DRAWN (35 page)

“Angel, sex can be great with anyone who knows what he’s doing, but with someone you love? It’s beautiful. And that’s the only reason why I keep telling you to wait.”

I’m still in a daze. “I can’t believe you and Mom did it before you got married.” All these years of feeling guilty every time I think the slightest bit about sex was…for nothing?

“Ahh, well, I wanted to wait, truly, but your mom…made it difficult.”

Kelly turns red.

I take out my iPhone and capture it in photo.

“Delete that!”

“No.”

She throws up her hands defensively. “I love your dad, okay? So of course I want to…”

It’s my first time to see her speechless. I take another picture, making my dad laugh.

Her eyes narrow. “You are grounded for the rest of Christmas break.”

I shrug. “I knew that already.” I turn to my dad and give him a quick hug. “Thanks for…” I suddenly get all choked up.

          He pats my head. “I love you, angel.”

          I hug him more tightly and mumble against his shirt, “You’re so nice, Dad. Mom doesn’t deserve you.”

          “I heard that!”

          I hide my smiling, crying face from Kelly. “You were meant to.”

          We talk some more after that, but nothing in general. I think it’s their way of helping me calm down and get things in perspective. When we finally part, it’s already five in the morning. Kelly says I don’t have to go to school today, that she’d call the principal and make up an excuse. She’s also let me attend the out-of-town game to support Lace tomorrow, but after that I’m grounded for the rest of December.

Tomorrow, Rockstar KC will be gone and I’ll be back to being a good girl. I think I’m all for that.

          Jace’s incessant honking on Saturday morning wakes me up, and it’s another mad race to shower and get dressed under five minutes. The entire Friday was spent working on my sketchpad
,
and every minute I spent drawing the lines of Yuki’s
manga
character was bittersweet. I had to throw a couple of pages because they had too many tear stains.

          “You’re always late when you’re with me,” Jace complains when I get inside his car. Today, he’s wearing some kind of sparkling tracksuit I once saw a popular Korean actor wearing. It makes me feel like I’m sitting next to a neon signboard, but hey, what do I know about fashion, right? He’s the one who gets his photos taken for the society pages anyway.

          “Sorry,” I murmur.

          Jace immediately feels for my forehead. “The Katerina Chariot I know
never
says sorry---”

          “Shut up.”

          He studies me head to toe, lingering a little on the three-fourth sleeves of my collared shirt and the floral hem of my knee-length capris.

          “What?”

          “Have you exhausted your new wardrobe?”

          I turn red, remembering the black thing I wore last night. “I’m…not going to go crazy anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

          As he drives us out of my street, he flashes me a grin. “That’s too bad. I was kinda enjoying seeing you hit on the entire male population in school.”

          “Fuck off,” I say politely.

          He laughs harder. “Well, maybe there’s still hope.”

          I smile at him prettily and say again, “Fuck off.” Apparently, heartache’s all I need to cure my tongue’s allergy to American cuss words.

          Jace keeps looking at me throughout the drive.

          “What is it?” I say when exasperation gets the better of me.

          “You didn’t get back together then?”

          Oh.

          I shake my head.

          Eyes resolutely on the road, Jace asks, “Do you remember what we talked about the last time we were in Miami?”

          Lace’s boys are up against one of their archrivals, another private school, but Protestant this time. When we have a game against each other, they like to taunt us by saying we should pray like idiots to our “painted statues”. Some kids in our school retort by saying at least we don’t make a habit of singing and dancing like total loons every time someone says ‘Amen’. It’s no
jihad,
really. It’s more like a civil war that most of us have gotten used to fighting over the years.

          The tension between our school and The Sacred Heart Academy is at its peak when we get to the other school’s multipurpose gym. Lace joins us briefly, sneakers squeaking on the floor. She’s wearing her usual uniform of white shirt with the team logo and jeans, blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

          “Glad you two could make it,” she says gruffly. She’s always like this before a game, all business and no smiles.

          I catch sight of Jeremy Dalton coming toward us and hastily look away. He’s, umm, one of the boys I got crazy with when I was in Rockstar KC mode.

          Lace sees that and says without looking over her back, “Go back stretching or I’m telling Coach you’re not starting.”

          Jeremy makes a 180-degree turn without a word.

          She glares at me.

          “I didn’t do anything!”

          “You’re too much distraction now. I want you two sitting in the topmost row.”

          Jace groans. “Even me?”

          “You need to keep an eye on her,” she says shortly.

          I roll my eyes. “I’m really not going to do anything anymore, okay?”

          But all she does is point up. “Go. Sit. There.”

          Unease stirs inside me on our way up. I’ve gotten used to being the talk of the town – and never for the best reasons - but something about today’s darting looks and not-so-subtle whispers get to me. We take our seats at the topmost row, as commanded. This far, the basketball players look like miniature toys in jerseys. There are still a couple of minutes before the game starts so I take out my iPhone and start browsing the Internet. An email notification pops out.

          The latest edition of the Immaculate Heart Tattler is out.

          I click on the link.

          Oh.

          Beside me, Jace is practically finger-punching his iPhone. “Umm, KC, can I borrow---” When he glances at me, his eyes immediately go to my phone.

          “You know, don’t you?”

          “That I got the honor of being in front page instead of the blind news?” I keep my voice moderate. I don’t want people to think I have something to hide. Well, I did. But not now I guess.

          The headlines were a lot more awful than I imagined.

WANT A TOY?

17-year-old Little Ms. Nice by day, live sex doll by night.

Payment methods accepted:

Great sex!

Hand jobs and BJs are okay, too.

Initials to look for: KC.

          Under the short text are two photos. The first one was of Jace and me when we were in the Jamaican bar at night, my purple cover up hanging low on one shoulder, exposing my hickey. The other one was of Yuki and me in the pool at Key West and he’s cupping me from behind. All our faces are blurred, but it’s not really hard to guess who’s who especially if you’re following the tweets…of Amelia…who’s the only one who could have known about this.

          She was there when I was kicking Yuki from having, umm, procreating power.

          “Can I zoom on this?” Jace wags his eyebrows suggestively as he nods toward the photo of Yuki and me.

          I can’t help but smile. Roll my eyes, too. And smack him on the head.

          “Arse,” I say, but I send a thankful glance his way, too.          

          My phone beeps, and my heart jumps with it. Maybe it’s---

          Lace. It’s just Lace. I mean, it’s Lace! My best friend.

         
You ok?

          Yes. Please focus on kicking Sacred’s ass for me.

          Roger that.

         
As I type my message to Lace, it gets harder and harder to pretend that not everyone is looking at me.
Leering
at me. I never thought I’d live to see the day that fans of Immaculate and Sacred would be like one. I just wish it’s not because they found out that they’ve got a live sex doll in their midst, and that live sex doll they’re talking about doesn’t have the same name as I do.

          The tiny amount of skin between the extended collars of my blouse feels so exposed. I’m dying to snap close the top button to hide it away. I’m starting to get why Lace has a thing for huge uniforms. It seems fun that guys think you’re sexy. But some – many – of them end up crossing a line, and it’s when their gazes make the switch from admiring to obscene that you want to hide.

          Keeping my head high even though I want to shrink in shame, I tell Jace, “Maybe I should send the Tattler my video of your burping scandal.”

          Jace glares. “Not funny.” Then suddenly he looks sly.

         
That
look of his always gets me into trouble.

          “Whatever it is, don’t.”

          “I’m not doing anything.”

          “Yeah, right.”

          “But
he
is.”

          Shit.

          Following Jace’s gaze, I see Yuki making his way up, dressed in a dark red
Pikachu
shirt and black straight-cut jeans.

          Shit, shit, shit.

          Didn’t he promise he won’t make me cry anymore? And how is it that he’s memorized and able to find all the outfits I’ve drawn for his
manga
double? I’m torn between pretending I don’t care and running the hell out of here because I care too much.

          It’s been so long since I last had the luxury of seeing Yuki move with his trademark turtle-like speed, graceful, and elegant like a fucking ballet dancer. My eyes are helpless drawn to him like everyone else’s. I feel like an addict relapsing at just the first step I take out of rehab.

Yuki keeps a steady pace as he makes his way up, not pausing to ask people to get out of his way because they’re already doing it, without question. He’s a god, after all. 

By the time I make up my mind and get ready to bolt, it’s too late. I’d be such a fucking coward in everyone’s eyes if I leave now. Yuki’s standing in front of me, and his nearness literally makes me feel dizzy. Or maybe it’s just lack of sleep and I’m being dramatic, like I have a right to be. I’m 17 years old. I’m
heartbroken.
Of course I’m going to act like my whole’s world done for.

“Hello,
senpai
.”

So, so unfair. 

Just as I start to speak, I notice one other element of his outfit.

In my
manga
, the lead girl uses her own hair accessory to tie up her boyfriend’s hair so it won’t get to his eyes before they ride a bike together. Today, Yuki’s hair is partially tied up, too, and it’s the exact elastic band with pink fluffy balls that I’ve drawn.

Really unfair.

“Yuki.” I sound like a frog again. What’s fucking new?

          He doesn’t answer. He just makes a deep bow and stays like that.

          No.

Let’s just say that Japanese peeps take their honor very seriously, and deep bows like this is one of their sincerest ways of eating humble pie.

          “Get up, Yuki,” I whisper furiously. It’s not right for gods to be humble, especially if it’s for me.

          “I’m sorry for making you feel bad about yourself in any way.”

          “It’s a love confession,” Jace says loudly. “Toys are like sweethearts to Japs.”

          Oh, for the love of---

          Hell, who was I kidding? That was quick thinking of Jace. It sort of makes sense, with the cultural difference and all.

          I can’t take my eyes away from Yuki. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

          “You’re the most important girl to me.”

          From below, the buzzer sounds and the announcer starts calling out the players’ names. But I don’t think anyone’s looking at them. Lace will love me for this. She’s been worried about Sacred having home court advantage, but that’s no longer in the equation, not when the spotlight’s on Yuki and me. There are even a few flashes from some phone cameras. Either I’m
that
notorious or Yuki’s
that
popular. Either way, I don’t think even releasing Jace’s burping scandal will prevent me from getting featured in the Tattler’s next edition.

          “I know it’s over between us, but I still can’t stop thinking about you. You’re so hot, cute, funny that I’m still incredulous someone who’s never even gotten to third base can turn me on with just one look.”

          Umm, right.