Chapter Text
Mikee Leal sat behind the wheel of a red Toyota Corolla small body and tried not to look too proud of herself.
It was second-hand, yes. But not second-hand in the sad way. Not the type with torn upholstery, suspicious engine noises, and doors that needed prayer before closing.
Her dad would never.
Her father had inspected the car like he was preparing it to give a testimony. He checked the engine, the underchassis, the papers, the paint, the tires, the aircon, the weird little sounds other people pretended not to hear because they wanted a sale. He knocked on the body several times, circled it twice. He brought a mechanic friend too, just to make sure nobody was smiling at him with hidden damage under the hood.
So the car was almost ten years old, but well kept. Clean. Polished. Smooth enough that Mikee could pretend she had been born to drive it.
The dashboard was wiped down with Armor All. The seat covers were new. The aircon actually worked. Even the faint smell inside was pleasant, vinyl and plastic mixed with the strawberry California Scents her mom had somehow managed to sneak under the passenger seat despite Mikee clearly saying no hanging things, no stuffed toys, no rosaries, no small plastic Garfield, nothing.
The car had taste.
Mikee had taste.
Her dad had simply made sure the taste did not explode along C5.
She parked near the curb outside Arianne’s house and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror.
Hair okay. Shirt okay. Face trying too hard.
She made herself stop fixing it.
She stepped out of the car and rang the bell.
Arianne stepped out in jeans, a white shirt, and that expression she wore when she was trying not to smile too early. Her hair was clipped back on one side. She had a canvas bag over her shoulder, a notebook pressed against her chest, and the relaxed look of someone who had no idea she was about to be impressed.
Mikee leaned against the passenger side door and shoved her hands in her pockets.
Arianne stopped on the sidewalk.
Her eyes went to the car, then to Mikee, then back to the car.
“No.”
Mikee grinned. “Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You have a car.”
“Pansin mo.” Mikee laughed softly and opened the door for her.
Arianne took a half-step forward. “This is yours?”
“Technically, my dad’s name is still on the papers,” Mikee said. “Emotionally, yes.”
Arianne came closer slowly, like the Corolla might suddenly ask for tuition. She slid into the passenger seat and looked around.
“Oh,” she said.
Mikee tried to keep her face neutral as she buckled in. “What?”
“It’s nice.”
“Don’t sound surprised.”
Arianne turned her head to look out the side window, a tiny smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “I’m not surprised.”
“You paused.”
“I was admiring.”
Mikee shifted into first gear, glancing over to check the side mirror. “You were judging.”
“I can do both.”
Mikee pulled away from the curb with more care than she would ever admit.
Arianne buckled her seatbelt, still smiling. “So this is the one you almost got last year?”
“Almost,” Mikee said.
“But then someone had a debut.”
Mikee groaned immediately. “Don’t.”
Arianne’s smile went wicked. “No, I’m glad you had the party.”
“I’m not.”
“I am.”
“I didn’t have to wear three different gowns.” Mikee muttered, her grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel.
“You looked nice.”
“I looked like a wedding cake with opinions.”
“You looked like a very expensive wedding cake with opinions.” Arianne corrected gently. “And you looked just as edible.”
“Shut up.” Mikee changed lanes and ignored the heat crawling up her neck. “My mom was happy.”
“Yeah, she was.” Arianne agreed softly
Mikee eased off the gas as they approached a slow-moving jeepney. “That was the point.”
“I know.”
“And the dances were worth it.”
“With your dad?”
Mikee nodded. “And Kuya Eric.”
Arianne’s smile softened. “Yeah, he flew home just for that.”
“He said he had meetings.” Mikee scoffed gently, waving a hand off the steering wheel in mock dismissal.
“He cried during your dance.”
“I teased him about it for three days.”
“Ang sama!” Arianne swatted playfully at Mikee's arm.
“Si Dad din.”
Arianne leaned her head back, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Pero si Tita ang nanukso sa kaniya.”
Mikee tried not to smile and failed a little.
The party had been too much. That was the honest version. Too many relatives. Too much program. Too much fabric. Too many people saying, dalaga ka na, like they had personally discovered aging.
But there were parts she kept anyway.
Her father’s hand warm around hers while they danced. Her mother crying into a tissue like the whole night had justified every satin swatch and centerpiece. Her Ate comforting her mom as she sneaked in a sip of wine that was definitely not provided by the caterer. Her Kuya appearing in the ballroom with that ridiculous sports jacket and pretending he did not miss home as much as he did.
The barkada completely ruining the structural integrity of the 18 Treasures segment in an unruly knot of early-college chaos, blocking the view of the main projector and making Mikee’s older aunts look highly confused.
And Arianne.
Arianne in the middle of all of it, laughing at the wrong times and making the night feel less like a performance Mikee had been trapped inside.
Arianne leaned her elbow by the window. “Also, it would’ve been a shame if I didn’t get to sing One Friend at your special party.”
Mikee made a sound of deep suffering. “Please don’t remind me.”
“I practiced kaya!”
“You weaponized sincerity in front of my entire family.”
“I sang beautifully.”
“You did.”
Arianne looked at her.
Mikee kept her eyes on the road.
“I mean,” Mikee said, recovering too late, “objectively.”
Arianne’s smile was very quiet. “Objectively.”
The night came back in pieces.
The hotel carpet under Mikee’s heels. The cake. The camera flashes. Arianne standing near the small stage with both hands around the microphone, singing like she meant every word and looking at Mikee just enough to ruin her for several minutes.
Later, after the guests left and the gowns had been abandoned like enemies, Arianne ended up in Mikee’s room helping her open gifts on the floor. Ribbons everywhere. Perfume. Books. Jewelry Mikee would probably never wear. A framed picture of the barkada that afternoon they spent at the Sunken Garden after graduation. That one made her laugh because Cleo was scowling, Sheryl had a chocolate stain on her shirt, and Arianne was piggy-backing her.
Then Arianne had tucked a strand of Mikee’s hair behind her ears and said, very quietly, “Eighteen ka na.”
Mikee had looked at her. “So are you.”
Arianne had smiled like that settled everything.
“We’re both legal na,” she had whispered later, breathless and half-laughing against Mikee’s mouth, and Mikee nearly lost every useful thought she had ever had.
The memory sat low in her stomach now, warm and inconvenient.
She cleared her throat and reached for the radio.
A song ended. A DJ said something too cheerful. Mikee switched stations until she found music, then almost switched away too fast when a Backstreet Boys song came through.
Arianne caught it, her hand instantly darting out to slap Mikee's fingers away from the dashboard.
“Leave it.”
“No.”
“Why? You like this.”
“I do not.” Mikee scoffed, staring resolutely at the road ahead as the opening harmonies began to fill the Corolla.
“You absolutely do.”
“I respect it as a cultural product.” Mikee argued loftily, her thumb lightly tapping against the steering wheel completely in time with the beat.
Arianne laughed. “You are such a boyband fan.”
“I am not.” Mikee shot her a quick, warning glare before checking the rearview mirror.
“You had Middle of Nowhere.”
Mikee shrugged. “Everyone had a Hanson cassette.”
“You knew which brother was which.”
“That’s basic.” Mikee said, her voice entirely deadpan.
“You also had opinions about Nick Carter’s hair.”
Mikee gasped. “That was private.” Her head whipped toward the passenger side, her eyes wide in mock horror.
“So you admit it.”
“I admit nothing.”
Arianne leaned back, pleased with herself. “Okay, secret boyband fangirl.”
“Say that again and you’re walking.”
“You won’t let me.”
That was unfortunately true. Mikee kept her eyes on the road, but the corner of her mouth finally unraveled into a defeated, quiet smile as the chorus kicked in.
Traffic was still traffic, but inside the car it felt new. Arianne in the passenger seat. Mikee driving. Their bags in the back. UP waiting for them like a dare.
By the time they reached Diliman, the campus had already folded them into its usual second-sem noise. Jeepneys moved around the Academic Oval. Students crossed anywhere they wanted because everyone in UP seemed to have decided that vehicles were theoretical. Posters clung to walls. Trees threw shade over the road in broken pieces.
Mikee liked this part.
Even when she pretended she did not.
The wide roads. The old buildings. The strange mix of beauty and neglect. People sitting on the grass like they had nowhere else to be. Diliman made everything feel possible and slightly falling apart at the same time.
Which was rude, because that was also how Mikee felt most days.
Start of classes was supposed to mean discipline.
Mikee had said that to herself three times already that morning, which probably meant the semester was already in danger.
She parked after circling the AS parking lot twice and cursing only once, which she considered growth.
Arianne got out and looked at the car again.
“What?” Mikee asked.
“Nothing.”
“You have a face.”
“I’m thinking this is going to make you more unbearable.”
“I was already operating near full capacity.”
“Yun na nga. That’s what worries me.”
They walked toward Palma Hall together.
Second sem. November 1999.
UP Diliman had started moving again after registration week, and the whole campus looked like it had been shaken awake and told to organize itself with ballpens, Form 5s, and patience nobody actually had.
Students were everywhere. Freshmen still walked in packs- too clean and too scared- asking around where Room TBA was and a guy pointing them towards a non-existent West Wing fourth floor. Upperclassmen moved like they had been personally offended by every building on campus. Someone near AS steps was arguing with a friend about a closed class. Someone else had already given up and was smoking under a tree at nine in the morning like the semester had insulted him personally.
It was still early in the semester, but Mikee was already tired.
Registration week had done that to people.
She had lined up at ISSI for payment until the line felt like it had become part of her personality. Two stories long. People on the stairs. People guarding spots for friends. People making new enemies over who was supposedly next. Then came manual enlistment, which was just a long way of saying walk across campus repeatedly until your spirit leaves your body.
Sign here. Go there. Closed na. Ask the department. Try prerog. Come back later. Bring this form. Not that form. No, ma’am, full na. No, sir, professor is not here. No, you cannot cry here, although Mikee had seen at least one girl try and honestly respected the effort.
The worst part was that Mikee deserved half the misery.
She had failed Math 17.
Again, the phrase did not feel real in her head. Math had once been something she was good at. Then senior year happened. Then UP happened. Then Math 17 happened with the quiet confidence of a subject that knew it could ruin lives.
She had also failed a PolSci class she had no business treating casually.
That one was more insulting because she had gone in thinking she could handle it on instinct. She could argue. She could write. She had survived State High. She came from the kind of high school that made people in other schools say, ay, State High, with the correct amount of fear and respect.
She had walked into that PolSci class one morning during first sem annoyed at the heat and wondering why everyone had reviewers out.
Midterms.
It had been midterms.
She sat down with one ballpen and the kind of calm only available to people who had not yet understood that they were finished.
At the end of the semester, the class card had said 5.00.
A different class had given her a 2.75, which was passing, yes, but in the way a person survived being dragged by the ankle across gravel. Mikee had stared at that grade for a full minute, personally offended by how ugly it looked.
The failures separated her from most of her block this sem. They moved forward into cleaner schedules while she had to retake what she had mishandled.
Not that she missed them.
That was what she told herself.
She never felt like she belonged with that block anyway. Too many people acting impressed with themselves for surviving one semester in UP when Mikee had come from State High. State High meant pressure. State High meant standards. State High meant she had survived people who treated ranking like blood sport.
Except UP did not care.
That was the part Mikee kept trying not to see.
UP did not care that she had been captain. Did not care that teachers used to know her name. Did not care that in high school, she could walk into a room already carrying a reputation.
UP had students who spoke like footnotes. Students who solved problems like breathing. Students who wrote papers with titles Mikee had to read twice and still did not understand.
UP had a way of making you find out you were not special in public.
Mikee hated it.
So she made jokes.
They found the others at Ube-Keso House, which wasn’t its actual name. The canteen was tucked inside AS where people went when they wanted food, gossip, and the illusion of productivity. It smelled like hot oil, sugar, rice, and damp monobloc chairs.
Cleo was already there with Maffe, Jess, Sheryl, Ger, and Steph.
“Finally,” Cleo said when Mikee and Arianne arrived. “Akala ko nag-tanan na kayo.”
“Na-traffic kami sa may Ateneo,” Mikee said.
“Kahit saan naman,” Ger said.
Sheryl looked up from a plate of something orange and questionable. “Uy, driver na siya.”
Maffe turned to Mikee. “Dala mo na yung auto?”
Mikee shrugged like this was not the best thing that had happened to her all week. “Maybe.”
Steph clapped once. “Road trip! Enchanted Kingdom!”
“Tara,” Mikee said, shifting her weight and slouching back against the plastic bench.
Jess snorted, pointing a plastic fork across the table. “Takot ka nga sa Space Shuttle.”
“Hindi kaya!” Steph shot back, her chin tilting up defensively.
“Weh. Yung tili mo nga sa Anchors Away palang,” Jess countered, widening her eyes to mimic Steph’s tragic expression on the pirate ship.
Steph threw a crumpled yellow wrapper at her, failing to look genuinely offended. “Excuse me!”
Arianne was still laughing as she slid into the seat beside Steph instead of the empty one beside Mikee.
It was a small thing.
So small Mikee hated that she noticed.
She reached for Cleo’s melon shake.
Cleo moved it away. “Huy.”
“Share.”
“Bili ka ng sarili mo.”
“Damot.”
“May car ka na kaya.”
“That doesn’t mean I have cash.”
“That is the most Iska thing you’ve said all day,” Ger said.
Mikee leaned back and put her bag beside her chair.
“So,” Maffe said, looking at Mikee. “Nakuha mo classes mo?”
“Some.”
“Math?”
Mikee made a face.
Everyone understood.
Arianne smiled at her. “Good luck.”
“Don’t say it like I’m going to war.”
“You kind of are.”
Cleo raised her hand. “We all got Nat Sci 2.”
“We?” Mikee asked.
“You, me, Ger. Nakasingit ako”
Ger closed her eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Lord–”
“Look, think about the logistics,” Cleo argued, resting both elbows on the table. “Attendance is now a group decision.”
“No,” Ger said.
“Ayaw mo ba kami kasama?” Mikee said.
Maffe didn't even look up from her notebook, but she pointed her pilot pen directly at Cleo’s nose. “You’re not cutting Nat Sci.”
Cleo gave her an innocent face. “Wow– I wala pa nga akong ginagawa.”
“Nasa face mo,” Maffe said, finally glancing up.
“My face is naturally like this.”
“Unfortunately,” Mikee muttered,
Cleo threw a tissue at her.
The table settled into its usual noise. Sheryl was complaining about photocopy prices. Jess and Steph were arguing about whether it was possible to have a crush on someone purely because of their handwriting. Ger was trying to eat in peace, which had been her impossible dream since high school.
Arianne leaned toward Steph to look at something in her notebook and laughed into her hand.
Mikee knew that specific laugh. This one was small and bright, the kind that meant she was actively trying not to be too loud in a crowded room.
Mikee looked away.
Cleo kicked her under the table.
“Ow.”
“Tulala ka na naman.”
“I’m just sitting here.”
“Kaya nga.”
Mikee casually flashed her the finger beneath the safety of the wooden tabletop.
Ger, sitting right across from them, caught the movement and let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. “Ang mature, Leal.”
“Thank you,” Mikee said.
After a few minutes of quiet, Arianne checked her watch, her brow knitting together. “Gusto ko ng quesadilla.”
“Meron dito?” Sheryl asked, looking around the crowded canteen lines.
“Sa CASAA.”
Cleo groaned dramatically, slouching lower into her plastic seat. “Ang layo naman.”
“It’s really not that far,” Arianne pointed out, already sliding her pen back into her pencil case.
“Ang init-init, o. That’s how people die,” Jess chimed in.
Mikee stood up before her brain could fully calculate the decision. “I’ll go buy.”
Arianne looked up. “No, okay lang.”
“It’s fine.”
“Hindi, okay lang,” Arianne repeated, her voice steady and entirely deliberate as she turned her back slightly to look at Steph. “Samahan ako ni Steph.”
Mikee stopped, her hand still gripping the back of the chair.
Steph blinked, looking between the two of them, before a dry, knowing smile touched her lips. “Right. Yes. I will apparently go with you.”
Arianne offered a small, sheepish tilt of her head. “If okay lang?”
“Of course,” Steph said, reaching for her tote bag.
Mikee sat back down slowly.
It was stupid. Arianne could walk to another canteen with whoever she wanted. Steph had legs. Arianne had legs. The campus was not Mikee’s private kingdom.
Still.
There it was.
Her hand found the edge of the table and tapped once. Twice.
She felt Cleo watching her.
Mikee did not look back.
Arianne stood up, her fingers lightly brushing Mikee’s shoulder as she passed. It was a brief, familiar touch. Entirely too easy.
“Do you want anything?” Arianne asked.
There were things Mikee wanted.
None of them were quesadilla.
“Nope,” Mikee said, keeping her voice completely level. “I’m good.”
Arianne nodded once, then slid into step behind Steph as they headed toward the AS Walk.
Mikee watched them until they disappeared into the flow of students.
“Ang bait mo naman,” Jess muttered.
Mikee frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“Ayoko nga.”
“Jess.”
“Gusto ko pang mabuhay, Leal.”
Cleo leaned closer, resting her chin on her palm. “Math ka na?”
Mikee checked the time.
She should go. She needed to fix her schedule. She needed to stop treating the semester like something that would arrange itself around her feelings.
“Yeah,” she said. “Math building.”
“Boo,” Cleo said.
“Some of us are trying to remain students.”
“Isang beses ka lang papasok nang maaga, akala mo naman College Scholar ka na agad.”
Maffe still didn't look up from her readings, her highlighter scraping a bright yellow line against the page. “Try mo minsan.”
Cleo turned to her. “Try what?”
“Being responsible.”
The sentence was ordinary. It still landed with a distinct, sharp edge
Cleo’s smile thinned. “Relax, Maffe.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You don’t sound relaxed.”
“You don’t sound enrolled.”
The table went quiet for half a beat.
Cleo looked away first.
Mikee felt something in her chest tighten, and for once, it had nothing to do with Arianne.
That was happening more lately too. Cleo and Maffe saying ordinary things that came out with teeth. Cleo laughing too quickly. Maffe watching too closely. The two of them still sitting right next to each other, but still somehow not right.
Before the silence could curdle into something worse, Sheryl announced she was starving and aggressively stabbed a fishball off Jess’s plate.
Order returned, or a cheap imitation of it
Mikee stood up. Arianne wasn't back from CASAA yet. She could have waited. It wouldn't have taken long.
She had time to wait.
She made herself walk away instead.
At the AS exit, she made the mistake of looking back.
Arianne and Steph were just coming in from the hallway, each holding food wrapped in paper. Arianne was laughing again, head tilted toward Steph.
Mikee’s stomach did the same stupid twist it had been doing all morning.
Arianne saw her. “May class ka na?”
“Sort of.”
“Math?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, galingan mo ha.”
Mikee lifted two fingers in a lazy salute because trying to find the words for anything else felt exhausting.
The hallway swallowed her quickly.
The humid air hit her the moment she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Students moved around her in both directions, carrying books, folders, lives Mikee knew nothing about. A jeepney idled at the curb.
Mikee kept walking.
Second sem, she reminded herself.
Fresh start.
New car. New schedule. New chance.
She unlocked the door, the heavy heat trapped inside the cabin rushing out to meet her. She slid into the driver's seat, tossed her bag onto the passenger side, and started the engine. The AC blasted a lukewarm draft for a few seconds before finally turning cold.
She could fix Math 17.
She could retake that PolSci class and stop acting like she was too good to be humbled.
She could attend Nat Sci 2. She could stop cutting with Cleo before the cutting even began.
She could stop watching every small movement Arianne made around other people like it was evidence of a crime.
She could just be normal.
She turned the wheel, guiding the car toward the far edge of the campus. The Math building waited with the personality of a government office and the threat level of a final boss.
Mikee killed the engine, gripped the steering wheel for three quiet seconds, and adjusted her bag.
For once, she was going to do the responsible thing.
For now.