining, even if she did agree with her most of the time; it was her nasal tone that made it hard to bear, and the fact that she was so antagonistic when it came to Vanessa.
“We’ll stay inside. Besides, we need the quiet. Claire’s going to help us, aren’t you, Claire?” Vanessa looked at Claire expectantly.
Claire managed to find a smile to show her, dug up from the recesses of her head, even if her jaw ached. Vanessa’s cheerful demeanor was contagious, and she was known to make even the strictest, most indocile teacher crack a slight smile.
The door made a jingling sound as they went inside. Suddenly, Claire felt very conscious of her navy blue plaid skirt and crumpled blouse as twenty heads turned to their direction. Curious, judging eyes crushed the remnants of her confidence, and she held on to her bag with fear; it was as if she had only woken up and realized that there were other places in Earth besides home and school.
However, in that alternate, mind-boggling universe, Vanessa walked on proudly. She perked up when she found an unoccupied table, one surrounded by warm, inviting sofas. They tried not scurry towards it, but Diane needed the comfort room, and Camille needed to drop her laptop on something soft, as it was hell on her shoulder blades.
Claire looked around her with blatant interest; she never knew coffee shops were quite large and well-decorated. Tall shelves near the entrance featuring all sorts of thick mugs in maroon, blue, white and red colors, a variety of tumblers with bright, vibrant designs, and packaged brown bags of whole and pre-ground beans. The walls were chocolate brown, decorated with square, frameless paintings, but on their side the wall was fully painted with abstract shapes and fancy, yet unreadable writing. The ceiling was high but the lamps were long, gravitating towards their heads, and they offered a soft, golden light.
Light music lulled Claire’s ears into a sense of security and home. It was a chill-out bossanova tune, an eclectic mix of percussions and guitar strings plucked by gifted fingers. The singer had a melodious, syrupy voice, and Claire felt like she could relax in the coffee shop with no worries. One glance at Camille as she prepared her laptop brought her back to the real world, where numbers scribbled on report cards were of great importance. This thought made Claire quite depressed.
Several people dined in round, checkered tables beside them, murmuring to themselves. Many businessmen who dined alone were reading the local newspapers, arms outstretched. She noticed that the headlines featured a recent calamity that seemed a million light-years away.
Meanwhile, a group of college students were chatting animatedly at their right, while at their left a couple shared one espresso cup, staring at the laptop screen in front of them. For a coffee shop it was quite jam-packed and noisy; Claire had the impression that they were usually silent, only frequented by lonely old men and solemn artists or writers. It was a comforting sort of noise, though, because there was something very business-like in the customer’s hushed voices, something very mature and urgent in their expressions. It made her feel better.
“So,” said Camille, gathering her courage, “Who’s going to order first?”
“You guys go ahead,” said Vanessa. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Claire blindly searched for the menu on the table, so she was surprised to see the choices on the wall behind the bar. “I’ll stay, too. Uh, I haven’t been here before.”
Diane shrugged and they walked away. Claire watched them leave, and then her eyes lingered on the pastries displayed on the glass counter. They looked quite delectable even if they were only small, colorful bits of sugar. Her mouth watered; it was time for dinner, after all.
“This place is great, isn’t it?” Vanessa crossed her legs and raised her arms, resting them on the arms of the sofa. “For many people, it’s a great place to chat with friends, catch up on the latest news, and indulge on some really delicious baked goods while sipping on a great cup of their famous coffee.” Her voice carried on, catching the attention of the regulars surrounding their table. “When their first branch in the city opened my older friends and I lined up just to be the first ones in-you remember Joshua and Kenneth, right?”
Joshua and Kenneth were from the exclusive all-boy’s school right across theirs, and Vanessa loved narrating her adventures with the two rascals. They went to different places every week, and both boys even managed to take Vanessa to Pampanga in just one day. Claire only met them once, at the chapel beside their school. To Claire they were typical, arrogant men, and she especially hated the way they would wrap their arms round Vanessa’s waist when she wasn’t aware of it. They were practically manhandling her.
“Yeah, they were with me. It was a grand opening, with ribbon-cutting and lots of free stuff. Joshua treated me to coffee. It was great. Best thing ever.”
“What did he get you?” asked Claire, immediately planning to order the same thing.
“Oh, I forgot. It was an iced something. Oh, here comes Ann and the others. Let’s go, then?” Vanessa took her wallet, a black leather Girbaud, and circled her arm round Claire’s elbow, tugging her along.
Claire allowed herself to be pulled until they reached the bar, and when the baristas greeted them with linear, toothless smiles she lowered her head and stared at the counter. Her eyes feasted on a wide variety of pastries and confections displayed in glass cases: large, homemade chocolate chip cookies, fresh bagels, flavoured muffins and fruit scones were neatly stacked on shallow baskets, while several coffee cakes were laid on plastic trays. They were scrumptious desserts, but the prices attached to their containers made her choke on her own spit. Claire quickly scanned the menu after recovering, only to find out that there were no rice meals. She grunted in disappointment.
Vanessa leaned forward, tapping her nose, while the tall, male barista with a black apron looked at her keenly, nodding as she spoke. “I’ll have the Iced Caffè Mocha with um, Toffee Nut Crème, please.” The barista repeated her order, and glanced at Claire, who was still ogling the menu written with multicolored chalk.
Vanessa coughed and then let out a soft, guarded laugh that seemed to Claire as if it slowly hiked up her throat and wriggled out of her lips. Claire’s face became red in an instant, so she groped around her bag, trying to find the familiar, reassuring warmth of her wallet. The barista was looking at her like a cat about to pounce on a fluffy, small catnip toy.
“I’m not sure.” She took out her wallet and gripped it tightly. Her brain was in a crisis. She wanted to make sure but she couldn’t, not in front of the expectant baristas and Vanessa. She opted to buy a glass of mango juice instead, as it was the only familiar beverage she could get, and even ended up buying two raspberry muffins to satisfy her tetchy stomach. She barely noticed that she had no change, and that her wallet was bare.
They returned to their table just in time to hear the others engage in a lively conversation that consisted of gossiping, laughing, and gulping down caffeinated drinks between chuckles. All traces of nervousness the three girls had shown earlier disappeared as they grinned into their cups.
The chosen victim of their gossip session was Ms. Garcia, their fifty-year-old Physics teacher who had a tuft of gray hair on her upper lip, which to the students explained everything about her and her existence. Ms. Garcia was also the culprit behind the group presentation that was due next week. Camille’s laptop was open, plugged to the wall, and Claire peered at the screen. It showed a picture of a handsome Caucasian man strolling on a beach, wearing nothing but khaki shorts.
“I bet she dumps all her anger at us because she’s unmarried.” Camille pouted, scanning the other pictures from a folder entitled ‘Chad Michael Murray’.
“But she has a son, right?”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yes,” said Ann. “She said that her son drank a glass of poisonous liquid used in insect-killing sprays. It was really morbid, but he managed to survive. And that’s when they finally patched things up with his elusive father. She said it to encourage us, to continue to dream, crap like that.”
“That’s supposed to be a heart-warming story? It’s stupid.” Diane snorted.
“And impossible,” Camille added. “Her son should’ve died immediately. It’s just a bunch of nonsense. She’s probably senile.”
“Why,” interrupted Claire, “are we talking about Ms. Garcia and her illegitimate lovechild?”
“Because her personal life is more interesting than the rest of her?” Vanessa piped in, and they all laughed. Claire could not help but agree; she loved the subject, but their teacher was mind-numbing and insisted on using shabby manila paper with coffee stains. It was more fun to exchange notes in class than to listen to her lectures about magnetism, Claire thought, and she hated herself for realizing it too late. High school was supposed to be the happiest time of your life, because you could act like all grown-up but not worry about life and all its dreary seriousness, but she had wasted three years thinking about the future. Her future. Not anymore, Claire thought, and she grinned at the girls surrounding her, feeling loved.
“So, shall we begin? I’m not sure if we should discuss the Casimir effect though, it seems dreadfully complicated. We can talk about the common stuff, like Electromagnetism, but to make our report more interesting, we can make a play. What do you guys think?” Claire asked, bringing out her notes, and began writing her plans furiously. She only stopped two minutes later when she realized that her friends were staring at her.
Claire blushed. “I’m sorry, I thought that maybe we should collect our ideas first.”
“It’s alright, Claire,” soothed Vanessa, patting her shoulder. “It’s just that it’s too early, you know?” Her smile visibly widened when Claire looked at her blankly. “I mean, it’s too early to plan our report. The presentation’s next week, so we don’t need to worry.”
“But I thought we were going to work.” Claire felt something cold and bitter creep across her chest, a feeling she associated with dismay.
Vanessa shook her head, and this time the other girls were smiling unevenly as well. “No, no, sweetie. The group presentation can wait. For now, we can just hang out. Come on, it’s Friday night! You’re part of our group now, and as everyone knows, we spend Friday nights scouring the city for a good time. It’s about time you had fun, Claire.”
Claire gestured towards Camille’s laptop. “And that?”
“For entertainment purposes,” Camille clarified, and true enough, she opened another folder filled with photos of Hollywood stars.
Claire knew that they shouldn’t procrastinate and rush things a day before the deadline, but she couldn’t say no to fun and the girls. She definitely did not want to be a wet blanket. It was her first night-out, after all. She inhaled deeply, and then said, “Okay, so what do we do now? What do you guys do during Girls’ Night?”
“That’s the spirit, Claire!” Ann tore her gaze from the laptop screen, and then she cleared her throat. “Anyway, Girls’ Night Out is a time when we go to a cool place, stuff ourselves with food, and talk about random people. We already took the liberty of beginning the Girls’ Night session a while ago, when we opened the topic about Ms. Garcia.”
“Basically I give a name, and we talk about that person? That’s it?”
The girls nodded. “We provide our insights, talk about his or her clothes. It’s like this really opinionated conversation,” said Diane. “And since you’re the new girl, we give you the privilege to give us the second name of the night. Come on, give us a name!”
Claire could not stop herself; the name was just begging to be released from her parched lips. She couldn’t remember how many times she uttered that name after every sigh, in a hushed whisper that resonated in the bedroom she shared with her siblings. She did not even need to stop and consider other options.
“Vanessa.”
The other girls blinked. Vanessa leaned forward, curiosity creeping across her face. Claire suddenly felt braver. “Come on, let’s talk about Vanessa.”
“Why?” Diane asked, looking sideways at the subject of their chat. “She’s here, beside me, if you haven’t noticed. Or are you telling us a crazy metaphor or something?”
“You told me to give you a name, and I did. I want to know what you guys think of Vanessa.”
“An open forum,” Camille breathed, and Claire nodded. “Hey, that sounds like a great idea. Open forums were banned in class for some reason, right?”
Vanessa’s head was bowed. She was staring at her cellular phone. “I thereby declare this Girls’ Night as Open Forum Night,” she said gently. “Fire away.”
The café started to be really full and noisy, so the girls had to raise their voices if they wanted to hear each other. Nevertheless, it was the opportune moment to exchange secrets, because no one was listening. Claire smiled, proud that she was able to contribute something to their special night.
“Vanessa’s fine, what is there to talk about?” asked Camille, looking bored.
“Well, I think Vanessa leads a perfect, enviable life.” Diane began, and her voice was shaking. “She knows a lot of boys.”
No, she only has two male friends, Claire corrected in her head, but she remained quiet.
“Yeah, but sometimes it’s just too much, you know?” said Ann as she swallowed a mouthful of her iced Caffé Americano, which was only just dark coffee with whipped cream. “No offense, Vanessa, but aren’t you being too flirty with them and stuff? You always mention them, too, like they’re your boyfriends. I mean sure, it’s really cool that you have these guys all over you, but sometimes I feel like you’re rubbing it in. I’m not jealous or anything. I’m just worried about how your other friends feel.”
The atmosphere seemed like Manila traffic-suddenly, every car, jeepney and bus halted, every road in the city was clogged, and there was no way to clear the mess.
“I get hurt when you boss me around, Vanessa,” said Camille, and she avoided the pointy glare Claire shot at her, “I know you don’t mean it, but sometimes you can be overbearing. Sometimes. No offense meant, though.”
“You tend to have this bossy, arrogant side, I think.” Diane agreed. “It’s probably part of your nature.”
Vanessa did not leave her gaze on the cellular phone. In fact, it seemed like she was looking at it rather too intently, willing the screen to break. Claire could only look on, horrified at what she had started. “Wait, I thought we were supposed to talk about Vanessa’s good traits!” She demanded.
“Weren’t you listening to our Ms. Garcia bash-fest a while ago? We don’t just talk about the good stuff during Girls’ Night,” said Ann snippily. Suddenly Ann was not passive and reluctant; she straightened her back and looked at Claire with disdain. “What’s the point in that? I’m willing to hold criticism when it’s my turn under the spotlight. You have to be very frank when it comes to these discussions.”
“Well frankly, I think Vanessa’s awesome. She’s really talented and street-smart and experienced. You’re being too mean.” said Claire hotly, unable to pause and process the words spilling out her mouth. She knew she sounded foolish, but she was just so angry at herself for hurting Vanessa’s feelings.
Ann crossed her legs and sighed, making it very hard for Claire to fight the urge to stand up and shout at her. “Vanessa’s awesome, sure. I was just pointing out less-than-desirable factors of her personality. That’s what you do in open forums.”
“But you didn’t have to be so nasty.” Claire shot back.
“What’s with you? We didn’t mean any offense. Besides, she’s cool with it, right?” pressed Ann, and they all stared at Vanessa’s way. Her blank, unmoving eyes were glued to her cellular phone, and no hint of rage or depression was evident in her face.
“You say you don’t mean any offense, but I think that’s just a dumb excuse-“
“You’re the one who started it, anyway!” Ann looked furious by then. Camille looked at the two angry girls wildly, and then resorted to sipping her coffee in nervous silence.
“I-I didn’t want this night to be a Vanessa-bashing session!” Claire’s voice started to break. “Honestly, we shouldn’t do this, it’s like we’re ganging up on her!”
“What, so now you’re going to defend yourself?” Ann had her hands on the table, as if she wanted to stand up. “You started this, and you want to stop because it makes you look bad?”
“No, I didn’t-“
“Please, let’s talk about someone else,” urged Diane, finally getting a clue. She gestured expansively as sweat beads rolled down her cheek.
“Me next,” Ann announced, and her tone was determined. “I say we talk about Claire. Claire, Claire. No offense to her, but I think she’s being unfair and childish. I take it back, she’s the one who’s overbearing. Being all defensive, like she fancies Vanessa! No wait, it’s like she’s totally in love with her.” She finished triumphantly, giggling a bit at the end.
The café was jam-packed by the time an awkward silence reigned at their table. Ann’s giggle gradually died down, replaced by a regretful hiccup.
Claire closed her eyes tightly. She could see-or maybe feel-yellow and white lines between the darkness, and perhaps patches of red, like blood.
She opened them again to see Vanessa with a wide grin on her face.
“Oh my god, I think Ann’s drunk. What, caffeine makes you insane?”
A classic reaction that was Vanessa-flavored. In an instant, all the girls laughed. Camille tinkered with her laptop and soon enough the girls were too preoccupied to comment any further. Claire absently munched on her raspberry muffins while Ann, Diane, and Camille resumed their celebrity-viewing session, squealing when the picture was to their liking. Vanessa cheered on during the first ten minutes, but saw the look on Claire’s face and grew silent, checking the messages on her cellular phone.
“How’s the food?” she asked Claire.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you having fun?”
“I’m okay.”
Vanessa dropped the phone on her lap, and moved towards her. Claire looked up and thought that Vanessa had a beautiful, pert nose, only she’s known it before. She’s the only one who noticed things about Vanessa; her unseen idiosyncrasies, her assorted smiles, even the way she sipped her coffee-slow and unhurried, careful and conscious. Claire wrote her discoveries on every surface she could find, things like She smiles lopsidedly when she’s nervous and I don’t really know, but I think she hates high school.
She also knew that Vanessa did not, and will never, look at her the way she did. So it surprised her to see Vanessa’s searching, concerned eyes. Claire was now the subject of her inquisitive gaze, one that asked What is wrong with you, but she could not write it down.
“Please tell me you’re having fun, Claire.” Vanessa pleaded. “Please.”
Claire nodded. The muffins tasted like sawdust.
Fifteen minutes later, their beverages were consumed, but it was only after ten o’ clock when they realized that they had to go home or face the ire of their parents. Camille packed up her laptop, Diane made another trip to the comfort room, and Ann began telling jokes, to cover up her earlier cynicism.
Claire hid her hands on her pockets, fumbling. It was empty. Then she remembered where her wallet was, and almost breathed a sigh of relief, until she tasted the crumbs of the pastries in her mouth.
The taste of regret.
The girls rushed outside, tired and sleepy. Ann and Diane boarded a tricycle, while Camille headed to the FX terminal. They waved their goodbyes and claimed that they enjoyed their first Girl’s Night with Claire, that they learned a lot from her. She reminded them that they had to work on their Physics presentation. They merely laughed.
Claire looked around her. She saw the poor children, the beggars sleeping on fruit carts, and everyone else loitering outside the coffee shop, staring at the people found inside. She managed to stay inside for three hours, but she emerged and immediately reverted back to her old self.
Some events are just not life-changing, she thought.
Vanessa spoke up when the street children were out of sight.
“So, how was the mango juice?”
“Honestly, it…tasted like mango.”
Vanessa grinned. “At least it does! I remember buying mango juice in this posh restaurant last month. Tasted like bleah. I wasted eighty pesos on that crap.”
They both laughed happily, feeling very foolish for going to a cafe just for a drink. Claire remembered her predicament, however, and her smile wavered.
“Listen,” Vanessa pulled out Claire’s hand from her pocket, noting her bare palm. “I was an idiot back there, so let me make it up to you. You look tired, so let me take you home. We can work on the Physics presentation next week, during lunch period.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t-“
“You could. Think of it as a thank you for being with me tonight.”
The girls lingered under the waiting shed while Vanessa called her driver to come and pick them up. The coffee shop was still open; more people were arriving to grab their intense, frothy beverages; others worked on cramming their papers. The smiling mermaid twinkled behind Claire and Vanessa, trying to lure them back in.
Yet the girls pressed close together, looking ahead. Vanessa’s hand ghosted over Claire’s-fleetingly, like the memory of their first Girls’ Night together. Soon Vanessa’s car arrived, and all was forgotten.