Chapter 23
Even though non–Saint Francis students can attend events like Battle of the Bands, the place is still like a modern-day parting of the Red Sea. Groups of girls hang on one side while all the guys stay on the other—the perfect endorsement for same-sex education.
When Kayla and I entered the auditorium, we recognized a few Saint Agnes girls among the crowd. The patron couple of Saint Agnes and Saint Francis, Julia and Sean, were already mingling before the program started (while dressed in matching couple T-shirts).
“Who are you here for?” Julia asked when she saw me.
“For the music!” I answer, and then she and Sean give me this knowing look. As if the only reason I’d be at the Saint Francis Battle of the Bands event is for some boy!
There should be a way to broadcast my intentions for attending an event.
For example, people need to be aware that I’m here for the noble cause of reuniting my parents and bringing back my dead father—not that I care what people at school think.
Who cares if my classmates think that Seph is my MOMOL buddy?
Joke’s on them since Seph and I have never made out!
He even acts like us holding hands had never happened! Not one message, call, DM, nothing!
And I haven’t given him any thought either. Every time I check my phone, my eyes don’t even search for Seph’s name in my notifications. I already know he’s not going to be there.
Thank goodness I’m a chill person who’s always unbothered.
And I have way bigger things to think about, noble causes, in fact! My eyes keep searching the audience for any signs of Ma and Achi—the reserved seats under my name are still empty.
“Moseph’s competition is … interesting,” Pa says after Liam, another soloist contestant, goes on.
This is the second guy who’s attempted to sing a BINI song.
Before the band rounds, we have the unfortunate honor of sitting through all the Saint Francis soloists.
To be fair, this guy might have done our nation’s girl group justice if he wasn’t doing such aggressive screams and choreography.
He had to restart the song after his voice cracked and he knocked over the microphone stand from a failed backflip.
Maybe this is the real curse that manifested after breaking Ma’s superstitions.
“Can’t believe this is how you asked Ma to prom.”
The girls in the front duck for cover when Liam braces himself and announces he’s going to end the performance by crowd surfing. Thankfully, the host intervenes before there are any casualties.
“She found it romantic that I serenaded her,” Pa points out.
I cringe thinking about getting sung to in front of the whole of Saint Agnes and Saint Francis. “At least you picked something better than ‘Chopsticks’…”
The host onstage is going down his list of sponsors to thank for tonight’s event when Pa asks me the most random question. “Are you thinking of asking anyone to prom?”
“Not really the serenading type, Pa.”
“There are other ways of asking,” he says. “The boy earlier seemed to appreciate cartwheels.”
Pa keeps suggesting more ways I can ask guys out, so I say, “I’m not going to prom.”
The smile in my dad’s eyes slightly dims. “But you always wanted to.”
Back when Achi was going to her prom, I remember asking Ma if I could dress up and go with her too. It wasn’t that I found prom appealing—I just always wanted to go wherever Achi went. Pa found me sulking in my bedroom when I wasn’t allowed to go.
He promised me he would take me once it was time for my prom.
“Not really…,” I say, clearing my throat. “… I was only gonna go if you were taking me.”
Pa motions for me to give him another hug and I play it cool even though my whole heart hums every time I’m in his arms. Another soloist goes on to perform a Bruno Mars cover when I hear Pa whisper, “It’s a good thing I’m going to be here then.”
I smile up at him. It’s the first time he’s talking about something in the future. Maybe we’re aligned in thinking we can find a way to make him stay …
“But I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take Baby’s son too.”
My body recoils at the suggestion. “You like him, right?” he asks.
“What?”
“Moseph.” Pa declares his name like it’s a fact.
“No.” I hear my voice crack like Liam’s so I tone it down. Lower, more unbothered. “No,” I regroup and say casually. “Your head must’ve gotten dizzy when you turned solid, Pa.”
“The heart speaks a different song when it’s in fancy,” he says, reciting another one of his confusing proverbs.
“My heart doesn’t speak songs and nothing about me is fancy,” I protest. “Plus, I don’t know Seph that well,” I say even more casually. “He’s just our neighbor, an acquaintance, a neighborly acquaintance, you can say.”
“Aren’t you friends?”
“Well, yes,” I say, and feel compelled to add, “but we’re definitely not buddies.”
His forehead creases. “There’s a difference between friends and buddies?”
Yes, apparently some people attach the word MOMOL to buddies. And to be clear, Seph and I are definitely not that.
After the host has to cut off the Bruno Mars soloist from extending his set, the program segues to thank all the sponsors for Battle of the Bands once again.
This time, the host says he wants to switch things up.
“Sound booth, can you give me a beat?” he yells out, and proceeds to … rap about all the event sponsors.
“BDO, BDO, we find ways with BDO. Even those with BO wanna bank with B-D-O!”
The whole first row looks perplexed as the host raps some more bars, continuing to try to rhyme the name of a bank and body odor. They should’ve given more air time to the Bruno Mars songs instead.
My ears are cringing from listening to more rapping about bodily smells when I hear Pa’s question. “How does he handle it?” Pa asks. “Not having his dad around?”
“Moseph?” I confirm, and he nods.
“He has a dad. Uncle Francis.”
Pa considers this, then says, “Maybe things are better now.”
After all that buildup, he proceeds to drop the subject and focuses back on the host’s sponsor rapping. Uncle Francis isn’t always around, but that’s because his job requires him to go on work trips abroad. And even if he’s stationed in Amsterdam, Auntie Baby always talks about him.
So I ask, “What were things like before?”
“It’s not my story to tell, Nika. And spreading chismis isn’t healthy for people your age.”
Doesn’t Pa know that people thrive on chismis? It’s why Ma and her friends have such healthy skin.
I still nudge Pa about it again.
“I thought you and Moseph aren’t friends?” he teases.
“Yes, but my father taught me that I should be concerned about all people, even my acquaintances.”
There’s a hint of a smile in Pa’s eyes when he says, “You must have a good dad then.”
“He’s all right. Not the most lively one,” I joke, and Pa lets out a small chuckle.
After there’s a commotion backstage with committee members signaling to cut out the rapping, the host spits out one last bar about Nestlé being “the corporate world’s Beyoncé” before getting back on track and announcing that it’s time for the final soloist contestant.
“Are you all ready for our reigning Saint Francis soloist champion?” Most of the cheers that erupt are from Auntie Baby and the blow horn she brought with her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, to the stage … Seph King!”
Pa keeps shooting me looks while I clap for Seph’s entrance. “Pa,” I remind him. “Neighborly acquaintances.”
“All right.” He crosses his arms over his chest, still glancing at me.
“Also, why are you encouraging this? If people my age shouldn’t chismis, then we shouldn’t be dealing with dating and those feelings too.”
Pa’s smiling when he shakes his head. “Superstar, you feel the most at your age.”
I scoff under my breath. Pa should notice how much progress I’ve made with controlling my feelings. I basically have none at this point!
The applause gets louder when Seph speaks into the mic. “Good evening, Saint Francis!” he yells, and I hear Auntie Baby’s screams from where we are. “It’s an honor to play for you once again. My name is Seph King, and I’ll be performing Moira Dela Torre’s cover of ‘Torete.’”
My body goes still when I hear the song title.
Seph starts plucking his guitar and Pa asks me, “Did you tell him?”
“Years ago…” But Seph couldn’t have remembered. We were just kids at our first theater workshop when I told Seph that Pa played this song during one of my very first piano lessons. That hearing Pa play “Torete” is what made me first fall in love with the instrument.
While Seph strums the opening notes, I can feel my fingers following along, tracing the notes as if I were playing the piano along with him. Then the guitar quiets, and Seph holds on to the mic. “Sandali na lang…,” he sings softly.
After the initial start, his voice grows fuller as he swings his guitar to his front and starts playing.
Seph’s eyes then shut when he hits the high notes, and I remember how I always thought that Seph sings like how other people pray.
There was a time when he never opened his eyes when he sang or even listened to music.
I asked him about it once and he said that he didn’t want the outside world bothering him.
My chest buzzes watching him pour his whole being into building the tension to the booming chorus.
Another thing that I’ll never admit to Seph’s face: I can see why people get crushes on him after watching him perform.
I think he likes picking love songs because he sells them so convincingly.
Hearing him sing the lyrics with such pleading and conviction …
it’s really hard not to buy that he means every single word.
Once he gets more of the crowd’s attention, and the music builds to the chorus, I see that familiar glint in his eyes. Seph and I always had that in common—we really love showing off.
“Your mom liked this song too,” I hear Pa say beside me.
Everyone finds this song romantic. I did, too, when Pa first played it, but years later, when I actually read the lyrics? I discovered it was incredibly depressing.
“Torete” is basically a song where this girl sings about how she’s head over heels for someone to the point that she says lines like, I hope the sky will reach your smile.
But wait, there’s more. She then goes on to say that she wouldn’t even force the person to like her back, then proceeds to repeat over and over again that she’ll still be crazy over them until the song fades into silence.
We never even hear the other person’s side. We don’t know if they’d answer back with I hope the stars meet your dimples or whatever lyric singers find romantic. In summary, it’s a drawn-out, one-sided love tragedy with a good melody.
If I’m supposed to be “feeling the most” right now, I don’t want any business with these “Torete”-type feelings. No thank you. Why would I want to be in that situation—liking someone so desperately that I wouldn’t care whether they liked me back?
That sounds awful.
By the time Seph hits the outro, he asks the audience to flash their phone lights and sway to the beat. My eyes scan all the people swaying and singing along, then I feel a tug in my heart when I find Ma’s face.
She’s sitting with Achi in the reserved section for friends and family, and my mind travels back to five years ago.
That night, the last time I was supposed to perform in our Trumpets show, I overheard Achi in Ma’s bedroom. I hid behind the door and peeked at Achi consoling Ma. In the middle of Ma’s sobbing, I caught what Ma kept repeating.
“I’m scared that she’ll remind me of Ton.”
The sound of Ma crying kept ringing in my ear later in the bathroom when I was gasping for air.
I’ve already seen what happens when someone feels too much.
They get hurt.