"Hi, Mecky," Blue greets me. His exalted height towers over me, he's ever so neat-looking, and charming as always.

I am sitting on a random table that Cece chose here in the library, my hair is unbrushed. But I look fine, I hope.

"Oh, hey, Blue," I reply with half-forced enthusiasm. If it's any other day, I'd probably be shy, "Cece is.. somewhere. She's looking for books." I look around for my bookworm bestfriend.

His brows lift matter-of-factly, "Yea. Saw her. Math section."

Both our faces circle at the known fact that he uttered about Cece. We laugh. My heart flutters. I shy and lower my head.

"Last night.." he starts, I look up to him. His mouth partly opens, uncertain, I reckon he couldn't complete his sentence. I think he's shy too. My heart flutters again.

I decide to ease the awkwardness, "Don't worry. What happens at uncle Bob's, stays at uncle Bob's," I press a smile.

"Thank you -- I mean, about last night. You were very kind. Thank you for listening."

I want to say 'anytime' but I'm not so sure, "Anytime."

He smiles and lowers his head, "That'll be nice. Just maybe, a lot less drunk next time." We both chuckle. My heart softens for him. Picture-perfect Blue is not perfect after all. I learned that last night.

While I have seen a lot of drunks in the pub that transformed into their worst selves, I've also met a couple of them who had poured their hearts out and revealed their truest nature. The bar station is where all the pain, regrets, hopes and dreams get mixed into a cocktail of revelations. There was never a boring night at Bob's Irish Pub, and last night was a little extra special, because Blue Easton Stanford S. Tarub, my Blue, has entered the pub.

I was half-relieved, half-heartbroken when Blue decided to sit on the main bar station. Relieved, because I wasn't sure how I'd explain about me working behind the bar, mixing cocktails of alcohols. I was Mecky of the outside world at that point, not the nerd highschool Mecky. But it was quite sad, I would have love to have a conversation with him, get to know him. Instead, it was my past laughing with my future, Blue easily found comfort with Bench. Bench is good and friendly with customers that way, especially if they are alone, it means they are going to drink a lot of alcohol, big bills.

It was 7:30pm when he entered the pub. It was still very early, most of the customers were just eating their dinners. Blue ordered whiskey, neat - my kind of guy. First, he finished three glasses in less than ten minutes. Then, he had two more, then another, then another, then another. I lost count. I was also doing my job, even though there was no one sitting in my station, I serve the tables on my side of the pub.

We always know a person who enters the pub alone, that they are alone. There is a look in their faces, a look that only alcohol could understand. I knew firsthand, that Blue was alone last night.

It was 9:45pm, I was hoping to get off at 10pm. Kuya Jojo was already on the way to pick me up. But I knew whiskey has arrived and giving Blue all the feels. He ordered fish and chips but he only ate the chips, I doubt he's actually eaten before drinking.

I worried about him. I wondered what could be possibly so wrong in his picture-perfect life. He couldn't have been an alcoholic who just came in to get drunk, and it's a little late or too much of an extended celebration for him winning the Student Council. But most of all, he was alone.

It was 10pm, kuya Jojo was late, which was fine and understandable. There's a wide window pane on the side of my bar station. It faces the highway, the backlights of cars in the bumper to bumper traffic outside created red-light reflections on the drippings of rain on the window's glass. I didn't want to waste my life in traffic so I texted kuya Jojo that he didn't have to hurry and he needs to find a parking when he arrives. I called mom too that I will be late home.

Blue stood up for the first time and headed to the toilet. I wasn't surprised, he's just 18. If he was 25 and above, he might have been to the toilet more often. If he was 40 and above, well, there is a reason why uncle Bob allotted a big space for toilets in his pub.

When Blue came out of the toilet, I noticed he heard a waiter called out my name to remind me of a beer order. I glance at Blue the same time he figured out where the name call was directed. Our eyes met. I smiled a little. He looked surprised, and drunk, then he smiled too. Of course, my heart fluttered.

He went to his seat at the main bar but only to take his glass of whiskey. I was hoping he'd take his food as well, but he just left it and head into my station. I saw Bench's eyes followed Blue. He looked displeased tho, either because Blue hasn't paid yet, or because a very handsome guy moved into my station.

First to assume, last to admit. I heard my little brother's voice so I ignored Bench's expression.

"Wow. Mecky. Is that really you?"

Blue checked me out as he sat on the high stool of my bar station. He was a little too cheerful for his sake. It was the alcohol, I figured.

"The one and only," I said. I feel dumb saying it, I rolled my eyes at myself internally.

He shook his head with a quizzical expression, still too enthusiastic. I knew what he was gonna ask, "My uncle owns the pub. I'm just, helping out," I initiated an answer.

"You know how to tend a bar, mix cocktails?"

I couldn't help it but I started melting because of his smile, his eyes, his face. Damn it!

"Err. Yea. You put one and one, shake it, pour it," I answered, trying to be casually humorous, as I do with other customers. But truthfully, I felt like I was glitching - Nerd Mecky vs. Dragon Mecky, who am I?

It wasn't long and we found ourselves comfortable. Well, he was drunk, so he's definitely relaxed, and I took comfort in that. I thought, there was a likelihood he won't remember much of the night anyway.

But we talked about a lot of things. The lots of it was about school and the Student Council. And as the charismatic Blue that he is, he also asked a lot about me. I told him about my job at the pub, Cece, my brother, our dog Steve Jobs, pretty much the basics of my life.

He was rather overly enthusiastic when I opened up about my love for cars, turned out he's a car lover too. His first car was a Ferrari F430 and I was very interested - a Ferrari! - oh, of course, 'cuz he's freaking rich. But it was when I mentioned a little something about my dad that good'ol Whiskey completely took over President Blue.

"What is it about your dad?" I asked him carefully.

"I don't think, I have a dad." His elbows and his forearms both laid flat on top of the bar surface, "I mean, I do. You know, the one who brought me into this world. Gives me things I don't really want, buys me stuff I don't really need. If only he'd see me as son and not a charity case, but of course he doesn't. He'd never! He shouldn't have been a father."

Then he looked up to me and scrunched up his face. His face! Oh God!

"I know. Rich kid problem, right? Pathetic. I'm pathetic," he whined.

"You're not pathetic. You.. just have a rich kid problem, it's not very unusual," I countered. He laughed, then cackled, and agreed.

I turn a little serious, "But, really, you're not pathetic. Your an accomplished student and a good human being. Despite, you know, having rich kid problems. Most rich kids are as terrible as their lives," I smiled kindly.

He took a sip of his whiskey. Oh, whiskey!

"I know I have no reason to complain. I live a life that a lot of people could only dream. But sometimes, it's tiring to be grateful. Because like everybody else, I hurt too."

He voice faltered at his last words. I knew he was trying to prevent himself from crying. Yes, whiskey can definitely do that, I've seen a lot tears in the pub too.

"What is it really, why are you drinking tonight?" I became intently attentive of him. I wanted him to know that he can trust me. I'm his future wife.

He paused, then he took a gulp of whiskey and breathes out that whiskey spice. He stared on the bar surface, "Because of everything. My life. Myself! I'm living a fake life. I go to school where, I get all these applauds, admirations. That I am this picture-perfect person, but truly, I'm a mess! All my life, I've been working hard to accomplish things I aimed to accomplish. Things I do not know if I actually want. I've been succeeding, winning, but I don't know for what? Certainly not for my father. I honestly don't think he cares about having any expectations of me. And my mom, she's too busy trying to get his husband home. I don't know if I'm doing what I should be doing. No one's telling if I'm on the right path. I don't know what I am all for, why I am what I am."

I was just glad he didn't cry. Or I might have a second thought about my future plan of kneeling on one knee and ask his hand for marriage. Although, he was still very handsome pouring his heart out last night about his identity crisis. I get him, I have it sometimes too.

"How's the hangover?" I ask, a little comical.

He smiles so bright and charming, "Bad. Very bad. I forgot to drink the Ibuprufen you gave me. I fell asleep in the car, right the second it moved."

"You remember that?"

His expression turns deep, "I remember everything, Mecky. Even your outfit, and the lip gloss you were wearing. You were totally different last night. Good different."

I feel queasy. Something's churning in my tummy. His voice sounds suggestive to me.

"Is it ok, if.. I come back to the pub? Just, will lay-off whiskey for sometime tho. And it's not very 18 years old."

I laugh with him, "That whiskey was 18 years old tho," I shake my head in humor. "Try beer. That's usually what 18-year olds can afford. But yea! Of course. I mean, you're not banned or anything, you can come anytime you want."

"You have a.. do you have like a schedule?"

The stomach churning is going crazy now. He's coming back because of me? Of course! That's what he meant about coming back.

"Err. No. I kind of just, come and go as I please. I'm not really employed. But right now, I'm there every end of the school day. Our classes aren't crazy yet. I hope it won't tho."

"I'm sure you can handle the first year of senior high. Anyway, I'll just ask you then.. if you'll be on duty. Maybe.. we can go there together."

Ok. I just vomited, figuratively, of course. I don't know what's happening to me. I've never felt this with Bench before. But it feels good.

Then we do our pleasant goodbyes and Blue leaves, so I look for Cece. I need a distraction, this tummy churning or indigestion is fairly new to me.

As I pass through bookshelves, I see Bed Madrigal and Mix Castro coming out of a restricted door. It is odd that they both entered the library, even odder that they are both mussed up. I shake my head in disregard. I don't really care what happened to them. Then I see Cece sitting on the floor of the Math section, with a book opened on her lap.

"Cece. I've been waiting for you. Why are you sitting there?"

Her eyes lit up all-knowing, "I saw you talking to Blue. Thought, I'd give you some privacy."

"Really," I reply dull. I know she knows I have a crush on Blue. I didn't have to say it.

The sky is clear today. But then, it was also clear yesterday at about this time, and then it rained the rest of the night. I worry about the Friday traffic, I'm going to be home late again tonight. RJ won't like it.

"You good, Cece?" I ask soon as Cece arrived at our gym's locker room.

Strangely, she just froze during volleyball P.E earlier. Although, she's naturally fragile at all kinds sports or physical activities, but it was weird how she froze.

"Yea. Fine," she answers non-chalant. Then she stretches her neck, arm and shoulders.

"That was one hell of a spike. You sure?" I ask, worried. As a habit, we both relax on the floor, by the wall, at the end of our locker block.

"I feel the hit. It'll subside."

I am not convinced, "You blanked. Coach Tag is annoying no? He kept on barking at you."

"Yea. Coach Tag. He's creepy annoying."

Her three year-old pout is out so I know she is hiding something, or saying something that she meant otherwise. But I decide not to enquire further.

After a good amount of rest, we go to the shower. I shower quick. That's my normal. I shower even quicker than the Five Erotic Auto Mechanics I work with. But I clean myself well, I make sure of that.

Since Cece seems to enjoy taking more of her hot shower, I decide to leave her and I'll go head out to uncle Bob's. But before that, I opt to wait for Blue if he is coming with me, he said he want to go back again at the pub - maybe we can go together.

I snap at myself, I just made myself too easy to get. But it's my Blue, for love, I'd wait for a thousand years if I have to. And yet, I tell myself I'm not hopeless romantic, I'm a major contradiction of myself. I shake my head at these thoughts.

You say things you don't really mean. You make promises you can't keep up.

My own voice reminds me that it is stupid to wait. But I wait anyway and Blue is nowhere. Of course! Men and their promises, I should've expected this. After telling myself one more minute ten times, I finally decide to leave.

I look at myself in the mirror at the pub's changing room inside the staff room and I feel unsure about coming out. I have an inconsistent fashion sense. Sometimes, I look like a nerd band member, then an american country girl, then a boho girl born in Coachella. Now, I look like a basketball muse.

I've fixed my hair into a messy bun with some layers falling down on the side of my ears, I have my lip gloss on, but I'm wearing a female jersey t-shirt with LA Lakers logo in front and it lays just a little below my hips, covering my cut-off jeans, too short for my own safety. I try to remember what I think when I go shopping, that's it, I don't think. But I'll come out now anyway.

"Mecky!" Bench barks, "I am going to put you in a potato sack if you don't change right now! Or better yet, wear some clothing, for fucks sake!" He is a little too furious, like I'm a three-year old who touched the 10,000 year old ceramic vase when I was strictly told I shouldn't.

"I am wearing clothes, dad!" I ennunciate slowly. I am used to this reaction from Bench. I head to my bar station anyway.

"No, no, no, no! You are going back inside the changing room and wear the national flag. Are you even wearing an underwear?! That's a no, Mecky. Go back inside!" he orders with such conviction. He is standing at the end of my station, intensely pointing his finger back to the staff room.

I retreat. I know, he won't stop. I walk towards his side, "You know, you're not my boyfriend, right?" I say sardonically, my voice low.

He slowly turns his head towards me with an all-knowing look. His expression reminds me that we had sex, not just my first time, but also numerous times after, "So? I'm not. But -- Go. Change. Now."

I hate it when Bench always wins. I hate it when I cower at his thick eyebrows. I hate it when his snobbish eyes, his condescending lips, and his raging jawline make me do whatever he wants me to do. I roll my eyes at him with intent displeasure then I come back to the changing room. I have a wardrobe set in three lockers, perks of being the owner's beloved niece.

I decide to keep my jersey on but change into full jeans. I look in the mirror again and I disdain my new look. Not even Baranggay Basketball League would take me as a muse. I see a clipper on top of one of the medium lockers, I clip it at the back of my jersey shirt and make it look fitter. There. I have curves. The fitted jean doesn't look all that bad now. I feel proud about my curves, it's not nerdy Mecky at all.

"Happy now Mr. Sungit?" I bark at Bench who is now inside his bar station, wiping glasses.

He eye sweeps my body in a provocative way, he always do this. He let out a condescending smile without giving any wordy response. I scrunch up my nose, purse my lips and roll my eyes at him again. It's a bit crazy. We both decided we are better off as friends, and yet we have this kind of relationship that is so present in the air. Like a ghost, it gives me all the feels.

It's 8:45pm now, and my yesterday-drunk-future-husband is nowhere in sight. I'm dissapointed. Men are the worst, you can't really trust them 100%, except my dad of course. He always mean what he says, and he will not make a promise he wasn't absolutely sure he can keep up. Except his promise of forever to mom, but that's an exception, he had no control of the situation. And I mean that literally, the road was very slippery that night.

"Elisabeth, had dinner yet?" Uncle Bob asks. I'm usually the last to take dinner breaks.

"In awhile, uncle. I have six spicy frozen margharita to make now." I prepare the blender.

"Ok. After that, have your dinner. I don't want your mother telling me I'm overusing you and not feeding you well. Oh, hey, Bench! You. Take your dinner break too. Go with Elisabeth."

Great! Mr Sungit.

Bench is rolling the bottom rim of a medium-heavy size tank of draft beer from the stock room to his station, "Yes, boss."

Ughh! To hell with his smirk!

"Go to Friday's next door, the manager, Armand, owes me. Oh, I'm gonna call him now, he still have to pay me. But order as much as much as you want, Elisabeth!"

Bench gives me a meaningful look when he reaches his station. He ennunciates my name 'Elisabeth' into the air. I remember when he used to whisper that to me whenever he was about to hit his climax.

It was an over-indulged dinner. I am so full. Bench had two order of steaks, he's a big meat eater. My kind of man. But no. He's not mine and I'm not his.

While we still have about ten minutes from our dinner break, Bench decides to take a cigarette. We are standing outside our pub, all the outside tables on our row of bars are full now, loud music is every where.

"I told to you to quit smoking! Do you want to die an ugly death?" I snap at Bench who's now lighting his cigarette like the bad boy he is. He's not, at least not the Bench I personally know.

"I did. You were going to kill me if I didn't. But I do it now on occassion - on very, very rare occassions," he answers, being comically defensive.

"And what's the occassion now?" I raise my brow. I'm still pissed at him for how he made me change my clothes.

"It's raining. Cold. Lonely," he teases, his face, sexy.

I roll my eyes and ignore his suggestive remark. I look at the double door entrance of our pub with clear glass accent to it. The sight goes directly to my bar station and I see uncle Bob talking and laughing with a man sitting on my station. I remember Blue, that's where he was sitting last night. Now, a man in a brown jacket, with a glass of, I say whiskey, neat, sits on it. I ache, I miss Blue.

While Bench and I are doing silly small talk, I see uncle Bob patted the man's shoulder as a sign that he is leaving. The man jerks his head a little to the side and nodded. I see a hint of his face and he kind'da looks familiar. I see uncle Bob heading out to the door.

"Elisabeth."

"Uncle."

"I'm going to branch 2 now. What time are you going home tonight?"

He quickly glance at Bench who is hiding his cigarette on his back. Uncle Bob doesn't smoke, hence, his nice pinkish-redish lips. He could care less about people smoking, he owns a pub, but Bench likes to impress uncle Bob. So, I suppose, that is the real reason why Bench quit smoking about a year ago.

"Err. Maybe 11? At the earliest. Friday traffic. I don't wanna get old inside the car," I quip. The three of us laugh wryly.

"Ok. Just, make sure you let your mother know. And Bench... I thought you quit smoking?"

Guilt overtakes Bench's face. I feel glorious. Uncle Bob continues, "Anyway. Take care of the pub. And Bench.. do something about Teresa. She's so grumpy. I don't care if it's her time of the month. I don't want her scaring our customers. Make her fun. Do your thing," he orders Bench and then we bid our goodbye and he leaves.

His thing. Bench doesn't really consciously have it, or that he do it on purpose. Except to me, I suppose. But he does have the power to make any woman, young and old, do his bidding. Like we are bewitched in his disarming virility. He's like Robinhood mixed with Tony Stark. A thief in the knight and arrogantly proud of it. Makes it worst for me, because I know he's got a heart of an angel. I was, still am, completely under his spell.

A group of customers just left so I decide to bust-out their table before I head back to my station. When I come out of the dish area, my eyes meet with the man in the brown jacket sitting on my bar. I stop in my place, almost frozen. "Sir Albert," I mumble.

Professor Alberto E. Henyo, the most decorated teacher in our humble high school. Or not very humble. He has two Zuma Cum Laudes, one in Computer Engineering and then on his Bachelor of Science in Sociology, then also, a shy Cum Laude in Architecture.

Sir Albert is1 certainly over-qualified to be teaching high school, he's a professor too but he's mostly a high school teacher. And not that it's a qualification, but it is known that both his parents are National Artists too. Now, he's the High School Faculty Head, the Director of the Mathematics Department, and currently, our teacher for ICT - he teaches us Intro to Computer Science and Computer Math once a week this semester.

He was also my Math teacher in junior high for two consecutive years. One year, he was a dignified, prim and proper teacher, wearing expensive neck ties and suave branded loafers, and then the next year and onwards, he grew a beard that isn't so neatly trimmed, wears dull untucked long-sleeves, and he looks like he got lost going to the barber shop. Rumor has it that he stopped going home to his family. He's got three kids, they almost grew up in my eyes. But I like sir Albert. He's always been nice and friendly, there's a relaxed aura about him. It reminds me of my dad. And I'm also his 2nd favorite student, because Cece is first, of course.

I decide to continue heading to my station. I'm a little confused, he doesn't seem to recognise me, "Can I get another, please? Chivas, 25, neat."

Ok. He doesn't recognise me. Either he's drunk, or he's really drunk. I can't be all that different. And we practically see each other every school day, chatting, making small talks about Math and all.

"Coming right up."

I put the snifter glass with three shots of Chivas Regal 25 year old on his front, and he still doesn't recognise me. It couldn't be his age, he's not that old. I think, he's only a few years past than Teacher Kim who's the youngest in our faculty. I'm not really sure of his actual age. And he's a genius with a memory of a super-computer. Ok, I exaggerate, but, how could he not recognise me?

I look at him over my lashes while I fake-do-something-busy. He does cut his hair, otherwise he'd be rapunzel. But it's not as it used to, neat and combed, now, it's always tousled, the curly edges of his hair covers half of his ear. It looks soft tho, and clean. Good thing, he still looks like he showers.

I remember, when we lost dad, mom would shower three times a day, maybe even more. I never get it, but I guess, you do that when you lose a spouse. Sir Albert's wife didn't die tho. I still see Mrs. Henyo, Die-yehn (Dianne) as sir Albert would call her with two distinct syllables, visits the school despite the rumors.

"Mecky," Bench enters my station and steps too close to me, "You have that, flowery smell hand wash you use? My stomach is acting up. It's coming! It's almost near the exit! The steaks are alive, they are mooooing," he whispers humorly, but also, like it's a secret that can only be between us.

I glance at sir Albert, recognition is lighting up his face, "That's why I think I know you."

Bench and I fully turn our heads towards the man who's now with rosy cheeks. Whiskey has arrived for sir Albert.

"Mecky Elisabeth Herher. What are you doing here?" He shakes his head, his face is in disbelief.

I press a smile. Now, I'm nervous.

"Mecky!" Bench wails.

"Yes. It's in my locker 2. You know the password," I answer quickly. Bench leaves with a pitiful hastiness.

Then I face my teacher. This is insane, I'm behind the bar, with a huge display of bottles of hard liquors in my background. I force a smile, but the rest of me is shy, "Hi, sir."

"What are you doing here?"

I'm lost. "My uncle owns the pub po. I'm just, helping out."

"Bob's your uncle?"

In some corner of my mind, I laugh, thought I've heard that expression from someone.

"Yea. The sturdy guy with a moustache. That's my uncle Bob."

"Your.. bartending."

It sounds like a question but comes out a statement. I don't know how to respond. But, again, maybe, I'll just get him drunk and he'll forget about tonight.

"Life is full of surprises, sir," I respond casually, I loosen up. Then I receive an order from sweet little Rachel, the waitress, "Seven Blowjobs on table 4, Mecky."

Great, lovely!

I prepare the ordered shots with a practiced expertise. Bench taught me well about bartending. I would glance on sir Albert safely, I can sense his eyes are following my every move.

It's 10:30pm now. I glance at my side window and I see the road is in a hell of red fire, the traffic is dancing with the devil under the rain. Great! I don't know long I could keep my nerves in front of my teacher while I mix and shake cocktails and pour shots of hard liquors.

"Another glass, sir Albert?" I ask casually, casually forced.

"I don't think 'sir Albert' is appropriate right now. But yes, another round, please."

I get what he meant, I press a smile and turn to get him another glass.

"Albert. Just, call me Albert," he insists.

I stop what I'm doing and I look at him, confused about everything. How in a world could I call him Albert? I've known him as my teacher, sir Albert, for years.

"Chivas, neat. Albert." I replace his empty glass.

"You're different," he says in wonderment.

I look up to him. He's being careful with his next sentence, "You're different at school."

I have another order of draft beer so I prepare for it. "Everyone's different at school, sir. That's being in high school. Everyone's dealing with identity crisis," I answer. Strangely, I sound confident.

"Do you?" he asks.

I glance at him again, then I return to what I'm doing, "No. I just, I don't want to be identified. So I try to be as invisible as possible."

He drinks his whiskey bottoms up, his face grimaced. Oh, yes, Whisky is spicy, I know right!

He breathes out the spice, "You're not invisible. You are one of the smartest kid in school," he counters.

I laugh wryly. I feel awkward often when I'm praised with superlatives, "Number 2," I detracts.

He smiles archly, like he understood my self-deprecating remark, "Is that a bad thing?"

No, I think. Being number two in the student overall ranking is not a bad thing at all.

"No. I love Cece. I am happy for her to be number 1. And 'cuz, she's definitely twice smarter than me," I answer honestly.

He takes another glass his whiskey. But unlike Blue, sir Albert seems to be handling it well. He still seems to be in good control.

"Books don't make you the smartest, Mecky. Experience does."

He raises his brows and jerks his head with a pressed smile. And in an instant, I understand what he meant. Cece, after all, exudes a huge amount of innocence and naivete. Her four deadly, over-protective brothers has sheltered her in a far, far, away tower, guarded by a dragon. And I'm probably the dragon.

"I never see you here, ssi -- Albert. How come you know my uncle?" I try to make a casual conversation that is not school related.

He drinks half of his glass and I prepare for another one. "I used to come here often. Some years back. I still come from time to time, weekends usually. You're uncle is a cool guy."

I smile sincerely, "What brings you here tonight?" I ask as I fake-do-something-busy.

He laughs, like he recalled something funny, "Actually, Christopher forced me to go out tonight, to have a drink, and he even said, party. He said, he is certain that tonight I will find something that will surprise me and it will change my life forever. Shit, that sounds worst now."

Then our eyes meet. Two seconds, five, ten, eleven. Something flickers underneath his lashes, then I see my father's eyes. He swallowed dry. My heart warms.

Oh, what is this I'm feeling I cannot explain.