When she sees me, she makes two swipes across her forehead. The barely noticeable tic once again draws my attention to her smooth forehead and dainty fingers.
Toby’s sitting across from her. As I approach, he stands up.
“I’m not feeling great,” he claims, pressing a hand to his stomach like he’s a twelve-year-old faking a stomachache to skip school.
Ligaya looks up, frowning. “You were fine five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well. Life’s unpredictable.” He grabs his coat, then claps me on the shoulder as he passes.
“I guess I’ll go, too,” Ligaya says, “seeing as you’re my ride.”
“I’ll take you home.” My voice is louder than I intend.
“I’m not feeling well, and I don’t want to get you sick in case I’m contagious,” Toby says to Ligaya. “You two enjoy dinner. If you’re ordering the garlic knots, make sure you both eat it.”
He walks off, leaving behind a half-full glass of water and an awkward silence. Ligaya shakes her head.
“That was not subtle.”
“Nope.” I slide into the booth across from her.
She looks around the restaurant as a server makes his way to our table.
“Might as well eat,” she says resignedly.
We both order the dinner special and settle into the booth.
Unexpectedly, Ligaya speaks in a serious tone. “What you said at the auditorium a few days ago, it was really nice. One of my students broke his leg in a skateboarding accident so didn’t make the cut at his local hockey team. You inspired him.”
I blink a few times, surprised that something nice is voluntarily emerging from Ligaya’s mouth.
“I’m no superstar compared to my teammates, but I’m glad someone found that story useful.”
“We always hear about the superstars, don’t we?” she states thoughtfully. “My students are bombarded with everyone’s better clothes, better house, betterlife. It’s refreshing to hear about struggles. That’s what I try to teach my drama kids. It isn’t about being a star on the stage. It’s about occupying a character with all their strengths and flaws. The real story is always in the struggle.”
She stops abruptly and gives me a side glance, waiting for my reaction.
That’s something else I forgot about her. She’s whip-smart and passionate. Ligaya was known in high school as the classic goody two-shoes who never swore, never skipped class, never missed a cue. The way she treatedmewas the exception. With me, she was sharp tongued and suspicious.
Is it messed up that I liked it?
Maybe the reason I provoked her was because I wanted a peek beyond her armor of conventionality. I couldn’t get enough of the clever, unexpected, naughty part of her that no one else saw. Getting under her skin was also about getting to something truer, something private, something only for me.
“You’re great with them,” I say.
The lasagna arrives and we dig in, neither of us knowing how to continue the uncharacteristic niceties yet unwilling to resume our typical barbs.
“My parents say hi,” she states, breaking the silence.
“I’ll get them Mavericks tickets if they want.”
“Popping into the laundromat to say hello would be enough.”
“I should have come by sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Honestly? I’ve been back to do the obligatory visit to my parents but leave as soon as I can. They don’t exactly inspire the best memories.”
