20 | Churro

The cold weather was my favorite.

My boot-clad feet splashed on the wide puddle on the street. As pellets of raindrops fell down from the sky, people rushed to different ways to get home. I paid no heed at the busy city and focused on my food and getting to the park. A few more minutes later, I found a vacant bench sheltered under a thin metal roof. Pulling my hood closer, I squeezed through the crowds to get to the bench.

It was surprisingly dry inside the shelter. Grinning in satisfaction, I leaned back and feasted on my churros. Sneaking out of the house was easier than it sounded.

Someone sat beside me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jackson next to me, a little wet from the rain.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, "Rainy day, huh?" A smile spread on my face; he did choose to come after all.

"Churro?" I offered him one. He looked confused for moment, staring at the stick of churro. I shoved the treat closer to his face, "Come on. It has chocolate dip."

Once I showed him the dip, he took the churro hesitantly. "I'm surprised you came," I held up a finger-ful of chocolate to my face, "Just because I said so? I thought I'd be sitting here in the rain, eating churros by myself."

A little laugh escaped from him, "I wouldn't let that happen. Passing up the opportunity of churros, I mean."

I bumped my shoulder on his, "I bought these on my way here. How was your trip, by the way? Did you escape through your grilled window?"

He only stared at me, dumbfounded. "What?" I asked, feeling around my face in case it was stained with chocolate. "It was easy getting out of the house, you know. The front door was wide open for me to come out of. I even grabbed a cup of hot coco on my way out."

And I got to see the look on Mel's face when I inconspicuously slipped out of the shop with the cup in my hand.

"Front door? The back door was useful for me," Jackson explained, "I had to lock Brennan inside his room."

"Did you lock the windows, too?"

"His windows are grilled."

Grilled and hot, alright.

"What if he calls your parents to rat you out?" I asked with wide eyes.

"He can't do that," he fished out something from his coat, "I have his phone right here. He really needs to watch where it goes." Amusement went wild in his eyes, as if he had pulled out the biggest heist in history.

I nodded, convinced that Brennan wouldn't be disturbing our time together or destroying the house. But Jackson hadn't eaten his churro yet – it just sat there in his hand. "Why aren't you eating your churro?" I asked, "It doesn't have marshmallows on it, you don't have to be afraid."

He wore an annoyed look, "I was busy talking, sorry." He bit into the churro, chewing furiously.

"Anyway," said he, "You haven't told me about your adventure this morning yet."

"Only if you tell me about these mop shoes," I chuckled.

And so I recounted everything to him. From the sweat-infested van to the time-out room. He found the events amusing, and I also had myself laughing as I told him. Watching him happy as I told him the story made me happy, too.

"At least you had a butterscotch bar," he said.

"And churros," I raised the cup I was holding, got one, and dipped it in chocolate. It tasted utterly heavenly in my mouth.

"Meanwhile, home wasn't much interesting," he began telling his own story, "Brennan tripped and stumbled here and there because he was tired, then the mop shoes arrived, then we had an acting number when Mom and Dad called."

Not much interesting? I would give up anything to be there with them.

"I know I promised you a day-off today," Jackson apologized, "But I just needed comfort and talking to you relaxes me. I – I meant I . . . I was missing my daily dose of sweets – sorry – Oliver. Daily dose of Oliver."

"So you're saying you missed me?"

"Not really?"

He didn't sound sure. I finished the churros, giving him half, and I tossed the empty container at the trash can. The cup of chocolate dip, though, I still held in my hands. I stood up, beckoning Jackson over.

He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back before I could get out of the shelter. "You're going to get wet," he turned me around, "Didn't you bring an umbrella?"

I looked out at the umbrellas staring back at us as they ran. I patted my hood, "This one's effective, too, you know."

Jackson's eyes rolled skyward in irritation. He took my elbow and pulled out a foldable umbrella and opened it. He was still the one guiding me as we started to walk on the sidewalk.

"I wanted to ask," I looked up at him, "Why do you call me? I mean, don't you have any friends you could hang with?"

His face turned dark, and I wanted to take back my words. I averted my gaze from him but I grabbed onto his elbow when he tried to pull away. "Don't you have your own – you know – Mitch? Best friend?"

Or was he too occupied in school to actually make some friends? Was he that anti-social? Or was he too ill-mannered and intimidating? Knowing him now, I couldn't understand why anyone wouldn't want to be friends with him.

"In Acewell," he took a deep breath, "Most people you meet can stab you in the back them moment they gain your trust. You could see a lot of innocent ones tailing after the superior students. They'll just be using you."

"They all couldn't be like that," I pointed out.

"But if you tried to befriend the ones who aren't half as bad, you get your level in the social ladder lowered. The others will target you and you'll be stepped over. It's better be just a face in the crowd than to be shark's bait."

"That's horrible," I muttered softly.

Brennan had told me almost the same thing when in Hollywood. He only got to befriend the people behind the stage – crew, cameramen, makeup artists, costume designers. Apparently, the producers and directors weren't that sociable. Fellow celebrities looked like they had better things to do.

We stopped in front of a jewelry shop so as not to be caught in the people traffic. All these people were bustling about, trying to escape the rain, but I'd rather savor the moment. Probably even bathe underneath it. After all, Los Angeles was always hot and rain was an occasional grace.

I stared at my reflection on the glass window. "I'll be your friend, don't worry." I assured Jackson.

"Oh? And we weren't friends before?"

"We shared churros now," I grinned up at him, "That should seal the deal."

My hand crawled towards his to entwine our fingers, but he hid his hand behind his coat.

I snorted, "By now, we should be past the hand-holding stage, you know. You should be giving me lots of hugs."

The side of his lips tugged up, "And what would you be accomplishing after all the stages, then?"

Winning you over. All of you.

"Your complete trust and loyalty . . . ?"

He shook his head slightly, laughing, but nonetheless took my hand tightly. We continued down the sidewalk as the streets cleared up a bit. I ate up my chocolate dip and tossed the cup at a nearby garbage can.

The skies were lacking the gray in them, now, and sunlight was infiltrating the city. I kicked at a puddle, splashing both Jackson and I.

"I was thinking about something just a while ago," Jackson revealed and that caught my attention.

"Please do tell."

"I've met you before," Jackson looked at me like he was thinking deeply, "Before that time when I saw you and Brennan in the kitchen. Preschool, I think? There was this girl who kept beating me up and stealing my snacks the chance she got. I'm not quite sure, though."

"Why not?" I went through my own brain, trying to remember any dorky boy from my childhood days.

"She was actually pretty."

How insulting. I was offended. I sucked in a breath, audibly and dramatically, "And I'm not now?"

"Eh, you're okay."

"Take that back!" I scowled, "I'm gorgeous!"

"Hideous, it is," before I could speak another word, he held a hand up to silence me, "And she was blonde, no chocolate hair anyway."

I grabbed a clump of my 'chocolate hair', "Are you saying now that people are born with naturally ombré hair? Brown rainbow?"

"But I can't imagine you as a blonde," he defended.

I huffed, "Believe me, neither do I."

The rain fell into a light drizzle. I escaped from the confines of the umbrella and ran out into the rain, kicking puddles as I went. This was a close competition to staying under the duvet, hearing the pitter patter and surfing through my dash.

"So what did she do to you?" I still couldn't remember any Jackson Dale before the work my Dad assigned me to.

"She scared me back then. She broke crayons, stepped on clay houses, spilled milk on everything. She would pull at my shirt and grab my foot from under the table. She would purposely let me drop my snacks and hide my Spiderman watch in the girls' bathroom."

This kid sounded cool.

I snapped my fingers, a shot of recognition going through my mind, "I remember a boy! You were a total jerk! You'd insult me and give me names. And then, you'd go around flattering yourself and pushing me into the mud."

"No, sweets," Jackson shook his head. I twirled around a pole and followed him. "That was Brennan. He was above our level, but he was still there. He'd do those things to you and you'd strike back. But you also got me special treatment of bullying."

Really? That was bull.

But I started to recall a small chubby Brennan getting angry at me. The memory was fuzzy, but I still couldn't place where Jackson was.

"I was a small boy back then, and I'd be helpless," said Jackson.

The dots were slowly connecting. Of course! Jack-Jack, who I used to tease. The beating up sounded far-fetched, but I did remember him. He wasn't in the preschool for long. He disappeared after a few months, and my little self blamed herself for that. I had spilled everything to Montana, then, and she went on about boys were no good and it would be better to stay away from them.

"But then you went away," I said softly, "Brennan, too."

Jackson agreed, "It was because the paps were always onto us in that school. Mom and Dad decided to move us."

"Oh," I felt relieved, "I thought it was because of me. As for the bullying part, I think it was my way of showing affection back then."

"I feel so loved," Jackson drawled sarcastically. We chorused a laugh as we continued our way to the house. He pulled me close to him, and I felt him shiver.

Must be the cold.

Not.

"You're hugging me again!" I exclaimed.

He didn't let go. "We're off to stage two, aren't we?"

The next moments were spent talking about our lives on our way home – or to Jackson's room. He mentioned that Brennan must be too bored in his room that he'd actually be cleaning the place. I told him of my plans to steal the mop shoes. And he promised to help. I felt alive talking to him – like after a long day, he would be here for me, if Mitch wasn't.

Tomorrow, Maira and Walter would be arriving. I'll have to go back to work and help clean up the remaining rooms, and prepare a testimony that the boys did behave except for a few antics. That'd give me more time to just talk to Jackson and get Brennan a little riled up.

In a way, things were looking up now.

♫ ♫ ♫

The shop was on its usual busy schedule when I entered. Monday kicked off well, like the norm and school was both paradise and hell. I guessed it was because we had witnessed a fandom brawl between two teachers during lunch break. Or maybe it was because ice cream sandwiches were served after school and Mitch and I were first in line – that led me to dropping my own sandwich. Or it could be the long lecture of our Physics teacher about the autobiography of Isaac Newton.

Anyway, I was back at home now, determined to finish an essay before going to the Dales'. I was on my way upstairs when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Oh my chocolate, Mom! Don't sneak up on me like that!" I put a hand on my chest as I twisted around to see Mom holding her dinglehopper on one hand and the other on her hip.

"You still have a few before going to your other job," she threw me an apron and a hairnet, "Go look after the ice cream station."

"What!" I screeched dubiously, "But I have homework!"

"If by homework you mean spending one hour changing the fonts of your essay title, then you better go to work now," she held me by the shoulders and tossed my bag at a nearby chair.

Glancing at the ice cream station, there was already a long line behind it. Mom had disappeared from my side, but I knew well enough she was watching. Bitterly, I put on my apron and hairnet tight and scampered off to the ice cream station.

Not even ten minutes into scooping up ice cream for the customers, my arms were already aching. I inwardly muttered curse words and flavors as I got to another customer.

"Melanie?" I stared at the girl in line for ice cream, pulling myself out of daydreaming.

"Pistachio, please," a smile fluttered on her face, "You forgot? Payday's today. I got Raquel to take off a few dollars off me so I could get one of these."

A low grumble erupted from my throat. I looked past Mel and spotted Mom behind the kitchen window. "Mom!" I called out, "Where's my allowance?"

"We agreed next week, didn't we?" she yelled back. Of course. Next week. And it was also my payday from working at the Dales' that week.

And what could I use the money for? Why, food and fandom merchandise. I could also save up for my own laptop.

Mel snapped her fingers in front of my face so I could take her order. I got the pistachio ice cream on a cone, with sprinkles and M&Ms in a jiffy. She greedily snatched the cone from my hand and went back to her post.

I wouldn't want to tell Mom, but I couldn't wait to leave the shop for my other work. Jackson and I have been talking nonstop over the phone. Usually, I'd be the one to make him laugh, but he was funny in every way, too. Added to that, he would help me out in my homework if I had questions.

Customer after customer later, I practically did a parkour from the station to the kitchen where Mom would be. She didn't say anything once I got there. She just waved her hand off to dismiss me, and as fast as a Supernatural gif on Tumblr, I grabbed my bag and bolted up the stairs.

But the house wasn't empty.

"Hey," Lawrence was lounging on the couch, holding a bag of chips, "Nice Cheetos you have in here."

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I haven't seen you in a while. We have some matchmaker hunting to do, remember?"

He wasn't lying. For the past days, we've been talking about a suitable matchmaker for him and he wouldn't agree to any of my suggestions and procrastinated on asking his college mates. But on the other hand, he was whining about wanting a girlfriend already.

"Last I suggested was Mel, remember? I saw her ships. She could be trusted with looking for the right girl for you."

I've hunted down Mel on Tumblr. She literally took two characters from fandoms and shipped them when nobody else thought to. And the best part was she had headcanons, observations and evidence.

"But she scares me!" Lawrence shrieked. "Plus, I don't think I could trust another person on how I judge my girls."

"Then, if you have nothing better to do here, leave." I didn't want to be mean, but I had to leave for work and he was delaying me.

He raised his arms up in faux surrender, "Be cool! Okay? I was just saying that maybe this matchmaker thing isn't going to solve my problem."

Lawrence stood up and made his way over to me. "Then what else do you want me to do?" I pulled my tie from my hair. "I've done everything I could to help you out. Now, can you leave me alone?"

"But you're always spending time with others!"

I faced him, glaring intensely, "I'm trying to balance it all right now, can't you see? Even Mitch and I aren't seeing each other for so long because school and education is such a pain in our sweet butts. And the only time we get to talk is during car rides. I have two jobs I need to work for, homework, and two boys to babysit!"

"And you're always with Jackson," Lawrence murmured, "I call you up? Sorry, Jackson and I are talking. Hey, Ollie, you want to meet up? Sorry, Jackson needs me."

"What's your problem? A week ago, you were getting him jealous and now, you're mad."

"Well, don't you think he's just using you? Because he still doesn't trust you?"

I've pondered over that for hours and hours. But I trusted Jackson. He wouldn't be the one to do that. "He's proven himself," I shrugged, "I know he's not going to do something like that. He's sorry and I'm sorry and we're actually getting along."

"And you're doing this so he could spill you some information, right?"

A flame in me erupted. "I might be blackmailed by my father," I said in a whisper, "But I will never play with anyone to get what I need! How dare you suggest that, you filth!"

"Lawrence, what has gotten into you? A demon? Because you're not acting like your damn self right now."

He ran a hand through his messy hair and cursed over and over. I didn't need this problem to be stacked with my discarded ones. I didn't want one argument to blow off what Lawrence and I had.

"Because I've been thinking," his voice toned down, "That I can't spend all my life chasing girls. And you said it yourself that maybe the right girl for me is just around the corner."

What was he on about?

He continued, looking so stressed out, "And I thought about you, Ollie. You were there when nobody else was and you're always by my side even if I do the stupidest things. You treat me desserts when I get ditched by my date and you'd help me map out my plans. I thought that maybe – maybe – you were the one all along."

Bullshit.

"Why are you with Jackson, anyway? He's a guy you just met and he had insulted you before. Now, you're buddies with him and you're neglecting your first guy-friend. I can't believe you'd neglect me over him. I just thought that you'd be leaving me once he got together with you and I can't let that happen. I know we haven't even thought before but . . . "

". . . maybe, just maybe . . . "

Then he kissed me.

The bastard actually kissed me.

And in those tiny seconds, all I could comprehend was that my third (or was it fourth) kiss was just stolen from me. And all I could feel was the ginger taste of his lips, unmoving.

Lawrence suddenly pulled himself out and backed away from me, as if he'd been stricken by sobriety. His gaze flickered towards me in a daze, and before I could speak about how awkward that was, he was out of the room and down the stairs.

♫ ♫ ♫