Queen of the Clueless (Interim Goddess of Love) Read online

  Queen of the Clueless

  Interim Goddess of Love #2

  Mina V. Esguerra

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Mina V. Esguerra, 2013

  Contact the author:

  [email protected]

  http://minavesguerra.com

  Cover art for this edition designed by Tania Arpa

  Photography by Rhea Bue (http://bebe-doll.net)

  "Yes, I did feel a lot of pressure. I met Ivy, the writer of the original story, and asked her what I needed to do to make sure I did justice to the character. Because I felt I couldn't. I'd only ever really been in romantic comedies, and this guy was such a hero. And she said, 'That's exactly how you should act, like no one's expecting you to be this guy, because that's how he is, and he doesn't know his effect on people.'" - Mikey Jones Curtis, starring in the film Day of Hearts, from the Daily National.

  SolMaybe this was all her fault. Chess class was not the right place to meet guys. It was common knowledge among the girls at Ford River College that the guys who chose chess for their PE were the ones who couldn't be bothered to run around and sweat, or had medical certificates for imaginary diseases, or just intended to pay off the teacher and show up for the first time at finals.

  Those were the lazy ones, and Sol didn't go for lazy. But the guys who actually wanted to be there, would they have been any better? Wouldn't the passion for a game that involved stealth, strategy, and gaining the upper hand all the freaking time be some sort of red flag?

  Sol should have known. She loved the game—read about it, thought about it—but it wasn't the healthiest thing to occupy her thoughts with, just as she was breaking up with her high school boyfriend.

  That was over though. There was that entire phase of the long distance relationship that included him avoiding her calls, and her friends telling tales of him not being totally honest with her, and him being such an ass, and her being so humiliated that she didn't want to get out of bed.

  And then, Neil happened. Yes, in chess class. Not the kind of guy she thought she'd like, but it made sense. He was smart, and he challenged her, and she liked that Neil was there. Because he had always been just a phone call away, and yet he found oh so many ways to avoid her.

  So Sol crossed off long-distance relationships and him, and hoped for the best with this guy. It was a better match, she thought, than the other one anyway. Neil actually liked the things she did. She suspected that they thought things through in a similar way. And, she figured that no relationship was perfect anyway, but she could deal with a problem if they were both in the same place at least.

  Last week, she began to rethink this. She read this book about making long distance relationships last, and it told her that a relationship was a relationship was a relationship. Distance was not a challenge with the right person.

  But Sol wasn't a quitter. She liked to figure out how things worked, and if they were broken, how to fix them.

  I should talk to Hannah about this, she told herself. It seemed like the kind of thing you'd tell a best friend.

  Chapter 1

  Not an art expert, but within five minutes of staring at the painting, a tear had rolled down my cheek.

  "Are you all right, Hannah?" Robbie Carlos asked me, already fumbling at his pockets for tissue or a handkerchief. He didn't have any, because he was a guy, and after a moment's hesitation he brushed the tear way with a knuckle. But my hand was already there, so all he had done was knock his fingers against my skin.

  Shit, why am I such a caveman, he thought. I knew that because I could hear his thoughts, at least when it came to me. Because he was in love with me, and I was the Interim Goddess of Love.

  More on that later.

  "Yeah, sorry," I said. "I can't believe I'm actually really feeling this."

  "Maganda's Regret has that effect on people." Our tour guide, a jolly, entertaining middle-aged man who asked us to call him "Uncle John," had come up beside me. He looked pleased at my reaction. "Even young people like you, they tend to stop and take a moment to understand it. And it sucks them in."

  Uncle John was referring to the large painting hanging on a display right in front of us. It was huge – larger than any painting I'd ever seen in anyone's living room. It had to be larger than me (heck, it was larger than Robbie, and he was a basketball player), and we were standing several feet away from it just to see the entire thing properly.

  The small plaque hanging next to it said it was called Maganda's Regret, 1904. Featured in it was a beautiful woman, in a plain white dress, standing over a lush, green landscape. She was looking back at something, off to the side, away from the beautiful forest.

  She looked sad.

  Uncle John left my side and went closer to the painting, cutting off everyone's view, so he could address the entire tour group. "This is the spectacular work of Arturo M. Indemne, one of the country's treasured artists. Here he depicts the story of Maganda. Do you college kids know the story of Malakas and Maganda?"

  Not one hand of the fifteen went up. I felt a bit ashamed for my generation.

  Uncle John rolled his eyes. "Dear Lord. Our ancestors, before this archipelago was colonized and Christianized, had their own myth of creation. Each region or people would have its own version, but the short story is that Bathala created man and woman, and they were known as Malakas and Maganda. Google that.

  "What not as many people know is that things were not so rosy for our ancestors' version of Adam and Eve. Maganda, true to her name, was very beautiful. Her very presence caused a disturbance in nature. Rain fell in torrents, flooding their home. The earth itself rumbled, and sent rivers of fire out of the mountains, just to get her attention. But she paid them no heed, and lived with her Malakas as Bathala intended.

  "But then one day, she went exploring, and found herself on a sandy shore, facing the water. And the God of the Sea saw her."

  Oh my god. I inadvertently squeezed Robbie's arm.

  "Maganda was enthralled by him, the God of the Sea. She visited him every day, and he did his best to lure her away from Malakas and be with him instead. When Bathala found out, he got angry, and he built Maganda a home far away from the water. Only Malakas was ever allowed to go to the sea again. The God of the Sea took his anger out on Malakas and his sea vessels, tried to make it difficult for Malakas to return to land, but Bathala kept an eye on his creation and saved him every time. And Bathala was able to keep Maganda away from the sea for as long as she lived."

  "Is it true?" I said, and based on the look Uncle John gave me, he probably thought I was crazy. "I mean... is that really what the painting is about?"

  "Indemne claims that he based it on the version of the myth passed along by the Tagalogs. He has, of course, added his own touch to the tale. I assume."

  "It looks heartbreaking. She missed him, every day," I said, not meaning for it to be as loud as it was.

  Uncle John beamed at me. "Well that is what some people believe. And that is the story one of our national artists told, and it lives on for generations. I know you were all just required to come to the National Museum, but I request of you, please tell this story to at least one person, after you step out of these halls. Help keep the inspiration and connection to our past alive."

  I started clapping, and a handful of my classmates followed suit. Robbie did too, because it seemed weird not to.

  A text message arrived from Sol, my best friend. I
checked my phone and read it. Need to talk soon. Serious talk.

  "I like you," Uncle John said, tapping my shoulder. "Your name is?"

  "Hannah. Hannah Maquiling. But it's you, you have a really great way of talking about history."

  Uncle John shrugged. "I give this tour three times a week and very few people react the way I hope they would. You have an appreciation of art and history."

  "Not really—" I started to say.

  "She's amazing," Robbie said to him. "She asked me to come today. I'm glad I did."

  On the contrary, Robbie was the one who should be called amazing. He wasn't even supposed to be there; it was my Philippine Literature class that required the museum trip. We just happened to be talking about it last week, and as soon as I mentioned that I wasn't sure yet how I'd go, he offered to drive me. And go look at art too.

  I didn't expect to find gossip on this educational field trip though. Based on Robbie's reaction to Uncle John's story, he didn't seem to have realized what it meant. He didn't know that he had just heard something interesting about his friend and basketball varsity teammate, Diego Simon.

  Also known as the God of the Sea.

  But first, Robbie. If things had been different, Robbie Carlos, varsity basketball player and junior Applied Math major, would have been the guy. He was a little taller than I would have liked, but if I wore heels, eye contact during a walk-and-talk wasn't as awkward. A few months ago, after a crazy night at my first college party, he and I slow-danced in front of my aunt's house, and I discovered that he 1) knew how to dance, and 2) had a pleasant humming voice.

  Since then I found out that he ate only one thing at the cafeteria (beef teriyaki with mashed potatoes in a takeout box), drove his brother's car half the week and whenever he had practice, and he genuinely liked me.

  As Interim Goddess of Love, I could hear, feel, and see his thoughts and memories of me, because his thoughts and memories of me had to do with love. It wasn't just him; I had the enhanced empathy for everyone, in theory, and should be able to help all of humanity with their love problems. Except that I had only been at this a few months, and the powers were kind of coming in slowly. Quin told me that I was going to get better at this with practice.

  Quin, as in Joaquin Apolinario. Senior, basketball varsity captain, and reason why Robbie wasn't more to me than he could be. I met Quin first, during my freshman year. The fact that at the time he was a cool junior who bothered to befriend a nobody like me was something I never forgot, and remained grateful for. That he was incredibly handsome and I spent more than a year pining for him was no surprise. But instead of asking me out, he told me he was recruiting me to be the Goddess of Love. Temporarily. While Original Goddess was missing.

  Our relationship, Quin and I, was strictly professional. Really it was. Going out with Robbie sort-of was no threat to it, would not change anything about it.

  Because how can a guy compete with the God of the Sun?

  Chapter 2

  I wanted to like Ms. Sanchez, because she was my General Psychology teacher, and I was a psych major. Call it wanting to root for the home team and all, especially because we had non-psych majors in our class. But when she pulled out the touchy-feely getting-to-know stuff in class in the first week of my second semester as a sophomore, she lost points with me.

  Ford River College was a fancy, exclusive school, located just outside of Metro Manila. I went there because I got a scholarship (no way would we have been able to afford the steep tuition otherwise) and because my mother wanted me to, very badly. She fell in love with the charming, brick buildings and view of hills on her first visit there. I grew up in the middle of a noisy, dirty, crowded city and thought at first that the move out to the hills would lead to culture shock. But I adjusted pretty easily. Fresh air, clean bathrooms, good cafeteria food, facilities that seemed new every year. Why would I hate any of that?

  So this probably seems like such a shallow complaint, but the one thing I did hate about Ford River was that they made their teachers "get to know the students as people." It was meant to make sure we were treated as mature individuals and not children, but the mandate led to some icky teacher interactions.

  On our first week, Ms. Sanchez asked us to stand up, introduce ourselves, and make the sound of the animal we were most like. And explain why.

  Some people may be into that, but not me. I rolled my eyes and said I was a bird. Because I liked to hover and fly away from uncomfortable situations. Chirp.

  This week she was talking about hypnosis. She cast a glance around the classroom, and caught my eye.

  "Hannah, would you mind joining me here in front please?"

  Not that I could have refused. I took the seat she had set dead center in the front of the room.

  "Have you ever been hypnotized, Hannah?"

  "No," I said, and now that I felt the eyes of all my classmates on me, I started to wish I were somewhere else.

  "To become hypnotized," Ms. Sanchez said, to the entire class, "you'd have to begin by being induced into a trancelike state. This usually involves emptying your mind of thought—which is going to be really easy for some of you here."

  That was funny. Half the room got the joke.

  "Everyone, please, some silence. Hannah, I'd like you to close your eyes."

  I tossed a skeptical look at Sol, over at the third row. She sort of blinked at me in a weird way, and I could tell she was reminding me about the thing she wanted to talk about. I nodded and closed my eyes.

  Ms. Sanchez had a slightly tinny voice. As she encouraged me to empty my mind, saying things like "You are in an empty, white room" in a lazy and drawling tone, I realized that her voice was so annoying. It grated. I wasn't being lulled into a relaxed state at all. I could totally see myself in that empty, white room, but I could also see her in it, and her voice was bouncing off the walls and growing louder and more metallic with each word.

  I didn't get enough sleep last night, didn't get to have caffeine this morning. It took some effort to tune her out, but eventually I think I did. I must have. Because I started goddess-dreaming.

  Better get out of the way.

  I don't just think that; I actually say it aloud. I take a tentative step to the right, and my bare feet feel the slight crunch of fallen leaves. I am looking up at coconut trees, all around me, their overlapping leaves blotting out the bright sun in places.

  The trees are all around me. I remember what adults always told me, when I was a kid, get out from under the tree, if a coconut falls on your head it'll kill you. Kind of hard to find a safe spot in this place.

  A hand reaches out for me and pulls me under a small beam of light.

  "Hello," I say.

  It's Quin, or it's the being I assume is Quin, who neither looks like the twenty-one-year-old student nor responds to the alias. He kisses me, and briefly his fingers run through the long, lush, slightly reddish hair that I know I don't really have.

  I know this is likely a borrowed memory, because when I goddess-dream I warp into a time and place that only a real goddess must have been in. I know that I am not a real goddess, but I take what I can get, and kiss him back.

  "How long this time?" I say, when the kiss ends, a zillion seconds later.

  "Shorter, not as long," Quin tells me. "Father has taken half of Aman's dominion away. He will surely surrender soon."

  "You said that last time."

  "If it were up to me, he would be dead, and you would not need to worry."

  "I'm sure your father disagrees."

  "I don't know what he thinks anymore."

  "He is thinking the way you would. If I weren't involved. You would have fought to save Aman, not have him die."

  "You don't know what I would have done."

  "I do know." I look at him and see that he believes me. He will not admit it, but he believes me. "You always want things to stay just as they are."

  "I want order maintained."

  "Maybe there are some changes yo
u can't fight."

  "Stop talking like he has already won."

  I blink. "Has he?"

  He shrugs. "I can't see the future."

  "I wish you could. I want to know if all this waiting is worth it."

  He looks hurt, to my surprise. "If you have to ask, then maybe it's not."

  "...Hannah? What sound does a bird make?"

  My eyes opened and I spent a second just coming back to consciousness and focusing on Ms. Sanchez's face.

  "What sound does a bird make, Hannah?"

  I frowned at her. "Chirp?"

  Ms. Sanchez smiled apologetically at the rest of the class. "Oh well. Not everyone can be hypnotized this way. It's another mystery of our minds, why some are more open to suggestion than others."

  "Can I go back to my seat now?"

  Later, I verified with some classmates and yes, I didn't actually fall into a trance and make a fool of myself in class. And it looked like I had just dozed off for less than a minute.

  My goddess-dream felt longer than that. I mean, the kiss alone...

  "You dropped your pen," Sol's voice beside me brought me back to Earth, to Ford River, to my GenPsych class.

  I nodded, still blushing, and still feeling slightly guilty. I knew that those dreams were someone else's, but I enjoyed them a tad too much.

  Sold4 Nf6

  Nd2 e5

  dxe5 Ng4

  h3 Ne3

  fxe3 Qh4

  g3 Qxg3

  This was going to get better at some point, right?

  Bad Sol, bad. She mentally gave herself a kick as soon as she let that thought complete itself. It was unfair. Neil was a great guy. So nice, so smart, so into her. It was totally not her place to think that way while they were kissing.

  One of Neil's hands was on her thigh, the other on her shoulder, and she was trying to squirm backwards and a little to the right, so she could turn her head a tiny bit more, and maybe not feel like she was being compressed into a little ball. She was sure that Neil was doing everything right, but something still felt slightly off. Nothing so drastic, but surely if she turned just a bit…