JAY JAY POV
Over the next couple of days, I started getting to know the other boys in Section E. Surprisingly, they aren't all carbon copies of that lollipop-sucking nightmare sitting at the back.
Take David, for instance. He actually seems decent. I found out he used to be the class president, but apparently, Keifer decided he wanted the title and—true to form—they fought about it. Keifer won, obviously. Typical boy logic: whoever has the hardest punch gets to make the rules.
Then there's Felix.
When I heard his full name, I actually blinked a few times. Felix John Felix Collins. My mind immediately jumped to Percy—Percy Rey Collins Mariano. Damn it, Jay, get over it, I told myself. It's just a coincidence. "Collins" is probably the "Smith" of the Philippines. I mean, think about it—how many teachers in London were named Smith? Like, a million. It doesn't mean they're all related.
Still, thinking about names made me realize I really need to call Percy. It's only been three days, but I kind of hate to admit it: I miss the guy. Between the vanity and the drama, he always has my back. He's the only one who can make me smile when I feel like the world is crashing down around me.
Then there's the guy the rest of the section calls the "Sad Boy." Calix. Honestly, the guy is so desperate and mopey he looks like Romeo if he'd lost Juliet five minutes after the balcony scene.
I never, never understood the whole Romeo and Juliet obsession. Seriously? You meet a guy for one night, kiss him, marry him in secret... fine, "love" and all that blah blah blah. But why the suicide pact? Why all the drama? People might disagree with me, but come on. Just move on! There are other fish in the sea, preferably ones that don't come from rival families.
"Hey, Jay!"
Ci-N's high-pitched voice snapped me out of my internal rant.
"What?" I asked, blinking back to reality.
"Why are you making that face?" Ci-N asked, leaning over his desk with his usual boundless energy.
"What face?"
"That disgusted face," Felix chime in, laughing as he pointed a finger at me. "You look like you just swallowed a lemon and then realized the lemon had a grudge against you."
I brushed my hair back, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I was just thinking about Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet are idiots, and the romanticization of their story is a tragedy in itself."
The boys stared at me for a beat, completely silent.
"Wow," David muttered from two desks away. "Who hurt you, London?"
"Nobody hurt me!" I snapped, shooting a glance toward the back of the room where Keifer was—of course—watching me. "I just value common sense over dramatic gestures."
"Careful, Jay-Jay," Ci-N teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Sometimes the most 'sensible' people end up doing the stupidest things when they fall. Just look at Calix."
"Hey!" Calix groaned from the corner, staring out the window at a single falling leaf. "Don't bring my pain into this. You don't know my heart."
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "See? This is what I'm talking about. Total drama."
Just as I was about to tuck my hair behind my ear and get back to my notes, I felt a familiar presence looming behind me. The scent of mint hit me before the voice did.
"Common sense, huh?" Keifer's voice was a low rumble right next to my ear. "Is that what you call it when you punch someone for an accident, or are you just trying to convince yourself you didn't feel the 'drama' too?"
The classroom went silent again, the boys watching us like we were a live-action soap opera. I gripped my pen until my knuckles turned white.
"I call it a 'reflex,' Watson," I said, not turning around. "Like when you swat a mosquito. It's annoying, it bites, and you just want it to go away."
"Ouch," Felix whispered, looking between us. "That's cold."
Keifer didn't move. He leaned in even closer, his shadow falling over my desk. "Funny. Most people don't think about mosquitoes as much as you've been thinking about me today. I can see your gears turning from across the room."
I finally turned around, ready to deliver a lecture that would make Ms. Rodriguez proud, but he was already walking away
I turned back to my desk, my face feeling like it was on fire.
Okay, fine. I lied. Keifer wasn't actually my first kiss. I mean, come on, I lived in London! Between school parties and summer breaks, I'd had a couple of "moments." They weren't exactly earth-shattering or movie-worthy, but they happened.
So why the hell did I scream that at him?
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. I'd said it because I wanted him to feel guilty. I wanted him to think he'd ruined some sacred, once-in-a-lifetime milestone for me. I wanted him to feel like the ultimate villain who'd stolen something he couldn't put back.
But that total jerk didn't look guilty. He didn't look like a villain who'd realized he'd crossed a line. Instead, he looked like he'd just won the damn lottery. He looked like he enjoyed the idea that he was the first—even if it was a total fabrication.
Ugh! Why is he like this?
"Jay-Jay, you're doing the face again," Felix pointed out, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. "The 'I-want-to-strangle-the-universe' face."
"The universe is fine, Felix. It's just certain inhabitants of it that I have a problem with," I snapped, aggressively opening my textbook.
"Like our beloved President?" Ci-N teased, his eyes darting toward the back of the room where Keifer was currently leaning back, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
"He's not 'beloved.' He's a nuisance. A glitch in the matrix. A persistent, mint-scented headache," I muttered, scribbling a very violent-looking doodle in the margin of my notes.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a message from Jare or Sarah.
1 New Message: Percy
I felt a sudden rush of relief. I really needed a distraction from the chaos of Section E.
PERCY: Jay-Jay! Darling! I've been staring at my reflection for three hours and realized I haven't heard your voice in ages. Are you surviving the heat? Has your skin melted off yet? Please tell me you're using the serum I gave you.
I almost laughed. Classic Percy.
ME: I'm fine, Perce. My skin is still intact, mostly. But I've moved from a haunted villa to a house we bought ourselves, and I'm currently trapped in a man-cave masquerading as a classroom.
PERCY: A house?! Without me?! How dare you and Jare stage a coup while I'm still in London! I'm coming over sooner than planned. I can't let you decorate without professional supervision. You'll probably buy beige curtains. BEIGE, Jay-Jay!
I smiled, actually feeling a bit better.
ME: Just get here, you drama queen. I need a sane person to talk to. Well, as 'sane' as you get.
I tucked my phone back into my pocket and felt a shadow fall over my desk again.
"Smiling at a screen now, London?" Keifer's voice was right above me. "Who is it? The boyfriend back in the palace? Or did you find a new 'Romeo' already?"
I looked up, meeting his dark eyes. He looked suspicious—almost... jealous? No, that couldn't be right. He was just being an asshole.
"None of your business, Watson," I said, my voice steady. "But for someone who claims to be the 'King,' you're awfully invested in my social life."
"I like to keep tabs on the residents of my kingdom," he countered, leaning down until his face was inches from mine.
I pushed Keifer away with a huff, but before I could snap at him, the classroom door creaked open.
A new guy walked in, and my breath hitched. His hair color was bright—the exact shade of a rooster's comb—and he carried himself with an air of cold, quiet confidence.
Wait. I know this boy.
Flashbacks of Papa sitting Jare and me down before the flight hit me. He had been so uncharacteristically stern, his eyes dark with a warning he rarely used. "If you see anyone from the Hanamatchi clan, you stay away. Do you hear me, Jay-Jay? Far away."
Papa has this theory—well, more like a conviction—that everyone from that clan is inherently manipulative. He says they are liars who treat the world like a chessboard, willing to ruin lives just to get whatever they want. I remember laughing it off to Percy back in London, telling him Papa was just being dramatic.
But Percy hadn't laughed. For once, my vain, mirror-obsessed brother had looked dead serious. He'd gripped my shoulders and whispered: "If you ever meet a Hanamatchi, you have three options. One: punch him. Two: don't do anything and run. Three..." He had paused, his face turning into a mask I didn't recognize. "Three: Kill him."
I shook the memory away
"YURI, MY MAN! YOU'RE BACK!" shouted a guy from the side. What the hell was his name? Oh, right—Drew. That guy is obsessed with money; I'm pretty sure he charges interest if you borrow a pencil for five minutes.
"Here is your food," the red rooster—Yuri—said calmly.
Wait. Yuri?
He didn't head for me with some villainous monologue. Instead, he walked straight over to the King of Assholes. I watched, blinking in confusion, as he and Keifer did some kind of complicated handshake—like a bro-code, BFFs-forever, secret-society kind of thing. They looked like they'd been causing trouble together since they were in diapers.
I sat there, frozen, my brain trying to reconcile Papa's "Hanamatchi = Evil Manipulators" speech with the guy currently handing Keifer a takeout bag and laughing at a joke. To be honest, up close and without the dramatic entrance, Yuri actually looked... nice? He had a relaxed smile and a way of moving that wasn't predatory at all. It was just... cool.
Is this the same guy? I wondered, my grip on my bag loosening. Is Papa just senile? Did Percy have a fever when he told me to kill this guy?
Keifer clapped Yuri on the shoulder, then tilted his head toward me. "Yuri, this is the London Princess I told you about. The one with the mean right hook."
Yuri turned to me, his red hair messy and bright. He didn't look like a manipulator. He looked like a guy who probably spent too much money on hair dye and liked spicy food.
"So you're the one who gave our President a matching bruise for his jaw?" Yuri asked, his voice friendly and light
"I... uh, yeah," I stammered, feeling completely ridiculous for my internal freak-out. "I'm Jay-Jay."
"Yuri Hanamatchi," he said, giving me a playful two-finger salute.
I just nodded, still trying to process the fact that the "dangerous" Hanamatchi was currently sharing his fries with the class president. Just as I was about to spiral back into my thoughts, the door opened and our history teacher walked in.
Fuck.
I am absolutely no good at history. Even back in London, when I was in AP classes and trying to be the "golden student," history was my kryptonite. But this was different. Philippine history is a whole other beast of dates, names, and revolutions. I hated it.
The class actually calmed down—surprisingly, they seemed to respect this teacher, or maybe they were just scared of her. She didn't waste any time. She started firing off questions, calling us by our full names. The rule was simple: if you didn't know the answer, you had to stand up.
Within ten minutes, it looked like a literal forest in the classroom. Almost everyone was standing up, looking defeated.
"Jasper Jean Fernandez Mariano," she called out, pausing to look at her ledger.
Damn it. Did she really have to use the "Fernandez" part? I usually leave that out on everything because it's such a mouthful.
She looked at me, then looked at her paper, her eyes narrowing as she became visibly skeptical. "Are you related to Aries Fernandez?" she asked, her voice sharp.
The entire room went silent. Even Keifer stopped messing with his pen and looked up. I stood up, feeling a wave of confusion wash over me.
"No, ma'am," I said firmly. "I mean, I met him at lunch, but we aren't related. I'm from London."
"Then why the hell do you have 'Fernandez' in your name?" Keifer asked suddenly, leaning forward as if he were suddenly the world's leading expert on my genealogy. He looked genuinely interested, and for once, his smirk was gone.
To be honest? I didn't know why I had that name either.
I remembered asking Papa and Mama about it once when I was younger, curious why my name was so much longer then other kids. They had exchanged that weird, heavy look again—the same one they gave each other when we talked about the exchange program.
it was just a tribute to a distant relative who helped them out a long time ago," I told the class, though even to my own ears, it sounded like a weak excuse. "They said it was a 'thank you' name. Nothing more."
"As a last name, Jay-Jay?" Ci-N asked, his high-pitched voice cutting through the tension. He wasn't being mean; he sounded genuinely curious, like he was trying to solve a math problem that didn't add up. "People usually give middle names as tributes. But a middle-last name? That's like... branding."
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
The rest of the period was the quietest I've ever seen Section E. Usually, there's at least one pen-fight or someone trying to light a notebook on fire, but after the whole "Fernandez" interrogation, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room.
I looked over at Felix several times, expecting him to crack a joke or make some sarcastic comment to break the ice like he usually does. But his expression remained dim. He stayed hunched over his desk, staring at the name written on the teacher's ledger with a look of pure, unadulterated suspicion. It wasn't the look of a friend being curious; it was the look of someone who had just found a piece of a puzzle he really didn't want to solve.
None of the boys troubled me for the rest of the day. Even Keifer kept his mouth shut, though I caught him glancing at me from the corner of his eye more than once
As soon as the final bell rang, I bolted.
Jare was waiting for me at the gate with the rest of the group. We'd officially moved out of the haunted apartment and into the new house—a sleek, modern place that actually smelled like lemon cleaner instead of ancient dust.
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