Thankfully, she gives me the easy way out. “Are those club registration forms?”
“Yes, yes they are,” I say, lying my butt off.
Kayla’s whole face lights up. “Which clubs are you signing up for?”
Another factor that bonds Kayla and me: I have no interest in joining any extracurricular activities, while herparentsdon’t let her join any extracurricular activities. Auntie Grace and Uncle Walter are super religious and super active in their church. Kayla once asked if she could join the school paper and Auntie Grace asked, “Isn’t it more important to spread the word of God?”
“When Achi Jackie gave us that talk about how we only have a few months left to be involved in the Saint Agnes community, I started thinking,” Kayla says.
“As a student who’s been going here for twelve years, you’re already involved in the community.”
“It’s senior year and I don’t want to feel like I’ve missed out. There’s a chance my mom might allow me if we join together.”
I groan when I see how much this means to her. “Which club?”
Ever since Dani became student council president, our high school has exploded with the most random clubs. Since her whole agenda has been getting everyone to “participate,” the apparent solution has been creating a club or organization for every possible niche interest. Saint Agnes now has a karaoke committee, manga appreciation organization, a Taylor Swift crochet club (the Swifties Who Crochet apparently have two-hour-long meetings discussing which stitch matches which Taylor Swift song).
“The prom committee is looking for people—”
“No,” I cut her off before she continues.
“If you’re in charge of music, then you get to dictate the playlist!”
“Ky, what are the things I’ll do before going to prom?”
She sighs. “You would rather get braces all over again.”
“And?”
“You would rather wear a bikini, take a bath in your own blood, then go swimming in a pool of sharks before setting foot inside prom.”
I smile. “Exactly.”
“Maybe I should listen to Ma and volunteer for the socials at church…”
My heart twists when I see Kayla’s face drop. “Hey, what if you start a movie club? I’d join that.”
Still doesn’t lighten up.
“Every meeting can be devoted to a movie and you explaining the lore behind Kathryn Bernardo.”
This makes her slightly intrigued.
“If you can get another movie to work, we still have time to watch the beginning.”
Kayla’s already scrolling through the movie catalog. To my misfortune, the only KathNiel title that plays isPagpag: Nine Lives, otherwise known as Moseph King’s claim to fame.
Back when we were eight, Seph had a minuscule, teeny-weeny stint as a child actor. Seph’s dad is an executive at a media company, and one of their film projects was scouting for a Chinese Filipino boy. Long story short, Seph ended up booking the gig as a guest supporting actor for the horror moviePagpag: Nine Lives. The horrific part of it all? Some people actually treat Seph as if he is an artista, and he loves every minute of it.
But since I already rejected Kayla’s prom committee proposal, I’ve lost any right to reject her movie choice.
The movie opens with a girl walking into her boyfriend’s funeral. But once the boyfriend’s mom sees her, the mom kicks her out, blaming the girl for his death. Humiliated, the girl then runs straight home.
When the girl gets scolded by her roommate for wearing red and breaking superstitions, it reminds me of how Ma lectures me about stuff like pagpag.
Pagpag is this Filipino superstition that says you’re not supposed to go home immediately after a wake. To prevent spirits from following you home, people are supposed to make a pit stop, like at a McDonald’s or a convenience store. Maybe the goal is to bribe the spirits with chicken nuggets or pancakes so your house looks way less tempting. Either way, I never really bought into the whole superstition. Like all my mom’s sayings, I learned it’s easier to follow along and give up finding the logic in her beliefs.
“Oh no,” Kayla whispers, and grabs the cushion. “She didn’t pagpag.”
