I put my palm under my chin as the pressure of my elbow against the metal armrest of the chair just adds more intensity to what I'm thinking. Rico's head moves to the other side, giving signals to the guys behind him. I see them putting down the paint cans.

If they already know that I did it, they should have sent me in the guidance office. Not here. I take a deep breath  That thought comforts me somehow.

"It is not necessary to finish the entire wall. We'll just be back to inform you if you're already allowed to go home," he continues.

They let us carry the cans of paint. Good thing, it is not too heavy. I am just not sure of the sophomores I’m with. When we arrive at the backmost part of the school where the vandalized wall is at, I glance at Rico's back. He is in front of me but the distance between our shoulders are just inches away. I cannot help but to feel anxious.

His hair cut is in a side part, clean and conservative. I just noticed. Maybe he felt my gaze, for the cognac irises of his eyes glance back at me.

"Next time, wear your proper uniform. And your skirt's length, fix it. You seem to know how to sew. You don't have to line up in the tailoring shop," he said.

'You seem to know how to sew.'

How does he know? Did he see the sweater I was holding earlier and conclude that I am the one who made it? Nodding, I insist, “fine. But the queue at the tailor shop is really long.”

"There are lots of tailoring shop here in Villian Mont. Have you been to them all?"

"I've only been to...the nearest one."

Rico sighs. I don't know why I sensed frustration, like he is so done with me. He just guides us to the wall we need to paint.

I suddenly feel like I was given a blow on the nape when I see the big middle finger I painted on it before. I bite my lower lip as I wonder why I had done that.

“We'll be back later,” Rico mutters and walks away. The other two officers nod at us before they follow him.

My lips pout. He suddenly turns cold. But he is always cold. But he also smiled at me earlier!

Why does it matter then if he is snobbing me again? I mean, does it matter? I don't care!

He was my ultimate crush when I was a freshman. I did my best in academics so I was transferred to section A on the second semester of my freshman year in highschool. I was busy liking him in a discreet manner that was why I didn't feel that he was irritated at my mere presence. He rejected my entry in art contest, tearing my self-esteem, throwing it away in the abyss. The young me was so devastated. And to be honest, until now, I still cannot ascend to the grave I was buried in two years ago. I am now in Grade 10, a senior, but got no improvements still.

So, being treated coldly by him should not have to be a big deal. What I also can't accept is that why do I have to go back to the mistakes he did to me just to remind myself that it should be expected if he treats me like that?

I start to brush the paint against the wall with soulful passion to cover up the graffiti. Half an hour has passed when I feel some bullets of sweats forming on my forehead. It is not that hot anymore. I am just really a little tired. I can already even feel the whispers of cold breeze kissing my skin.

My throat feels dry so I decided to sit awhile under the shade of the acacia tree nearby. After few minutes, I walk my way to the cafeteria to buy a bottled water. I make it three for the two sophomore students as well. When I return, I approach them even though I am not the most approachable one here in Collins High School. I try my best not to look mean as I clear my throat to get their attention.

“Uhm, you guys might be thirsty. Get these, please.” I give the bottled mineral water.

They just stare at me. My eyes snap at them. I lick my lips. “Come on, get it before I change my mind.”

“Thanks!”

“It's getting darker. Your parents might be worried about you. You can go home now.”

“What about kuya Rico?” said the one who has a trace of tears on his cheeks.

“Don't mind him. I'll take care of that jer– of him,” I assured.

“Are you...sure?” the other one asked.

I raise my eyebrow. “Yeah!”

They give me unsure stares. Even so, they still bid goodbye. Now that I'm alone, I start to paint the wall in a fastest way I can. I jump whenever I have to brush the upper part. This height of mine, sometimes I cannot rely into.

Out of breath, I stop. I couldn’t help but to look at the old building. I have always been here but never this late for my class is in morning shift. Others say, there's a ghost of a young boy lurking around in the abandoned building. Sometimes, they hear a ball bouncing with an eerie echo. Others also heard a thumping of feet running on the hallways. I suddenly feel cold chills on my nape.

I notice that the surroundings are getting dark as well. Earlier, it's a shade of warmth yellow. Now, it's a palette of tough orange, pink and purple. Suddenly, the chilling wind blows and now I'm having goosebumps! I swallow. Damn it, ghosts are not real!

“Is that all you finished?”

Shock is an understatement. I was so wonder-stricken when someone speaks behind me. My knees are so stunned that I accidentally trip and fall when I heard a voice. My face crumples as I wince in pain. I press my little hands on my right ankle to ease the pain.

“What the–!”

I almost cried as I exclaim my pain. I close my eyes, as if it prevents the swelling. Unexpectedly, I feel a firm pair of arms carrying me from the ground.