Page 12 of Top Scorer
“I’m sorry, Tristan.”
Talking about my family is making the food bitter. I scramble to change the subject.
“You know what I’ve always wondered?” I begin. “How the hell did you shrink my boxers?”
She’s mid-drink and has to cough before speaking. “I didn’t shrink them. I swapped them out for smaller ones.”
“God, you’re sneaky.”
We both chuckle at the memory.
She spent a lot of time and energy on her revenge tactics. The more elaborate the prank, the better. She drove me up the wall. Yet there was admiration for her cleverness, too. Now that I’m older, I can admit that Ligaya’s attentions—at a time when my parents couldn’t be bothered to look at me—made me feelchosen.
“How’d you sneak in?” I ask.
“My mom kept your house keys with Olive’s keychain as a memento.”
My mouth falls open. Knowing why Cathy had those keys makes my eyes prickle. She took care of my sister during those difficult months. Even when she wasn’t scheduled for housekeeping, she’d drop by to tempt Olive to eat a little something. Sometimes, while I was stuck at school and our parents were working, Cathy would come over to sit and watch television with Olive.
“I know it’s terrible,” Ligaya exclaims. “My mother is so sentimental about Olive. I should apologize.”
There’s a strange warmth in my chest at the sound of my sister’s name on Ligaya’s lips.
“Go ahead.”
“Go ahead with what?”
“Your apology.”
She cackles. “I’m not going to apologize toyou! I mean I should apologize to my mom for taking Olive’s keychain.”
“We really were idiots,” I concede with a chuckle.
“Decision-making is not a high schooler’s strongest attribute.” She shrugs. “I would know.”
“Why’d you choose to teach at Centerstone? I thought you went to Chicago for college.”
She looks astonished that I knew where she went to college.
“My parents aren’t getting younger. And since Amihan isn’t stationed here, it made sense for me to live close by.”
“Do you like it? Teaching, I mean.”
“Not every day. But yeah, I love teaching. Seeing my students shine on the stage is a high for me, too.”
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
“Nothing’s stopping you.”
“It wasn’t till that Shakespeare play that things went . . . too far.”
“I know.”
We had been going back and forth with the pranks for months. But when I messed up her costume—I only trashed her wings, it’s not like she had nothing to wear—she refused to get on stage as the fairy queen ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream.
She had a total breakdown and quit theater altogether.
I felt terrible.
