We Real Cool 4 Surprise, Surprise

As I run towards the bus, the wind wafts my hair into a mess; I laugh. I probably look like one of those zombies on Walking Dead who has her hair completely covering her face. The only thing different is that this zombie can run like a madman. I bring my right hand to my head to keep a couple of strands off my face, and as I do this, my top raises by a few inches. I'm pretty sure that I shouldn't be exactly proud of my loose m.u.f.fin-top, but I laugh louder. For the first time in a long time, most especially since I'd arrived here and started to live up to what high-expecting professors demanded, I've never felt this free. This wild.

"Woohoo!" I shout, ignoring the raised eyebrows and confused eyes of pa.s.sersby. I'm celebrating my victory in this race I came up with as I'm ahead of Red now. There's only about five meters before I reach the bus, and I don't have to run any faster but I continue flailing my hands in the air wildly. Four meters more. Three. Two. One. By the time I reach the bus, I'm already out of breath.

I feel like all I could do now is crawl my way in until I find a seat. I drop my things on the steps, and grab hold of the entryway's handle with my left hand; I bring my right hand to my chest. My heart is beating so fast.

"Are you alright?" someone asked.

No, Mr. But I hope I'll be.

With the little energy I have left, I raise my head to see who it was who asked; it was the bus driver. He looks like he genuinely cared, so I give him a smile. If it weren't for him, I would have probably stayed in my hunched, clumsy position until who-knows-when.

I straighten up, but I still couldn't answer him. I still need to catch my breath, so I give him a thumbs-up.

"Well then, if you're ready," he says. "Just come on up."

I close my eyes for a second or two. I can almost see stars floating around the darkness.

Calm down, Lizzie. Calm down.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes. Thank goodness, I'm feeling better now. I pick up my bag and get on the bus. "Thank you for asking, sir," I finally answer the bus driver with my words. "I just had to catch my breath for a couple of seconds. I'm alright."

I was about to walk away and find myself a seat when my stomach growled. Mr. Bus Driver probably heard it.

"Actually, I might be a bit hungry," I add. "I didn't have the time to drop by Annenberg for dinner."

Actually, I didn't have the time to drop by Annenberg for any meal at all.

"Don't worry; there'll be a lot of good food at Fenway – they're pretty overpriced though, so don't buy any of those Sox merchandise if you still want to have a meal," he tells me. "Don't be fooled by the brand; you can get a lot of those kind of s.h.i.+rts along train stations for a cheaper price."

"Thanks," I say. "I appreciate the advice."

"Also," he adds. "You didn't have to run, you know. Your proctor doesn't seem to be in a hurry at all."

"What do you mean?" I ask in surprise. "Which proctor?"

"Red," he answers while pointing back. "Actually, there are three of them. The two of them are here already, and one of them went off the bus to help you out."

"Red?" I ask.

"Yes, ma'am."

"He's a proctor here at the program?"

"Yes," he answers. "He's also a rising senior here at Harvard."

In pure disbelief, I look back. Just a few meters away, I see Red smiling as though everything is perfectly fine. He is walking as though he's strolling along the park, looking like he's got everything under control. Of course. He is, after all, the one in charge.

I cannot believe I had just challenged a Harvard man.

"Seriously?" I ask the driver as I face him again. "Sir, please tell me you're kidding."

"I'm afraid not," he says with a laugh. "Don't worry about it. Red is one of the nicest students I've come across here during my time. He's always happy to help anyone."

My heart is beating faster now. If he's a proctor and I didn't treat him like one, he might give me a negative report or worse, a lecture for what I've done – being late or maybe even flirting outright.
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"Thanks for letting me know, sir," I say, trying to hide the disappointment in my face.

"Call me Jeffrey, kid." he says with a warm smile, which calms me down.

"Well, it's great to meet you, Jeffrey,'" I say while reaching my hand out. "I'm Liz."

I move closer to shake hands.

"I trust that what you said about Red is true," I tell him, almost in a whisper. "But do you think I'm in trouble?"

Jeffrey laughs. He was about to give me an answer until someone chimes in.

"Only if you back out."

I didn't have to look back; I knew it was him. I can't even ask him about what he meant; from exactly what am I backing off from? I'm way too shy and sorry for what I'd just done – making him carry some of my things and challenging him to a race. I just stand there in shame and in disbelief.

Here I am, completely taken by surprise by the bomb that has been dropped on me, and there he is, talking as though everything is perfectly fine. I look at him with my poker face. He takes out his phone, nods at Jeffrey, and looks me. I don't know if he's trying to calm me down or rea.s.sure me that everything will be alright, so I look away.

"Before I forget," he says. "I need your full name and ID number for attendance."

"Lizzie Ong," I immediately answer. I reach in my pocket and give him my ID. I want this conversation to end as soon as possible so it looks like I'm going to have to play the part of an obedient child. He gets a hold of my card, and he suddenly steps closer, sending me a step back in an instant.

"Hey, don't worry," he says softly. "I just need you to check if I spelled your name right."

"Sure," I reply, trying to hide my nervousness.

Slowly and gently, he moves to my side so instead of facing me, he would be by my side. He brings his phone lower so I could see the screen perfectly well and he types in my name beside the last number, 29, correctly. I'm probably the 29th student and the last to arrive. Without looking at him, I feel him turn his head towards me.

"May I?" I answer, still looking at the phone. He gives me the phone.

Beside what he typed in, which was my name, I put a hyphen and in caps lock, the word 'late'. I hope he appreciates my honesty to my fault. I expect him to get it back in silence, pat me on the back, and let me go. Instead, he gives a silent chuckle.

"It's all good," he says, deleting what I'd just typed on his phone. He gets hold of the phone again so suddenly that our hands touch. This time caught me by surprise; the contact sent s.h.i.+vers down my spine. I immediately let go of the phone – ungraciously, may I add. The fact that it didn't fall is a miracle, really.

"Sorry," I whisper as I turn my back.

"Hey," Red says.

Before he can even continue, I walk away. I look around for a seat. I examine the vehicle, and notice that it has eight rows and four columns of seats. There are two columns on each side of the bus; the windows are heavily tinted.

Its interior is posh with all the cus.h.i.+oned leathered seats and the crimson-colored matting. There is also a small television mounted right in front. Everyone seemed to be too preoccupied talking to his or her seat-mate. I could barely hear the audio from the television.

I walk past the first few rows, which are all filled by chattering students. Most of them are talking so intimately; they almost look like they're sharing a secret that only they should know. Some are laughing so hard; they're the ones who are probably lucky enough to have gone and sat with their friends. I guess everyone knows everyone else now that it's the last day of the program. I wonder if someone I know is here.

"Lizzie!" someone calls out. Just right on cue.

I look around to see who it was. Among the sea of chatting students, I spot Katrina, a beautiful Korean-American who is in the same cla.s.s I'm in, in her Red Sox s.h.i.+rt and cap, raising her hand up to a wave. She immediately stands up, smiling.

"Kat!" I shout back.

I walk towards her seat, which is in second to the last row by the window. I hope I could sit beside her. As I walk closer, I notice that she already has a seat mate – a goth-looking girl sporting dark make-up who was, contrary to what I just stated, preoccupied not on having an actual conversation, but on playing some game on her phone.

"Hi," Kat says, excusing herself from her seatmate. The girl had her earphones on, so she didn't move at all. "I saw what happened out there. Are you alright?"

"I know," I answer. "I actually almost forgot about-"

Before I could finish, a sharp piercing sound of a whistle fills the bus and takes our attention. I look back to the direction where the noise is from, and see a plump, brown-haired woman standing right in the middle of the walkway. Behind her is Red and another man – probably another proctor or maybe even a Harvard man.

"Please settle down," she says with a full voice. The noise from different conversations mellow down a bit.

"I'll tell you about it later," I say while slowly settling in the seat behind her.

As soon as I sit down and put my bag on the seat beside me, the bus moves. All three proctors hold onto the poles since Mr. Jeffrey seems to be in a rush.

"h.e.l.lo and good evening, students," the girl continues. "My name is Erika, the head facilitator of this event. Behind me are my a.s.sistants, Red and Edward. The three of us will be in-charge of you beautiful young men and women so work with us here, all right?

"Rule number one," she says while raising her arm and pointing her forefinger upwards. "Don't die." I chuckle at her remark. A couple other students giggle, too.

As luck would have it, the bus probably drove over some b.u.mp, which leads to a sudden halt. Edward, a tall, dark, and handsome man, s.h.i.+fts forward and hits her.

This makes some of us laugh. Red is trying to suppress a smile.

"Sorry!" Jeffrey says from the driver's seat. "Hold on and fasten your seat belts, children. It looks like it's going to be a rough and speedy ride."

As soon as Erika gets back to her footing and stands straight again, she looks back at Red and Edward. She probably told them something about taking their respective seats, which sends both men leaving their posts.

Edward takes a seat somewhere in the middle row, while Red kept walking all the way back. I immediately bring out my phone, pretending to be busy with what-have-you. I sense him getting closer; after all, there's only one last seat at the rear end of the bus – the one beside mine.

I open my messenger, and send Phil a message. He's the only one who could save me now; if we start chatting, I could avoid any conversation with Red by telling him that I'm talking about something very important; I could even make up an emergency.

I'm in trouble.

Just as I hit send, I hear Red clear his throat. I look up, and there he was, looking just as angelic as he was earlier when I met him. s.h.i.+t.

"So," he says, snapping me out of my staring session. "Can I take this seat?"

I immediately get my bag from the seat beside me and put it in my lap. I didn't even answer him. My hands are sweating; I'm nervous, at the very least.

Red sits down. I move closer to the window.

"Liz," he says. I look at him with my brows raised. He was about to say something else when Erika begins talking again. Thank goodness.

"As I was saying, don't die," she says. She now has both of her hands on the pole since Jeffrey's driving is rather rough. "No drinking of alcohol, no getting into fights, and most importantly, no leaving the stadium unless I say so.

"Is everything clear?"

"Random question," the girl beside Katrina says while raising her right hand. "Can we, like, have fun and make out?"

Raised in a strict and traditional Asian family, I thought it was a nightmare. I can't understand why the girl even brought it up. I look at Erika to see how she responds, but she, herself, looks equally surprised. She was there, standing and looking at the girl blankly. She probably wasn't expecting this.

Red suddenly stands up and steps aside so that he was standing right in the aisle.

"Listen up," Red begins. "I'd say you're around 16 or 18, right?" All eyes are on him – well, except for Jeffrey. If we weren't in a hurry, I bet he'd be looking at one of his favorite kids.

"With this said, we, the proctors, expect you all to be mature – mature in your thoughts, your words, and your actions. In fact, I have great respect for you all for being here at this program.

"I know a lot of students who came here to learn alongside similarly curious, talented, and driven peers. I know some who worked so hard just so they could afford to come. A lot of you must have flown over time zones and attended the first day of a challenging cla.s.s, jet-lagged.

"There are even those who are here who hope to spend the next four years here for college, and are here to get a feel of what it's like to be an undergrad at Harvard. You've probably gone through a ton of course readings, research, and home work, and now that you're on your last whole day here at the program, I'm sure that you all just want to have fun. And I respect that.

"But if your definition of fun is as immature as sneaking out, getting wasted, making out, or even asking silly questions, think twice. We all know that a disapproving letter from Harvard addressed to your school and your parents isn't very pleasant."

There was complete silence for what could have been thirty seconds. We'd all been warned during the day of orientation, but I think it was good of him to mention the consequence of disobeying the rules again.

"So yes," He adds. "Please have fun."

"That's right," Erika starts saying again. "We're here to have fun as long as we don't break any rules; well said by our main organizer. Thank you, Red. I hope you guys won't let us down.

"Now, moving on, to make sure that you're all sober, uninjured, and alive until we get home later tonight, we're going to adapt the buddy system. You will all be paired to the person sitting beside you and that buddy will be pretty much be your best friend for the rest of the night.

"Get their name, ask for their cellphone number, add them on Face Book or even follow them on Snapchat or Instagram; just make sure that you can contact them anytime, and you'll be fine.

"You'll also be sitting with them for the entire duration of the game and on the ride back home to Harvard so I hope you're all witting with someone you get along with. I'm also giving you my number so please take out your phones and add me to your contacts.

"My number is 543-9815. If you have any requests, complaints, or questions, just shoot me a message." She says before disappearing.

I type her name and number in a hurry, hoping that it will make me look to busy to chat with Red.

"So," he starts. "Can I have your number?"

I look at him as calmly as I could. Act normal. You got this, Lizzie.

"Here," I answer dully as I give him my phone. "I can't memorize my US number so put yours in and I'll send you a message."

He gets my phone and almost immediately gives it back.

"Right," he says playfully.

I don't even know if I need to have his number since he's also a proctor, but oh well. I click his name to write a message. It turns out, he already sent himself one.

Looking forward to the dinner you owe me at Fenway Park.

-Lizze "Liz" Ong

I try to suppress a smile and look at him. Was this whole dinner thing what he meant that I wasn't supposed to back out from?

"You didn't even do the race," I tell him. "And I am most definitely not looking forward to the game or dinner."

He raises his brows, as if asking, "What?"

"You didn't even try to win," I continue. "You just walked all the way."

"That's because I'm a gentleman," he says with a playful tone. "And gentlemen either deny a lady's challenge or let them win."

"Okay, hold on, Mr.," I answer back. Looks like I'm going to have to bring my debating skills into play. "The game is off. I said that because I thought you were a student here at the program. Had I known that you were a proctor, I wouldn't have done that."

He gives me a silly smile.

"What," I continue. "You think this is funny?"

"Yes," he answers. "A while ago, you sprinted all the way to the bus and it's a sign that you do wanted to me to treat you."

"I didn't try to win because I wanted you to treat me, I just wanted to beat you, period," I answer back. "Also, your reason for walking and not even trying to win the race is completely invalid because it's the 20th century; it's completely alright to compete against the other s.e.x."

"Actually," he answers. "I let you win so we could have dinner together."