MONTHS EARLIER, JULY

I think, I'm in love with Blue. Then, I think not. I know nothing much about him and so does he about me. He wouldn't have known my existence if not for the occassional bumps he has with my bestfriend, Cece.

I first saw Blue when he entered our classroom during Freshman year. He was a Sophomore transferee running as a Junior Vice-President for our Student Council. I knew then, he had the makings of a politician, I wouldn't be surprised if one day he becomes the President of the Philippines. With his charming square face, his intelligent deep eyes, and his charismatic bright smile, he can make anyone listen to him, believe him and follow him. Not to mention, he's got a voice that makes your heart flutters, or at least it did for me when he first campaigned in our classroom.

Years later, here I am, holding their campaign flyer again, as one by one, his party members speak in front of our class with our advisor, Bb. Cassandra S. Perfecto during our Homeroom.

According to their campaign flyer, his name is Blue Easton Stanford S. Tarub, a name as handsome as his face, if not for his slightly lewd last name, he would be everything perfect. But you really can't have it all, I think funnily.

On the cover page of the flyer is a photo of all the party members, all smiles and happy, like they are the kindest, most trusthworthy people ever. I never trust politicians.

On the third page of the flyer is a photo of Blue, he looks rather endearing in his plain white t-shirt with six underpriviledge kids from a charity he is supporting, squeezing with him in the photo, as of course, all smiles. The page consists of all his accomplishments as a bona fide student leader. He is now running for President of the Student Council.

He's smart, friendly, and I would assume he had a good upbringing, it comes out in his manners. He's not snob or snotty, despite being so freaking rich. But he's a mystery. I've never heard of any rumors about him, and in our school, rumors are golds and diamonds, if you are wearing it, you are famous. And as a politician, fame is all you work for, I believe.

I guess, that is why I like him. Aside from the picture-perfect image and the touch of mystery, he was never really a famewhore like most of the students in this school. But again, he never sees me. How could he? If not for Cece who pulls me and brings me everywhere, nobody would really notice me. I am the most boring person I know in school.

But a part of me still believes, I don't live a boring life. Perhaps, my life has never even been boring at all. I make the effort. I promised my dad, on his grave, that I will continue his life for him. That I will continue to love everything he loved, and even more. And Ricardo Juancho Herher Sr. was never ever boring.

At three years old, my dad would bring me to his auto repair shop in Knoxville, Tennessee. First, he taught me what a wrench was, then he toured me around the shop so I can familiarised myself with the places I couldn't go and the things I couldn't touch. And then, he just let me roamed around the shop, looking at what everyone was doing, and I would talk to the mechanics as well like the little adult that I was.

It was dangerous, now looking back at those times. But I've never really felt I'd be in any kind of danger as long as dad was around.

I was four when I first rode a horse. It was the earliest memory I have. I was on my dad's front of course, but it was wild, the horse was running fast, jumping, turning, and all. But I was never once scared. When I turned five, I got to ride Magic, a stunning black Morgan horse, on my own, for the first time. It came naturally at me, especially having to live with horses and my dad always bringing me whenever he tends to them.

He also taught me everything I ought to know about ranching and taking care of the animals we have. He also revealed to me that in due time, some of the cattles we were tending goes to the slaughterhouse. I was six, and I cried with horror, I had a hard time sleeping for days thinking about those cattles being slaughtered.

So even at a very young age, I knew how to feed our horses and livestocks, irrigating the hay meadows, herding, grazing, castrating, branding, de-beaking, weighing, catching and loading animals. I also learned how to fix fences and broken tractors.

My dad is a bit of a daredevil in that sense. While I believed he was always watching me at anything I do, now I reckon, no kid that age should have ever done all those things I did. Hell, I'd probably die of a heart attack if I see RJ driving a tractor despite that I did it even younger than his age now.

Mother Mercy was always furious, of course, at dad when I tell her all the fun that dad and I did during the day. Dad would just laugh it off and didn't take mom's infuriated rants seriously. My mom ranting and infuriated is nothing to be alarmed about, her voice and her manners are too kind.

"Blue will win again this time."

I glance at Cece who made the remark. She's having a hard time bringing her thick hair in a pony tail. Blue and his party have just left the classroom.

I laugh wryly, "Has he ever lost? I think this election is just a formality, the position has been preemptively set for him."

"There are 7 candidates vying for his position this year. Ate Juris is one of them," Cece says with her essence of naivete.

Yes, of course, Princess Diana a.k.a Juris Contrata, or vice-versa. Another picture-perfect character in this place we call High School. But I don't think she has any mystery in her, unlike Blue, I think she's just fake. Juris is that person I don't hate, but I don't like either. Not that she's done anything unlikable towards me, but were like the north and south ends of a magnet, we'll never ever be together.

"I don't think Juris is in it for real. Didn't she say in her instagram story that because of so much call for her to run, she wanted to take a chance. But whatever the result is, she is very grateful for all the support and those who believe in her," I try not to roll my eyes, but I can't help it.

Cece, of course, is very liked, even loved, by Juris. But then again, who would dare to hate our dear Cece? As we head out for our morning break, I dare to ask my bestfriend, "So, who are you voting, Juris or Blue?"

Like Juris, Blue also have the extra care and friendship for Cece. When we were in junior high, Cece took courage and ran as student representative to the Student Council for EMC2, our elusive Math Club. Being her bestfriend, she dragged me into it and I became her Vice President. It was the most prestigious spotlight I've ever had throughout my existence in this school. I say it is elusive, because it is the hardest club in this school to ever get into, also it has the most money. Now, as seniors, we became Member Emeritus of EMC2. Blue was also a member and that's how he started being fond of Cece. Nothing romantic, I suppose. I don't think anyone in this school would look at Cece that way anyway, she's too.. innocent.

Cece looks at me with a sad and confused expression as we wait for the small elevator to come up, "I think I forgot about the voting. Just now I realised, I'd have to choose between them."

"It's not like you have to choose between your friends. A smart voter should be able to tell who will do a better job by the way they handle their campaigns and that they've impressed you with their platforms. The worst voters are those who only go for the famous one or if they're friends with them."

"But I am friends with them. What if they asked me who I voted for? Ate Juris will be upset."

I titter, "So you'll vote Blue?"

She doesn't answer and does her usual three years old pout whenever she tries to hide something.

The rest of the day is, as usual, plain and boring, if the not for Blue's face everywhere, I would've killed myself for another lame day at school. I look at Blue's campaign posters and I see my future.

"Hey, so how 'bout you, who are you voting?" Cece asks while we are sitting at the concrete bollards outside the gate's guard post.

Every end of the day, Cece would usually sit here and hang out with our school's beloved security guard, Happy Aguinaldo. He's a big, beefy man with no mean bone in his body. He's a person who's always as happy as his name. Since Cece has been in this school all her student life, and I think Happy started about the same, she grew the closest to him. Cece once told me that Happy was one of the kindest person who helped her get through her parent's separation at the end of her grade school.

I am absolutely certain with who I'm voting for, but I try to be coy, "I think, I'll go for that.. the Lanie girl? From grade 12 HUMSS."

"Who?!"

I laughed at Cece's baffled expression, "I don't know her either. I just heard that Mr. Anodao spoke highly of her."

"What did you tell me about being a smart voter again?" Cece jests. We both laugh.

Of course, I'll vote for Blue. Aside from the fact that he's the most qualified candidate, he's also, probably, almost definitely going to be my future husband. I think it is best that he knows I'll always be supportive of him, like a good, loving wife, right? Oh, who am I kidding?

I am not really big on having crushes, or am I hopeless romantic. I can't see myself receiving flowers and having butterflies coming out of my mouth. But I know there is a little girl in me waiting for love to happen.

That waiting started when I was nine. It was a few weeks after my ninth birthday, I was sitting on top of a wooden fence, my dad was hugging me from behind. We were looking over the pasture with our sheeps going about their normal daily life of nothingness. We had just recounted them, there were 950 of them as we expected. We also checked if any one was sick, or injured, or pregnant. It was winter after all. Like RJ, I had a knack for asking a lot of questions when I was his age.

"Dad, how do sheeps get pregnant?" I asked casually.

Dad tittered, "Uhmmm, there's a husband sheep who loves his wife sheep. And, then, they make babies."

"Like you and mom?"

"Yeaa. Something like that too." There was a tone of humor in his answer. I looked at him, his face was very peaceful.

"When do I get a husband?" I asked innocently.

He paused. Then, he coughed like something got stuck in his throat.

"Are you gonna get me a husband too? I want a husband like you dad. Mom always say you are the best husband ever," I enquired, more serious this time.

He smiled, humored, "Your mom does say that a lot, huh." He stroked my hair that he just braided earlier, then he pecked me on my temple, "One day, when you're older, you are going to meet a dashing, gallant, good-hearted man who have a little touch of danger. Like me, right? And then he is going to be the bestest husband to my bestest daughter."

I pondered about it, although I didn't really know what I was thinking. "When is that gonna be? When I'm 16?" I asked, wondering.

Something got stuck in his throat again, "I hope not. When you're 16, you're gonna be driving Stanley."

Stanley was our Ford F-250 'Highboy' pickup truck that I've been practicing driving just within the safe roads inside our ranch land. Dad was always with me, of course.

My attention swayed a bit from the first topic. I was excited, "Really? I'm gonna be driving Stanley, On-My-Own?"

He chuckled, "I think you can drive Stanley on your own now, little Miss. But, we're not gonna do that. Mother Mercy is going to kill us both. We'll wait until you're 16."

"I agree," I shrugged. Then, I thought of my earlier question again, "So, what about.. when I'm 18, am I gonna get a husband then?"

I was looking at him, his face was so close to mine, then he swallowed dry, "Well, if it happens when you're 18, we'll deal with it then. For now, you just wait. Don't rush it. It is so much fun to be a kid right? Love will come to you, my little Miss."

It was the last good memory I had of him. A week later, he was gone.

While Cece is my bestfriend, I don't tell her everything. Not that I don't trust her, but I don't trust me to completely be me in this school. Outside in the real world, there is another Mecky.

What Cece doesn't know is that I've been moonlighting as a bartender at Bob's Irish Pub for awhile now. It is located in the Uptown Place opposite our university; it is a hang-out hub with restaurants and bars, and some health and beauty clinics. Mostly college students from another university next to ours go here and call center agents from a business centre nearby. It is a little out the way from our school, there is no direct walking path, and the parking space is limited. I would normally take a 10-15 minutes ride with a cab or an uber to get here, the u-turn is quite far and the peak hours traffic is insane. On occassions that RJ feels like waiting for me, our driver, kuya Jojo, would drop us here and come back and pick us up with our mom when she gets off from work early.

My uncle Bob owns the pub. Despite of my age, he let me work here for lack of other choice. My mom, uncle Bob's sister, allowed me to do these part-time jobs, like also in Mang Kanor's Auto Shop, without so much worry. When we moved here in the Philippines, my mom started treating me like an adult. I guess, I've always been a bit of an adult. That is why my dad used to call me little Miss. It's not really for the money that I do these part-time jobs, it's just for doing it.

"Elisabeth!"

Surprised, uncle Bob greets me as we almost bump into each other, him coming out of the kitchen and as I come out of the staff room. I've changed into another outfit. I don't wear the official uniform since I can't be an official employee. So I wear a plain white fitted v-neck t-shirt with a simple dark green vest, then a faded cut-off jeans with another dark green belt, and I matched it with a simple black boots to complete the look of a cowgirl in an Irish Pub. Green maybe a little odd as a color for a cowgirl, but green is my color. I took one good look in the mirror after I changed and I was the Mecky of the outside world, I am a woman.

"Hello po, uncle Bob," I greet back as I head inside the bar.

There are two bar stations in the pub, one is by the corner wall near the payment counter, and the other is a square shaped full bar in the middle of the pub. I'm usually at the bar by the corner wall because it's not a preferred spot by customers and I would be noticed less.

"Elisabeth, how's your day at school?" Uncle Bob randomly asks while he skims through his log books in his small work area beside the payment counter. He loves calling me by my second name; my mom named me after their late mother, Elisabeth, who died of brain cancer just before my mom graduated from high school.

"Same old, same old uncle. J'ai encore beaucoup d'idiots stupides à l'école," I answer.

Every Friday now, we still have Foreign Language as an Elective subject and I've taken French again, because of Cece. In junior high, she took Japanese and German, I took French only. But since I didn't care much about it last time and failed, I am fine about re-taking it again. I realised, I'm a better student when I'm with Cece, it was a mistake that I took French alone and not follow her path.

Uncle Bob raises his brows, "Are you saying bad words to me again, Elisabeth?"

I giggle, "I don't say bad words to you, uncle Bob, I say it behind your back," I tease.

"Well, who isn't?" he says under his breath, with humor in his grin.

While taking a cleaning towel from my side cupboard, I glance at a tall guy who just entered the pub, rushing. He is having trouble holding his motorcycle helmet, taking off his bike gloves and carrying his backpack in his wrist.

"Bench Panelo! You're late again!" Uncle Bob barks at Bench, our most celebrated bartender in the pub. He's won competitions in bartending numerous times and it added to the popularity of our pub.

"Sorry, boss. Traffic," he reasons as he head into the staff room. He only took one quick glance at uncle Bob.

"Isn't it always the reason. We are the traffic capital of the world!" Uncle Bob grumbles under his breath. He shakes his head with his pursed lips.

Uncle Bob is a cool boss. He didn't really mean anything bad about barking at Bench for being late again, and Bench practically runs the pub anyway. Since uncle Bob opened three more branches in other business hubs, he became really busy. But he trust Bench just as he trust himself, he hasn't hired a manager yet for our main branch. It is still quite early, we only have few customers yet, just having their dinner meals. We're also a restaurant serving american favorites. An Irish Pub serving american dishes doesn't make sense, I know.

"What time did he get here?" Bench asks as he enters my bar station. He's the lead bar man at the main station.

I've been wiping glasses for the second time since Bench arrived at the pub, "I don't know. He's here when I got here," I answer, referring to uncle Bob. While he's a cool boss, he's also pretty bossy. All the staff gets very tight when uncle Bob is around.

"Your shorts is too short, Mecky," Bench complains. Aside from a being a glorified bartender, Bench was also my almost boyfriend.

I was 15 when I started working at the pub. At first, I was a kitchen staff. Since I'm pretty much the only cook at home, I know my way in the kitchen pretty well. I don't really have a set working hours, I can come and go as I please. Perks of being the owner's favorite niece, and since I can't be officially employed for being a minor. I am paid like everybody else, once a month, but only by the hour that I've spent working. It is also tax-free.

Usually, I finish up at 10pm or 11pm. When RJ is with me, we go home by 8pm. We usually do our homeworks at school, but sometimes RJ likes it when I play teacher for him so I'd help him with his homeworks here at the pub.

Bench started working a couple of months earlier than me. He was 17. If not for his older brother who was a previous trusted and loyal bartender of uncle Bob, he wouldn't have been accepted because of his age. Uncle Bob was heartbroken when Bench's brother decided to work in Dubai. But since Bench and his brother are a lot look alikes, uncle Bob thought he could be just as good, and it turns out, he is even better. Uncle Bob trust Bench like his own son.

At first, Bench and I were nothing but colleagues. Although, he didn't actually treat me as one. I was the owner's niece, that's how he treated me. He was serious about his job, it was obvious that it was very important for him. He started as a part-timing student, he still is.

One late afternoon, I asked him if he could teach me how to make alcoholic drinks. Uncle Bob was in front of us, sitting by the bar buried in his accounting reports, obviously deaf to our conversation, still, Bench had no choice but to say yes to me. Back then, I was indeed, just the owner's niece, and I made use of it whenever I wanted something from any of the staff.

Despite his age, Bench talks, acts, and behaves like an adult, like a real adult. It's as if his natural aging process is decades late than his mental maturity. Sometimes he's as old as a seventy year old navy veteran.

He's had a difficult life, moving from one family to another since both his parents left him when he was ten with his then 19 years old brother. So, I guess there's that. You are the life you live, my dad used to tell me. I didn't really get it then, until I got to know Bench.

I roll my eyes at Bench's exaggeration about my outfit, "That's why it's called shorts, Bench, shorts, becau -- "

"Because it's meant to be short. Ha-ha. Is that supposed to be funny?" Bench cuts me off and comments dryly while he sweep-checks everything in my bar that should be functioning well.

I roll my eyes again, "It's a fact, Bench. And besides, no one's gonna see the half of my body inside this bar anyway."

"Still, I don't approve of it," he says with certainty, his face, serious, while accounting the liquours I still have in my station.

He has always been like this even before we had any feelings for each other, he's a little bit conservative, a tad bit protective. I assume that's why uncle Bob liked him early on, he was a bit of a protective big brother to me from the beginning.

Although, nothing was plainly platonic between us, ever at all. I had a tiny, insy bits of crush when I first met him. He's got a snobbish face, not superior, but like he just don't want to get bothered. He's lean toned, tall, and has a serious sense in his walk. He's rather good looking too with oozing sex appeal; two former female staff had a quite scandalous fight at the bar one night, and Bench was the subject of their heated and rather loud arguments. Bench wasn't on duty that time, but he was extremely embarrassed to uncle Bob. Uncle Bob just shrugged it off, being single, he is a ladies man himself and proud. The two girls were fired however for their unprofessional behavior.

"So, what, do you want me to take off my clothes now?" I tease coyly while I set up some glasses for use from the washed-glass bin.

While checking beer temperatures, Bench turns his head towards me, taken aback, "I don't like when you are being funny too. 'Cuz you're not funny." Then he returns to busy himself.

"I am funny! When I choose too."

He stands up, "Just, don't wear that shorts again," he says, serious and non-chalant. Then he leaves and goes to his bar station.

Bench and I are friends now. To everyone else, it is a mystery how we remain so. But we know why. About a year ago we were both mushy-mushy and everytime we looked at each other, there was this thing that only the two of us could understand. Everybody noticed it, heck, even my mom thought he was my boyfriend and was pretty excited about him. Mother Mercy thought, Bench is a good guy, he has a little bit of dad's aura in him, she said. I agreed. RJ, as expected, was vehemently against him for me that's why he started coming with me to the pub. Uncle Bob gets a little eggsy when he notices our silent romance going on and would come and stand between me and Bench, although not in an annoyingly strict way.

I don't remember exactly when it started, even with my little crush with him, I didn't really think or even imagined anything romantic would bloom between us. My dad told me, when I turn sixteen, I'll get to drive a car on my own. Of course, that was never gonna be the case. In the Philippines, I have to be eighteen.

But since, I've led a different life path now, I wondered then, what I'll be when I turn sixteen. I thought maybe it was it, love was coming early for me. Bench was the dashing, gallant, good-hearted man who have a little touch of danger. I was quite right, but I didn't expect however, that it'll be just an almost romance and I will no longer be a virgin.