The Bald Girl Who Embarrassed Me She took me by surprise.

The bald girl in a teal jumpsuit took me by surprise when she sat beside me at our cliques lunch table. Her yellow sneakers squeaked as she moved around the lunch room to get some food. My other friend, who sat to my right elbowed me and asked, What the hell is that girl doing? Whys she here? I shrugged, I dont know either! They sniggered. What?! asked I them as I turned to find the bald girl coming back to us, carrying a tray full of food that may be good for two people and that was the time that I had noticed that she had artfully pasted my picture on her school ID. I covered my eyes in horror. Hi, Im Wesley, she said, offering a hand to all the other girls. They reluctantly shook her hand, though for a splitsecond only. I wondered if their palms even touched her skin. Wesley sat to my left. She smiled at me. I thought that you might be hungry so here, she said brightly as she placed a sandwich and iced tea in front of me. Ugh, said I hesitantly with my lips pursing, Im on a diet, really. Oh, but you look really pretty as you are! Why dont you just eat lunch? Again, I could feel my friends give me the dagger looks we give to people who are in bizarre yet wickedly amusing situations. Wesley took my hand, I flinched. Pammy, please eat now. Okay? She smiled with all her teeth again, a bit of food stuck between her incisors. Pammy? another friend exclaimed, totally amused and scandalized all the same time by the name. Afraid that Wesley was going to embarrass me more by saying something inappropriate, I answered, My Dad used to call me that...before. Dont you girls call Pammy by her name? Wesley asked, squishing her burger as she leaned toward my friends. Her eyes beamed, as if basking in a momentous glory brought about by the discovery that only she called me by that name. No, my friends chorused. We call her Shane. Oh, thats her name too. Pamela Shane, right? And then Wesley took a humongous bite off her burger, not a care to the friggin lunchroom full of sets of eyes glaring back at us. Youre all so cute, I could embrace you all girls now, she declared happily while chewing, But of course, Pammy would still be a hundred times cuter forever! And that was how lunches were since Wesley decided to stalk usno, metorturous. Sometimes, I suspected that she really connived with our classmates so she could be my Lab partner. Other times, Id catch her lovingly look at me when I recite my speeches in English. Or that I noticed that my plant for Biology got watered even when I absented myself. Or that, when she wrote my name on the board after classes, shed draw angels wings appended to it. Or that, I was the only one who got discounts on Wesleys home technology groups pizzas and cookies. And I noticed that the guys at the track-and-field called me their First Lady behind my back in the corridors. They called Wesley, Sir. I am, without a doubt, bothered. Wesley also e-mailed and texted me, like, everyday asking for the most trivial things like how my day went (as if we were not classmates). Do you think shes lesbian and she has her eyes on Shane? Dorothy asked as we huddled in the locker room. I was changing into my PE clothes when they turned on to me. You brought that up again But dont you think she is? I mean, the way she seems to like being close and I mean, super close to you? And notice how she seems to be a walking Shaneoh, I mean, Pammyencyclopedia? At that, the girls laughed. I faced them, still undressed. Quit that, please? But of course, Dorothy added as she tucked stray strands of hair, we could not just dismiss her, you know. We are good girls, for goodness sake. Yeah, I was thinking about that too. We couldnt just tell her off, nor would we be able to avoid her. So, I concluded, Well do nothing about her embarrassing us YOU, not us. Yeah, I resigned, sitting down to tie my shoe laces, me. Shes a torture. Help me girls, please. They looked at me like three nuns looking down at a pitiful orphan. Well just have to put up with the Wesley problem until we figure out if shes dangerous or just downright weird. Hey, why is she even called Wesley? I guess, one of them said, smirking, because shes a lesbian? They giggled again; I cursed under my breath as I bent down to tie the laces of my sneakers. Then we heard squeaking, the very same squeaking we hear everyOh, hi girls! Hi, Wesley, Dorothy greeted, eyeing my reaction at the corner of her eyes. Wesley literally bounced towards us like a kangaroo eager to eat eucalyptus. I was wondering ifoh, hey! Youre there Pammy. Let me help you. In an instant, her fingers were

fidgeting with the laces of my shoes. I heard Dorothy giggle mockingly. An impulse took over me and so I, rather violently, slapped her in the face. That was how we looked likeme, turning red after such brash and uncharacteristic action, holding my hand up in the air and Wesley, turning red after my palm touched her face, was crouching down to tie my shoe laces. I felt her wobble; she loosened her hold on the laces. As if in slow motion, her hand touched the cheek that had received the slapping. She stood up; my hand, though, was still frozen in air. She had to put it down. A tall and slender girl looked down at me, while I was glaring back at her, and then she gave me a weak and bitter smile. In a heartbeat, her palm landed on the other cheek and she let out a scornful laugh. I had to do that. So they are now both red. Wesley turned. Well, I guess, you can do your own shoe laces. Ill go ahead. Bye girls! And with that, she disappeared out of the locker room, taking with her the bound of energy. What was that, Shane? they asked, crowding in on me. I have no idea either. I took my hand and felt a certain indescribable, guilty, frustrated, ashamed, surprised, scared feeling when I remembered how her hand had felt smooth against my skin. That day, in PE, Wesley still chose to go to our team but unlike other days, she refused to even receive a ball and so that one time, the ball hit her right smack in the face. She laughed; our classmates laughed too. Well, now Im totally red, she exclaimed in a joke. Wesley still sat with us for lunch. But not like before, she did not buy me food. She talked, not. She just seats, greets us, eats, thanks us for the company and leaves. She fails to show up for the most of our afternoon subjects. She began failing exams; she began neglecting school projects. She quitted the marching band. She ceased volunteering to decorate the bulletin boards. Her locker went empty. One afternoon, I even saw a bright orange hooded cape in the trash that I think belonged to her. I checked if she visited the school workshop where she used to wield scrap metals or toy with the spare engine parts of the schools vehicles. I swear that I did that out of curiosity. People had gossiped about her disappearances. She was the manager of the track and field team and suddenly, she dropped the team. The cigarette-smoking juniors and coke-using seniors who had become her peers (through some circumstances that I refuse to imagine) also wondered where Wesley had gone to. We were even afraid that, being labelled as her lunchmates, theyd ask us. Thank heavens, they did not. After a week, the Wesley problem died a natural death because of the coming of Christmas. Everyone cheered. No one was bothered by Wesleys presence anymore, in our clique, that is. Just before we began our Christmas break, she had quit school though no one really cared. She was weird, ghetto in a way and I guess some even considered it good riddance. I was perplexed, relieved, confused and baffled all at the same time. While my friends chattered all the way out of the grounds for the break, I walked in silence. That morning, we had our classroom Christmas party. And oddly, Ive been receiving Kris Kringle gifts in my locker. And before leaving, I got a package in my locker. It was a beautiful cut-out red dress. And somehow, Im certain that it came from Wesley because the wrapper was a hand-painted scarf and only someone as queer as she could think of that. The scarf had the painting of a yellow tulip that intertwined at the stems with a beautiful pink rose. The tulip was withering while the rose seemed to grow even more alive in the painting. On a corner, the word Love had been embroidered. I immediately hid it inside my bagthe entirety of the packageto avoid further more humiliation. Seriously, Wesley even during her absence was still capable of mortifying me. I had quickly rejoined my friends. They were talking about each others gifts with excitement and glee. From them, I received a stuffed toy, a designer bag and a wristwatchall wrapped and boxed neatly by the department store staff. It was Christmas, happy feelings were at an all-time high and you know how too much happiness makes you dizzy and at times, irrational. Plus, I admit that I secretly adore the gifts she gave me, especially because I could see the special care she had given

on it. The warm, fuzzy Christmas feeling must have been getting to me and I guess this was the cause of me thinking about a tingling, an inkling of an attraction towards that weird, bald girl. She was sweet in her own wayfreaky, yes, but sweet. She had been a helping hand quite a few times and saved me when I had forgotten my own automobile project by submitting hers as mine. But of course, love could not possibly blossom between Wesley and me. Im straight and I surely hope she is too but... That night, I composed a letter of thanks on my PC but when I was about to send it I decided to delete it. _________________________________________________________ After two months, just before March greeted us, my mother called me to breakfast earlier than usual. It was odd for me because I usually get my way and wake up late. Mom had always been lenient and Dad was always off somewhere. Mom prepared pancakes and then sat down; she was still in her pyjamas. Your father called, she began to tell me, And hes requested that we go where he is now. Where? Well... my mom swallowed hard. Hes at a funeral right now. Someone in the family died. What?! Who?! Is it Aunt Caty? Oh, please, no I exclaimed. She got up and needlessly washed her hands in the sink. Who died mom? Oh, she croaked feebly, as if her voice will soon break down, No one, really. But he said hed appreciate if we could come. I told her that we should. It had been that simple. The next day, we arrived at the beach. Yes, the funeral was at a rocky beach. Just a few meters away, the waves crashed against the rocky formations by the shore. Daddy said it had been the wish of the dead to have the wake there so that it was closest to the sea and a bit more closer to the stars. I was being the dutiful relative and although I know of no one really, I still walked around and offered condolences and words of comfort. I moved in silence among themourning people; I was the air that was willing to offer a shoulder, a listening ear, whatever that I could give. While I was moving around and getting to know more people, I saw the everfamiliar, notoriously familiar bald head. She was again in her teal jumpsuit, though it looked like it had faded. She looked like she was smiling at me. But now, I could not really tell because her serene and surprisingly pretty face was blurred by the thick glass of her coffin. My father appeared beside me. I did not know she was relative. She had been a...well,classmate. He put a heavy hand on my shoulder and the proximity of him made me aware that he was breathing with difficulty. I continued to stare at her, in the coffin. Then, patting me lightly on the shoulder, Daddy said, Wesley is more than a relative, Pammy. Shes your elder sister.

Two days after that, I came to a funeral in a beautiful, red cut-out dress. On that day, it rained tears, paper airplanes, and petals of pink roses and yellow tulips for the bald girl who had embarrassed me.

__________________________________________________________ To my sisters whom I was not fortunate to meet; to them who I believe became the angels who are now taking care of me. What kind of love could we have shared?