The Rules of the Game (Preview)

Working Title: The Rules of the Game

By: Lilah Gran

DRAFT

PROLOGUE

Everytime I tell stories about him, I usually accessorize it with “I don’t really miss him, I’m just saying he was that cool” or “I didn’t really love him, I just really really admired him”. Honestly, I can’t even tell if I’m lying. He was after all, really cool. He stood (with his swag) as an exception to the life isn’t a fairytale and that there is no perfect guy.

Before I met him I was completely normal. As a teenager, I had insecurities, doubts, uncertainties, and a pool of issues I usually made up. I was excited to experience love in such familiar ways. (Thanks movies!)

Whatever I knew back then changed right away when I met him. All that I came to know became foreign to me, and before I knew it I was molding into a completely different person. As my old (traditional) friends would argue, I changed for what the hell happened, but for some of my newer friends, everybody changes. Of course, I prefer the latter.

He was the bad boy type; someone you’d avoid to not get into trouble. He does what he wants and gets away with the consequences (Unfair, right?). It was like all the stars above are aligned in his favor. At first you might think it was just a coincidence, but the more you hang out with him, the more you realize it doesn’t seem to end. Getting out of trouble comes as natural to him as getting into it. And because he’s so good at it, you start to feel at ease. That no matter how many rules you break, he’ll save you anyway. Questions of proper starts to fade out, leaving your naïve-just-got-out-of-puberty little brain with so much amusement.

At 16, I thought I recognized the world. I was proud of my achievements, mostly consists of crossed out items on my to-buy and to-read list among others. I was comfortable with my circle of friends and acquaintances. I didn’t consider what’s on the other side of the world, because I was convinced my world is the only world. The most I can imagine outside my life are book and TV series.

I thought I knew everything.

I was okay with what I already knew.

Until I found out more.

THE FIRST MEETING

Our first meeting wasn’t exceptional at all. Now you might think this is a loophole to the perfect him, but it’s not. Later on I realized it was the first rule of the game: leave a mark that won’t mark. In layman’s term, make a mark unremarkable, but a mark nonetheless. In layman-layman’s term, show up with your cool stylish self, be the center of attention, and then leave right away. It was all about his confidence, maybe even his pride (narcissistic in nature). He walked in alone (take note: alone), but left the gathering with half the guests with him.

I remember exactly when he stepped in. Everybody was checking him out, because apparently, he doesn’t show up a lot. Why? Because he doesn’t care if he owes you an appearance or not or if by tradition he should go. He just goes when he goes. So having him there was a unique opportunity. And of course everybody there knew him. Why? Because he breaks the rules, and everybody gossips. Lucky for him, a crowd favorite (topic to gossip) is always the rule-breaker; the odd one out.

There’s the:

“Kawawa naman si Kumpare, Kumare.”

“Ewan ko ba at iba siya sa Kuya niya.”

“Madalang nga lang daw umuwi yan eh.”

 “May nabuntis na ata yan eh.”

And then:

“Dati tumatakbo pa yan walang saplot, ngayon binata na.”

“Ang gwapo, mana kay Yoyo!”

“Siya na ba yung bunsong anak ni Yoyo?”

“Dapat nagmodel yan. Artistahin eh.”

Quite honestly, I couldn’t care less. Being there was so much agony for myself, I can’t bother to pay attention to the pointless stuff. After all, I never once cared about another person’s business. They can be murderers and I wouldn’t mind sharing a table. As long as they don’t touch my food.

But of course, I had to check him out. He looked like an “off-duty” model straight out of a fashion catalogue, literally, as in all the exaggeration aside. He was really tall for a typical Filipino guy, but his shoulders were slightly hunched. His skin was fair but it looked like he stays outdoor a lot. He looked like he just got out of bed, wearing tailored shorts and plain white tee, with flip flops. His hair badly needed a haircut, but obviously he didn’t bother making it look presentable for the occasion.

The details may seem overwhelming to you, but trust me, I am not a psycho. I just love writing so much and observing people has been an inherent hobby of mine.

He was crowded by kids around his age (He was 17 at the time), my age (16), and younger (15 below), except for babies of course. He was literally treated like a celebrity, without the photo requests and paparazzi.

I buried on my seat, unable to blend in. So I just sat there awkwardly, surrounded by Titas and Titos I just met. Hey, they were really being nice to keep me company. You see, they were my Dad’s friends, and he has a vast network. So imagine the hundreds of people there, including their families. I grew up looking up to my Dad because he seems to know the answer to everything. But our relationship isn’t really a pretty picture. Although I admire him, I also dislike his presence. He was controlling, typical on a Father, right? I didn’t have anyone else besides my Mom because I’m the only child. The only memory I had of my Dad prior to my Mom leaving (to work abroad), were dinners in the city when I was really young. Majority of the time, he wasn’t around. I didn’t live with him, that’s why. He would just show up twice or thrice a week, and then leave right away. Growing up, I didn’t know anything else besides that practice. I probably thought it was the same for everyone. And when I realized the entirety of the situation, rebelling to me just sound so stupid. After all, hindi siya nagkulang. Well, sort of. He was able to provide for my childhood. I remember being spoiled, after all. So why bother rebelling, right? I was too comfortable to entertain the idea. Also because whatever I craved for a Father’s attention, I got it from my Mom. It was sufficient enough.

But then she left, and all of a sudden, he was my guardian. We still didn’t live together, but he would show up like all the time. And then the conversation just fell apart. I can’t remember when it started. But everytime he would stop by, I would curse the days. I never liked him around because I don’t like the way he talks, and the things we talk about. It was always so belittling. Never his company put me at ease. I was always on my guard because he would judge me. To his eyes, I was probably an investment, and he expects a great return. His insights were directed to me because my Mom was away, and I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t told to bring an armor, so the bullets dig deep. I didn’t know how to handle him, more so, I didn’t know how to handle myself around him.

So coming there, at such gathering, wasn’t a choice. He told me to come because apparently “He wants me to meet the right people”. He’s a social climber after all, in an acceptable way I guess. He just knew that the right mind would get you far, but the right people would get you there in a limousine. 

When I said this is the first we met, that’s probably not the case. This is where I first saw him, yes. But we weren’t introduced. And it wasn’t like love at first sight at all. It was just like one of those moments.

Excerpt from The Sneaky Skull:

If I was lucky, some people would make up stories like I had a crush on him and He had a crush on me and We lived happily ever after.

But we all know that's not going to happen.

So I'm just going to crush the butterflies. Kill them before they kill me.

Because let's be real,

He'll forget about me.

And I'll forget about him.

And I'll go on with my life,

Dragging down a list (+1) of men that happened to walk by.

Yeah, I’ve accepted the fact that “Amazing things do happen, I know, but always to someone else, always in some far-off place and time.” That’s a line from a book called Eragon by the way. (Author’s name is Christopher Paolini, in case you’re wondering)

So you see, our first meeting wasn’t remarkable at all. It was just one of those days, when you tambay sa hallway with your girlfriends, trying to spot hot guys at school. But the bell would ring, and you proceed to your class. You move on.

I. moved. on.

I thought I wouldn’t see him again.

But I did, a year later.

A YEAR LATER

My Dad, whom I shall name M, invited me on his birthday for the very first time. His birthday celebrations, to me and my Mom, usually only involve dinners the night before. We never actually get to celebrate his birthday on the actual date, except for that obligatory birthday call or text we have to give him. I didn’t know what to expect when he invited me. I suppose I was a little flattered, but jitters took over me. I literally don’t know anyone out there. The people I met before, the Titos and Titas probably didn’t even remember me. And I seriously (as a teenager) do not want to hang out with the older group. I was against the idea of coming, but I just wanted to get it over with.

So arrive I did. I remember I sat at the farthest table, where all the servants seat. They were the only people I knew. I was embarrassed. I do not believe I belong. I didn’t even understand why M took me there, when he knew very well the circumstances. So I sat there, still awkward, bothered by the thoughts of people passing by.

“Who is she?”

“How is she related to him?”

I don’t know how he got away with it. The questions. I suppose he simply just lost track of his lies, and so did the people. Frankly, they probably already know, just too polite to bring up. I kept my head low, afraid to catch the sight of anyone influential. I stuck with my phone, constantly going over my photo gallery to bid the time.

But then he called my name. My Dad. He motioned for me to follow him on the other side of the room. I straightened the wrinkles on my dress and hurried towards him. I followed his strut to the table occupied by (probably ten) guests of my age. My heart was racing. I knew he was going to tell them to “give me a hand”. I’ve encountered it before, on a few family gatherings I was unfortunate to attend. They were as awkward as this.

The first person who greeted me was him. When I arrived, they were all gathered around this guy with the DLSR-ish camera (perhaps?), probably checking out the group photo they just took.

He was the only one who caught up with our arrival, everyone else was busy trying to take a peek off of the camera screen.

“Tito!” He said it with such thick conyo accent. I rolled my eyes.

So typical.

“What’s your name again, iho? Bunso ka ni Yoyo di ba?”

His smile was off the charts. But it looked rehearsed, like he was actually trying to please my Dad.

“Yes, Tito. Jared po.” He reached out his hand, and my Dad reciprocated. I just watched this brief interaction impatiently from behind. Finally, he introduced me.

“This is my daughter, Zia. Do you mind keeping her company? Medyo mahiyain eh, hindi nagsasalita.” He automatically offered his hand, and I shook it. The very first thing I notice at a man (weirdly), is their nails. I have no idea why, and I often wondered just the same. He was well groomed this time. His hair was brushed back, and he wore collared and jeans. His hands were thin and soft, almost like a girl’s. But his veins traced his skin. He flexes. Probably a fan of the gym, or perhaps an athlete.

Again, so typical. (Too much Wattpad stories)

“Sure, Tito. Leave her to me.” He grabbed my hand right then and there, without hesitation at all, and pulled me to their table. I watched my Dad disappear from my sight.

This my friends, this is where it all began.

I was surprised he wasn’t shy at all. Like he knew exactly how to handle me. He knew how to entertain me. He was confident that he had mastered the gameplan. Mostly when people meet for the first time, they don’t know to how to act around each other. In the Philippines, the Maria Clara pabebe trait is still often used. It takes time. A very long time.

I’ve been around guys several times before, and even those I’ve known for a while, still act nervously around me. You see, I can sense all of this. I like to read people, their mannerisms, how they establish eye contact, the tone of their voice, and the most interesting part: if they’re lying.

He was completely established. He knew what he was doing. But above all else, he knew what I was doing. At this point, I found myself spending the entire night with him (at the party, chill). He introduced me to his friends and hello’s were exchanged back and forth, but that was it. There were a few comments like:

“How come you’re unfamiliar?”

“I also hate coming to parties like this.”

“I’m supposed to be at insert a cool event at Makati here pero Dad asked me to come eh.“

“I only came because I heard you guys are coming.”

“I didn’t know may anak pala si Tito.”

“Sams ka samin sa insert club name here one time!”

“Ilang taon ka na? Where do you study?”

and a bunch more.

Maybe because my Dad specifically asked him to keep me company, but he didn’t leave me alone. Even if I found myself conversing with another, he was still involved. I was actually quite thankful about it, but then again, I knew it was just a Cinderella moment.

But I found out stuff about him that night. Like where he studies, what he studies, where he lives, his hobbies, his usual hang outs, his favorite bands, and the like. But what threw me off was our exchange of dialogues (see below). I swear everytime we talk it all seem scripted, like it was purposely put there to go with the flow.”

“So, did I pass?”

“Pass?”

“Your standards.”

“Standards? What standards? What do you mean?”

“You have a list don’t you? Of your fairytale prince? Did I pass?”

“I don’t believe in fairytales.”

“Of course you don’t. And I know why.”

“Why?”

“Because you believe in it.”

“Huh. That doesn’t make sense.”

“You believe in hope that there is a fairytale. But you know better not to be stupid, so you convince yourself otherwise. But you are hopeful.”

“Ano?”

I told him I didn’t get what he meant. But actually, I do. I just can’t remember how long I’ve craved for someone to jump along my train of thoughts.

He laughed, dismissing his point. But our conversation went on.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Think and engage at the same time.”

“Engage in what?”

“While I was talking, while we were talking, you were thinking about something else, but you’re also listening to what I’m saying. You’re able to reply and all, and think at the same time.”

I was amazed, at how equally observant he was. He didn’t ask, he just assumed. Perhaps our only difference is that when I make observations, I reserve my thoughts for my blog. But he doesn’t write at all. He’s apparently too lazy for that. What he does instead is speak out loud. That’s how he made friends, while all I made were view counts.

“How can you tell?”

“Your eyes were distant. You weren’t looking at me. You were looking through me. But right when I made a joke, you laughed right away. When I asked you about anything, you answered right away.”

Excerpt from The Sneaky Skull:

I wish he can see my weaknesses without pointing it out.

I wish he can see me weak without letting me know.

That way, I can be strong and weak at the same time.

The person I am, and the person I want to be.

Leave a mark that won’t mark, then trace it. That’s what he did. He asked me if he passed my standards, well, he did. He outlined the mark he left in my memory. And now the letters are clear and bold, but still written in temporary ink.

At this point you probably think we’ve exchanged numbers, right? How are we supposed to keep in touch? But we didn’t. I’ll wake up tomorrow like it didn’t happen. And just like that I was a Cinderella. Only my fairytale was written in temporary ink.

Of course, I looked for him on Facebook. I didn’t get his surname because who the hell asks for someone else’s surname on their first meeting, right? I typed his name (Jared) on the search bar, and I got 10,762 results, to my dismay.

xxxxxx

Status: Currently writing

Note: I have no idea when I can finish this. I'll take each day as it comes. I also haven't figured out where to post its entirety. Probably just on a PDF, maybe Figment or Wattpad (Ah, who knows). I won't be sharing more chapters. This will be it for the teaser. You're welcome. Also, subject to change at anytime without notice. Haven't subjected to proof-reading yet. Un-edited and draft version. (lol)

Cheers, Lilah Gran