I quickly type,um. EW????
Seph smirks.
It super sounds like a bad guy in a movie.
I type:Yeah. A porn movie
Just continuing your ode to the pervy dentist.
We keep taking turns writing, and the document gets filled with more and more possible nicknames for Dr. Derrick, his suggestions more X-rated than mine.
Did you hear?Seph glances at me before he types,Gab Pangilinan is going to be a guest mentor in this summer’s workshop.
“Are you serious?!” I ask him out loud.
Gab Pangilinan was the first theater actress I ever saw in person. During the summer of my very first Trumpets workshop, we took a field trip to watch a production of the musicalMula sa Buwan. Our teacher told us that the lead actress, Gab, used to attend the Trumpets summer workshops, too, and that blew my mind. My whole world shook at the idea that someone from where I was could end up onstage, singing and performing in theaters full of that many people.
“Did they confirm she’s mentoring? How often is she going to be there? Is she actually teaching?” My whole chest starts humming when I start remembering watchingMula sa Buwanlive, the moments I listened to the soundtrack on repeat and imagined that I was the one singing, the times I actually got to perform onstage and felt the most delirious, soul-invigorating joy when I got lost in a character or a story.
Anywhere else, I’m a regular old drop in the ocean. But when I stepped on that stage? I felt like a tidal wave ripping through all that surrounded me.
I have a million more questions but stop when I notice Seph smirking at me. “I thought you said theater wasn’t for you?”
He’s right. That life isn’t for me. I don’t get to be the tidalwave. I’m the person who gets knocked over and nearly drowns from trying to catch up with the current.
“It’s not,” I say firmly, going back to focusing on my laptop and shutting down all urges to ask more about Gab Pangilinan.
Then I see Seph type another question.Why did you quit Trumpets?
I frown at the screen.Next question.
Sorry. Not allowed.He pushes the computer toward me and shrugs when I side-eye him.
Brings back bad memories, I answer.
What do you mean?
Long story.My hands pause before adding,Haha I’m sure me performing reminds you of bad memories too.
His brow furrows at my joke and he takes the conversation off the screen. “What do you mean?”
“When I didn’t show up for opening night,” I remind him. “Bad Luck Ilagan, right?”
Seph’s face only grows more confused. When I explain to him what I overheard the last time I visited the Trumpets studio almost five years ago, his gaze suddenly softens.
“You heard that?”
I shrug so he thinks it’s no big deal.
Seph frowns and shakes his head. “I was so mad when Kevin kept saying we shouldn’t say your name since it’s bad luck. Direk Myka switched the basketballs to these softball props because I kept ‘accidentally’ almost hitting Kevin in our next shows—”
“Wait. That wasn’t you?”
“Oh, you heard about the time I hit Kevin in the head? He was fine. The basketball barely touched him.”
“No,” I say. “I meant saying my name was bad luck… I thought you started it.”
His face tightens then. “You thought I’d do something like that?”
