Another Word for Happy Read online

  Another Word for Happy

  Agay Llanera

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Agay Llanera, 2016

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book, and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design for this edition by Caryn Paredes-Santillan

  Edited by Chris Mariano

  Chapter 1: Keynote

  Caleb was wearing his sky-blue bowtie with the tiny dots. His outfit was an ode to calmness, from the bowtie to the turquoise shirt to the indigo jeans. The colors of the sea and sky in the early morning, a harmony of graduated shades of blue.

  It made him wish he were on the beach this stuffy Friday night. Instead, he was leaning on a lamppost outside a convenience store, suffocating under the blanket of heavy air. He dipped a forefinger between his buttoned-down collar and neck, and felt his flesh damp with perspiration.

  To top it off, Ginny was late. Caleb should have lingered in the shower. Eaten a sandwich before leaving. Or continued obsessing about his practical exam that afternoon when his mind temporarily went blank while playing a Mozart piece.

  But as usual, Caleb had arrived at the appointed time, a slave to a built-in metronome that measured out the durations of his tasks, even if he was deliberately taking it slow.

  Despite the humidity, he anticipated his reward. Tonight, the notes and scales that had haunted him for weeks would fade into a few hours of air conditioning and the sleek Hollywood frenzy of superheroes fighting villains. Finally, he was going to watch the blockbuster movie everyone else had seen.

  “Cale!”

  His chin snapped up, eyes locating Ginny’s beaming face. It was framed by the backseat window of a taxi crawling into a stop in front of him.

  “Get inside,” she called out. “Change of plans.”

  “You’re late.” Caleb’s voice sounded bored. But already, he could feel his inner metronome ticking, asserting its rhythm over Ginny’s unwelcome surprise. “We’re still watching the movie, right?”

  “This is better.” Ginny nodded, the dyes of purple, blue and pink glinting on her chin-length hair like metallic confetti. “Infinitely better.”

  For a few seconds, Caleb considered blowing her off and watching the movie by himself. But the skies decided for him. Without warning, a sheet of rain unfurled, assaulting him with liquid bullets. Caleb yelped and yanked on the door handle. He scrambled into the backseat, bumping hips with Ginny.

  He made sure he was scowling when he said, “This better be awesome, Gins.”

  * * *

  It was infinitely worse.

  His collar had clung to his damp neck like onionskin. The pineapple shake he’d ordered was more slush than fruit. And he wanted to watch an action movie, not Ginny making awkward moves on Noel, their gangly blockmate who played flute.

  Like most indie cafes, this one scrimped on light bulbs, air conditioning, and space. He and Ginny had been lucky to grab an empty table—even if one of its legs wobbled each time Caleb set down his glass. Patrons who arrived late filled the gaps between the tables, pretending that spending the night on their feet was no problem at all.

  Each time the door swung open, Caleb held his breath as the cigarette smoke outside streamed into the café. He wanted to leave now and save himself the agony of watching Ginny chat Noel up, who looked so nervous that all someone had to do was kick him behind the knees and everyone would be yelling Timberrr!

  “Caleb?”

  He flinched and looked up at a girl who had stopped by his table.

  “Your name’s Caleb, right?” She smiled, dimples dotting both cheeks. “The pianist from MusicFest?”

  Even in the dimness, Caleb could see that she was pretty. Gorgeous, even. Bright eyes fringed with thick lashes. Full lips. A rise of slender shoulders revealed in a ruffled white dress. Long wavy hair she now combed back with her fingers, leaving the top puffed like the crest of a wave.

  With the confident way she carried herself, Caleb guessed that she was either a junior or a senior. And with the way people kept sneaking glances at her, Caleb had a sinking feeling everyone knew her. Everyone except him. He stood up, towering over her.

  “Hi, how’s it going?”

  Her eyes glinted as she held out a hand. “Tara. I hosted Musicfest last month.” She laughed, a sound that reminded Caleb of the warble of harp strings. “I don’t like Taylor Swift, but when you played her song at the festival? God, I was an instant convert.”

  Caleb stared at her, still not remembering her from the annual fundraising event of their school’s music department. He was probably too busy being nervous about his performance to notice the host.

  She turned to her companion. “Drew, you were there, right? I’m sure you remember Caleb’s performance.”

  The guy named Drew didn’t acknowledge her question. Caleb watched the well-groomed mestizo smooth down his creaseless polo shirt as his chinito eyes flitted across the room. They landed on the small stage in front, where a pair of squat speakers flanked a microphone stand.

  Rolling her eyes, Tara turned to Caleb. “Are you here to share your poetry, too? We get a lot of first timers on open-mic night.”

  Horrified, Caleb shook his head before gesturing to Ginny and Noel. “I’m here because of them.”

  “Cool,” she enthused, following his line of sight. “I don’t recognize the girl with the cool hair, but I do know Noel. He’s one of our new members.”

  “Uh, you guys want to sit down?” He mentally clapped his hand over his mouth. Ginny would kill him if he gave up her seat. Why did he suck in small talk?

  To his relief, Tara waved his offer away. “We need to prep a few things before the program.” She nudged her friend’s elbow. “Let’s go?”

  Caleb was still reeling from the strange encounter when, minutes later, Ginny plopped down beside him.

  “Noel’s fourth to perform.” She snatched his pineapple shake and slurped it down.

  “You mean I have to endure four of these…what? Poetry readings? I can’t believe I’m sweating like a pig here instead of watching Ironman being ironic.”

  “It’s called spoken word, FYI.” She dabbed a paper napkin on her forehead before smoothing down her hair. “And did my eyes deceive me or were those Tara Locsin and Drew Trinidad you were talking to?”

  He felt his jaw unhinge. “How can you possibly know their full names?” When Ginny shot him an impatient look, Caleb continued grudgingly. “The girl was the only one talking, FYI. The guy was a total snob. Tara recognized me from Musicfest.”

  Ginny squawked into his ear. “Really? They’re like, the most important people here. Tara and Drew are the founders of Wordplay!”

  Caleb didn’t care if they were the founders of the universe. But he held his tongue and drained what was left of his drink. His stomach rumbled.

  “There’s another co-founder, Franco De Leon? Awesome performer. The best according to Noel.” She leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. “Actually, Franco and Drew used to be a couple. A very recent break up.”

  In front, the microphone screeched out feedback that had Caleb wincing and coveri
ng his ears.

  “Hi, everyone!”

  Tara was on stage, clear-voiced and confident, with the stance of a person comfortable with being the center of attention. As she talked about the school organization named Wordplay, and how it began a year ago as a poetry outlet among friends, Caleb hailed a server. By the time Tara was done talking, a plate of steaming rice and chicken teriyaki had been plunked down in front of him.

  “I know you’ve been waiting for the performances so I’m going to shut up now.” She gave the crowd a dazzling smile. “But tonight, we’re changing things up and opening with a bang.” She paused. “Guys, give it up for Franco De Leon!”

  The thunderous applause came out of nowhere, causing Caleb to choke on his chicken. How it was possible for people his age to get this excited over self-penned, awkward poetry was beyond him. Against his better judgment, his eyes drifted to the stage.

  Everyone was going wild for that someone up there, who had just acknowledged the crowd’s enthusiastic welcome with a smile. If Caleb’s outfit exuded serenity, this guy’s look was an ode to mystery. Cropped hair, a smoky gray shirt that glided over his torso, dark jeans slung low on hips, and skin that was the warm kind of brown. Golden, like something freshly baked.

  But it was the soft gleam in his dark eyes before he spoke that had Caleb reaching for his glass. Slurping on the dregs of his pineapple shake, not caring that it tasted like metal because he desperately needed something to quench the fire that had jumped up his throat.

  Chapter 2: Strike a Chord

  On an early Saturday morning, Caleb didn’t care if his neighbors were still asleep. The more important fact was that he couldn’t sleep—which was why he was playing the piano with gusto at this time of day. At least it kept him from continuing to stalk Franco De Leon on Youtube.

  When Caleb got home a few hours ago, he had immediately clicked on clip after clip of Franco’s performances, absorbing every tiny detail. Franco was a master of vocal gymnastics, his voice tumbling, quivering, soaring and swooping as he spoke poetry. He ran his fingers through his hair a year ago when it was longish, and against his scalp now that his hair was shorn. His face spilled a spectrum of feelings, his eyes appealing to an unseen someone standing right in front him.

  By the time Caleb had combed through a year’s worth of performances, it was exactly 3 AM, the witching hour. He was bewitched, Caleb thought, as he forced himself to shut down the computer before diving into the sheets.

  Three hours later, he was awake. After a quick shower, he’d gone downstairs to eat before settling in front of the piano. Their living room was so small that the instrument ate up most of the space.

  He started playing, filling their tiny home with music. He needed to be sane again after watching Franco. Playing pulled him back to reality.

  The smooth surface of the keyboard felt solid against his fingertips as they coaxed out the melodies. He played the songs one after the other—classical, pop, a church song, even that piece he’d played for his practical exam.

  A tap on his shoulder rudely cut off Mozart’s music. Caleb turned to see his mom, shrewd eyes glinting behind thick lenses. “What time did you get in last night?”

  Without batting an eyelash, he replied, “Before twelve.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t hear you come in. I fell asleep right away.”

  He knew that because she hadn’t badgered him with Where are you? messages last night—which was why he went home two hours after his midnight curfew.

  His mom slipped off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “That new teller couldn’t balance her transactions so I had to stay at the bank. We had to go through all the transactions and anyway . . .” She sighed. “I’m going to a church meeting, then grocery. You need anything?”

  Caleb shook his head. “What’s the agenda this morning? New curtains for the adoration chapel?” He bit back a smile. “A debate about the lectors’ schedule?”

  His mom’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “This is no laughing matter, Caleb. If more young people volunteered to be lectors, we’d easily fill up slots.” She eyed him severely. “Father Mon is wondering why you haven’t been joining church activities.”

  Caleb averted his gaze, his eyes settling on a frame above the sofa. Staring back at him was a photo of his seven-year-old self taken before his first communion. In his white polo shirt and palms pressed in prayer, he looked like a priest in training.

  “You know how school keeps me busy, Ma.”

  “But you can always make time for church.” His mom’s voice turned wistful. “I miss your sakristan and choir days.”

  She bent to give Caleb a quick kiss on the head. Thank goodness he had the foresight to take a shower. If his mom smelled the nicotine on him, he would’ve been subjected to a long lecture on the evils of smoking, even if he hadn’t picked up a cigarette in his life.

  When his mom left, Caleb went up to his room. Like the rest of his house, his room was small—enough for a single bed, a small desk, and a chest of drawers pushed against the wall. He reached behind the chest, and retrieved last night’s shirt and jeans. He sprayed cologne on the bowtie before shoving it beneath the pile of towels in the bottom drawer. Then he went down to the back of the house where he filled a basin with soapy water and washed his clothes by hand.

  As the sun shone, Caleb slapped his dripping clothes onto the clothesline. He would retrieve them before his mom got home. By then, his shirt would smell of soap and sunbeams, with no trace of last night’s nicotine.

  He lumbered up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. Freaking internal metronome. No matter how late Caleb slept, he would always wake up at 6 AM.

  In his room, he slammed onto his bed, facedown. Then he got up and trudged toward his computer. Before he knew it, he was re-entering the vortex of YouTube.

  A column of video thumbnails showed all the clips he’d watched last night. After scrolling down to the end, his sleep-heavy brain jolted awake. There, under “Recommended for You” was a new clip showing a frozen Franco De Leon clad in smoky gray, eyes furrowed, a grimace overwhelming his face. Someone had already uploaded last night’s performance.

  Caleb clicked on it, and the video began with Tara’s introduction, her voice sounding tinny on video. When Franco entered the stage to wild applause, Caleb was transported back into the cramped and stuffy café, the sweetish taste of the chicken on his tongue as he stared slack-jawed at the mysterious creature before him. Franco smiled before opening his mouth to speak.

  The Earth in me has fallen for

  The Pluto in you.

  My free oxygen

  Oceans and oceans of liquid water

  Teeming vegetation

  Buzzing, bursting with life.

  And you, towering mountains of ice

  Nitrogen glaciers

  Cratered highlands.

  Chaotic. Exotic.

  Beautiful.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.

  Couldn’t keep away from you.

  Our respective gravitational pulls

  Drew us into each other’s orbits

  Us, two, a density of opposites

  Warmth and ice

  Transparency and mystery

  Sunshine and shadows.

  Together, we were stellar . . .

  Until our differences exploded in our faces

  Sucking us into a black hole of unmet expectations

  One insisting domination over the other.

  “I’m right, you’re wrong!”

  Newsflash: Pluto was never a planet, said the scientists.

  Newsflash: I was never in love with you, you said.

  Let’s just be friends.

  A platonic—no, a plutonic relationship, you quipped.

  But I can’t help being Earth.

  Can’t help being constantly filled with life

  With hope

  With the promise of love.

  4.6 billion years ago, I’d been meticulously formed

/>   From dust and gas and gravity

  Bumping together to form asteroids and small planets.

  Colliding repeatedly for years and years and years

  Until I finally came into being.

  I can wait, dear Pluto

  For your ice to melt.

  Even before the video ended, Caleb’s finger was poised to press the replay icon. He watched the video over and over, as if Franco’s words and the ways he said them held the key to life’s meaning. As if engraving all these things in Caleb’s memory would change things.

  Chapter 3: Surprise Symphony

  “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

  Caleb blinked several times, not at the message sang to him in falsetto, but at the intrusion of colors into his field of vision.

  He had grown used to Ginny’s hair—the swirls of blue, purple and pink even more vivid in daylight. It stood out among the throng of students ambling on the sidewalk on their way to class. But this morning, Ginny was extra colorful in an oversized neon green shirt peppered with pink stars, matched with orange leggings. She looked like a graffiti wall spray-painted by someone who was high.

  Hopping onto the pavement to avoid human traffic, Caleb crossed his arms, causing the backpack on his shoulder to swing to his side. “If anyone has a right to hate anyone, that would be me. I still haven’t forgotten how you hijacked my Friday night.”

  “You weren’t exactly complaining when the performances began.” Ginny grinned. “And you stayed the whole time! I infinitely love you for it.” As if released from a catapult, she shot forward to wrap her arms around his middle.

  Ginny was about two heads smaller than him, making Caleb feel like he was hugging back his eight-year-old niece.