From: Your Secret Admirer

Chapter Five

To Hermz — you are one of my favorite person here in watty :)

***

I found myself one Monday morning facing Franco. I wanted to return his shirt since I promised I would have it cleaned. So I went to the place where he and his leather wearing friends usually hang out. He was sitting on what used to be a wall but was now a pile of rubbles at the back building of the College of Engineering. He was puffing a stick of cigarette while his friends were eyeing me with curiosity.

"Hey girlie," one of his friends said. "You lost?"

No, but I think I have lost my mind for coming here. "I just want to return Franco's shirt." I extended my arm, palms facing upwards, with Franco's neatly pressed shirt on top.

Franco just raised a brow at me, clearly sending me some sort of message of warning through his eyes. Since it was apparent to me that he had no intention to move, I placed the shirt beside him instead.

I whirled around and was about to make my escape when...

"Hey Ice Cream Girl."

Oh, darn. Is he referring to me? I turned around and saw Franco throwing his cigar on the ground.

"I need coffee," he said.

Great. I had just been bullied and ordered. It felt like high school all over again. But since I still wanted to live...

"With or without sugar?"

And to my utter and stupendous surprise, I saw the corner of Franco's lips tilted to one side in what I could only call as an amused grin.

He suddenly stood, strode towards me and grabbed my hand. "I decided to let you live and buy you coffee."

And just like that, he led me outside the campus and headed towards the coffee shop. And all that time, he was holding my hand. He was holding my freaking hand! And I couldn't help it but feel this sort of weird electric current that ran from my hand towards my arm and shoulder. It was a pleasant feeling, I tell you.

And the people staring at us wore different expressions on their faces. Most students were shaking their heads as if they thought I was soon to meet my demise at the hands of a notorious gangster, while some (mostly the girls) were eyeing me with clear and distinct jealousy.

He ordered for two café latte. I was not so sure if he really meant it when he said he would buy me coffee, so I snaked my hand inside my bag to look for my wallet. But he already paid for the coffee and was headed towards the empty table. I followed him.

"Thanks," I told him.

"Don't mention it," he answered. "Ever."

Guess he was not used to buying girls some coffee.

We just sat there, sipping on our coffee in silence. I tried not to make it very obvious, but I studied his appearance from under my lashes. His hair was slightly long grazing almost near his jaw. He had piercings on one ear and another one on his lower lip. He was wearing a gray shirt minus the infamous leather jacket. He looked every bit the bad boy girls secretly fantasize about. He sported this dangerous vibes, and danger was what made him look attractive.

"What made you do it?" he suddenly asked me.

I had no idea what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"

"That night, when you went on stage and sang. What made you do it? You don't seem to be the type to throw cautions in the air and just, you know, do things on impulse."

"You are right," I agreed. "I'm not really used to singing in front of a large crowd. I never even sang on stage before. But when I was there on stage, I felt like I wanted to do it, to conquer my fear and just sing in front of everyone."

"Huh. You have guts, Ice Cream Girl."

I was not sure that was a compliment. "Uh, thanks."

He seemed to be pondering on some thought before he said, "Have you ever felt like you wanted to do something else but you can't because it isn't, well, you?"

"I'm not really sure what you mean, but if what you're saying is if I ever had a moment in my life where I gave up to do something I really want because I was afraid what other people might say about me, then yes."

"What was it? The thing that you gave up?"

It was an embarrassing tale, but Franco seemed so eager to hear about it. So I told him. "When I was eight, I wanted to be a ballerina. So my mom enrolled me for some lessons. But I was a bit on the heavy side and the other girls were picking on me because of that, telling me I was so ambitious for even considering dancing ballet. So I gave it up."

"Then what happened?"

"Nothing. But I guess I shouldn't have given up on those ballet lessons. I mean, I should not place too much attention to what they were saying. Who knows? Maybe if I continued the lessons, I would be more disciplined with myself when it comes to watching my weight."

"You whine like a girl."

"Well, if it isn't really that obvious for you, I am a girl."

"I mean you're just like the rest of the girls. Most girls I know are way too obsessed with their weight and I don't get it. You look fine to me."

I blushed. I couldn't help it! "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Ev-"

"Yeah I know. Ever. I won't mention it, ever."

He chuckled. It sounded cute.

His face suddenly went serious. "You don't happen to be one of those girls who chop guys' heads off for making –what was that politically correct term? Ah, yes –gender discrimination remarks?"

"Fortunately for you, I find chopping heads off disgusting. I'd rather turn over this matter to the GABRIELA movement and have them deal with you for equating 'whining' with girls." When I saw him furrowing his brows as if contemplating if I was serious or not, I let out a small laugh and added, "I was just kidding. Really, I wasn't offended. I mean, most of the girls actually call guys in leather jackets a gangster. So I guess we're even."

He gave me that lopsided grin which made him looked even cuter.

Then I heard him cleared his throat. "About that shirt. There was really no need for you to return it."

"Yes, well, it was either me or the other twenty girls who had been bribing me to have your shirt. I decided to save you from your adoring fans. Girls are so into the bad boy slash gangster type. I don't get it."

This time, he laughed, causing many heads to turn towards our table. "Maybe they wanted to experience some thrill? Being a gangster's girlfriend could be extremely challenging."

"You're not really a gangster, are you?"

"Our group is not affiliated with any fraternity houses. And the school does not recognize our group. So they call our organization a gang. We're actually just a bunch of guys who think wearing black leather jackets are cool."

I let out a giggle. "A gangster with a sense of humor. That's refreshing."

"You're cool, Ice Cream Girl," he said, smiling. "I like you."

"I bet you tell that to all the gangster girls," I joked.

But then, his face suddenly became serious as he stared at me levelly. "Would you like to be a gangster's girlfriend?"

I suddenly swallowed the hot coffee hurriedly and scalding my throat in the process.