To meet You Again (8 page)

               
“But a lot of our arrangements are heavy on the harmonies,” my eyes widened.
“You’ll sound all alone up there.”

               
“Maybe you’ve changed your mind?” he turned to me with a jokingly pleading
look. I playfully pushed him,

               
“Chivalry is dead, remember? While you still make an effort to pretend you’re
noble, I don’t have that much patience.”

               
“Pretend? Ouch,” he made an expression as if he were hurt.

               
I laughed. “Well, good luck, anyway.”

               
“Oh, you’ve just jinxed it,” he playfully rolled his eyes. “It’s bad luck to
say ‘good luck’.”

               
“You never believe in superstition,” I tilted my head, confused.

               
“We’re being stupid today, remember?”

               
And before I knew it, the conductor of the Ferris wheel was telling us in a
slightly irritated tone to exit the ride.

**    
*     *     *

Angelo had to leave me so he could help Don set
up for the performance.

               
I still couldn’t believe that Angelo was going to try and sing all the songs we
rehearsed. Most of them were girl songs. So even if Angelo had a relatively
wide range, he’d encounter a lot of difficulties with the high notes. I
shouldn’t have even been worried. He was a musician, more or less. He could transpose…

               
I joined the crowd of people gathering in front of the makeshift stage. I
pushed my way forward until I was at the foot of the stage. So I wasn’t going
to back Angelo up tonight. At least he’d know that he had my moral support, and
that was good enough for me. I was such a horrible friend.

               
“Hey everyone,” Angelo spoke into the microphone.
“Happy
Valentine’s Day to everyone.
I hope you’re all having a great one.” He
paused as some girls cheered. Yes, majority of the audience consisted of girls.
Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Don and Angelo were not half bad-looking,
so it wasn’t exactly surprising that all the girls were crowding.

               
“So,” Angelo began, “this first song is very special to me and a close friend
of mine…”

               
Wait.

               
“And so I’d like to dedicate this song to that friend.”

               
What is this?

               
“She and I have been best friends for a while…”

               
Uh oh.

               
“And so I’d like to take things to the next level with her.”

               
No.

               
“Hopefully she’ll respond in my favour…”

               
Angelo…

“By coming up here and singing this
song with me.”

               
Girls screamed, while my mouth gaped open. As the first three counts of the
song passed, I stood there frozen, just staring wide-eyed at Angelo. He was
looking at the crowd, probably trying to find me. He didn’t see that I was
almost right in front of him. By the fourth count, I don’t know what came over
me. I suddenly had all the strength in the world, to be able to lift my large,
long-limbed monkey with one hand, and then lift the both of us onto the stage
with the other. Girls cheered some more as I plopped onto the stage.

               
I grabbed the mike, “Saying I love you
is
not the
words I want to hear from you…”

               
“It’s not that I want you not to say but if you only knew,” Angelo continued,
as he did so many times before.

               
As we continued to sing together, the people in the audience had their arms in
the air, swaying to the music. I had no idea what I was even doing. What did
this even mean? Were Angelo and I going to be together now? Was that what I really
wanted? Did I like Angelo that way? I had no idea.

               
All I knew was that, at that moment, everything in the world felt right. Every
note melted into each other, and it felt perfect.

               
By the time it ended I thought it was too soon, “More than words…”

               
Angelo and I looked at each other. I was smiling and so was he. He took me by
the waist and I put my arms around him. I loved Angelo. But, surely, this was
the only way for me to find out in which way I meant that.

               
As we leaned into each other, the girls screamed some more. But just when my
lips were about to touch Angelo’s, I realized that the chocolate milk probably
wasn’t a good idea.

               
I pulled away, covered my mouth and ran off the stage. As I was puking my guts
out, I swore to God that I would never ever eat so much in so many different
and weird combinations again if he’d only spare me.

**    
*     *     *

A teacher had seen me vomiting and very kindly
escorted me to the clinic after my stomach was properly emptied out.

               
My mom came to pick me up about twenty minutes after. When we got home all I
wanted to do was lie down. I didn’t have the strength or the energy to walk all
the way upstairs. I settled for the couch. My mom didn’t argue. She merely put
a blanket over me.

               
“How are you feeling,
hun
?” she asked.

               
“Horrible,” I grumbled.

               
“What was it that made your stomach so upset?” she asked.

               
“I had so much different things to eat, so it could’ve been any or all,” I
garbled out.

               
“I’ll go and make you some soup, okay?” she stroked my hair.

               
“I don’t want to see food ever again,” I pulled the blanket over my eyes.

               
“Ruby, you have to eat something,” she said. “You need the energy to get
better.”

               
“I need to sleep,” my eyes got watery. My stomach was so painful and I felt so
lethargic, all I wanted to do was sob. What was wrong with me?

               
“I’ll wake you up for dinner,” my mom patted me on my arm, and then I heard her
get up and walk away.

               
After how many hours of sleep, I was rudely awakened by the telephone. I waited
about five rings, expecting someone else to pick it up, but the sixth had
bothered me so much I summoned all my strength and pushed myself up. I answered
the phone,

               
“Hello?”

               
“Ruby, how are you?” at the sound of Angelo’s voice, I broke down. I didn’t
know why.

               
“Angelo, I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

               
“What for?” he laughed.

               
“For embarrassing you,” my shoulders were doing some weird rhythmic thing with
my breath. “People are going to be teasing you.”

               
“You know I don’t care what anyone says,” he reassured. “I’m just worried about
you. Have you eaten?”

               
“No, I’m not hungry,” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

               
“Ruby, it’s fine, really. I just want you to get better.”

               
“Thank you,” I smiled.

               
“I love you.”

               
I froze again. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, of course I loved him. But I
still wasn’t sure in which way. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

               
“I love you,” I said cautiously. “But Angelo, I’m not sure what I mean exactly
when I say that.”

               
“What do you mean?” he asked.

               
“I don’t know if I mean ‘I love you’ I love you or just ‘I love you’,” I tried
to explain. “Like, as a friend or as more. I’m not sure.”

               
“You know you love me,” he started singing.

               
“Angelo,” I rolled my eyes.

               
“I know you care,” he continued.

               
“Angelo, stop,” I laughed.

               
“Just shout whenever and I’ll be there…” he was laughing, too.

               
“Whenever,” I coughed into the phone.

               
“What?” he asked.

               
“Whenever,” I said.
“Whenever.”

               
“Oh. Oh!” he realized. “I wish I could.”

               
“You said just shout whenever,” I joked weakly.

               
“You have to rest,” he insisted.

               
“Yeah, I do,” I agreed. “But I feel bad leaving you hanging like that.”

               
“It could’ve been worse. You could have actually puked on me,” he laughed.

               
I laughed. “Yeah, I guess. It’s a good thing I ran off, then. It would have
been more embarrassing for you.”

               
“And you,” he pointed out.

               
“Yeah,” I was nodding.

               
“You owe me a kiss when I see you,” he warned.

               
“It won’t mean anything,” I rolled my eyes.

               
“Is that an answer?” he asked.

               
“It’s a possibility I’m giving,” I replied.

               
“Do I need to sing the Justin Bieber song again?” he cautioned.

               
“No, no,” I was shaking my head. “But you’re pretty full of it, you know that?
How are you so sure?”

               
“Because we’re best friends,” he said.

               
“And so?”
I asked.

               
“It’s a good foundation for a relationship,” he answered.

               
“Yeah, for a friendship,” I countered.

               
“You know what I meant,” I could hear him rolling his eyes.

               
“Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been friend zoned?” I
asked,
an obvious smile in my voice.

               
“You wouldn’t do that to me,” he was obviously smiling, too. “I’m too lovable.”

               
I scoffed, “You’re a pain in the ass.”

               
“But you love me,” he pointed out.

               
“I like you,” I corrected.

               
“So is that your answer?” he asked.

               
I scoffed again. “You’re going to be one hell of a lawyer someday.”

               
“Don’t change the topic,” he scolded. “But thank you.

               
I laughed. “I meant what I said.”

               
“Doesn’t change the fact that you were trying to change the topic,” he said.

               
“You’re not as likeable as you think you are,” I said.

               
“What’s not to like?” he asked.

               
“Everything,” I joked.

               
“Then we wouldn’t be friends,” he pointed out.

               
“Exactly.
We’re friends,” I emphasized on “friends”.

               
“Just add a gender word on the front…”

               
“Male
friend
?Female
friend?”
I chuckled.
“Sounds about accurate.”

               
“Why can’t you just accept the fact that you have feelings for me?” he asked.

               
“Why can’t you just accept the possibility that I don’t?” I asked.

               
“Because I know that’s not the case.”

               
“No you don’t.”

               
“Yes I do.”

               
“Prove it.”

               
“I will,” he promised.
“When you come back to school.”

               
“You’re wasting your time,” I warned.

               
“Hey,” he said, “if I really am friend zoned, I might as well try.”

               
“Don’t you want to preserve our friendship?” I asked.

               
“Even if this goes south, I know we’ll still be friends,” he said matter of
fact.

               
“You don’t know that,” I disagreed, shaking my head.

               
“But I do,” he disagreed. “We’re friends. That’s why this works. Because if we
decide we’re not good for each other, we’ll still be friends.”

               
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said.

               
“Well, you’re incapacitated, so you can’t think properly,” he joked.

               
“Discriminating against the sickly,” I scolded. “Maybe you should work with
life insurance instead of law.”