This Side of Sunny

By Agay Llanera

Like her boyfriend back in the States, 18-year-old Mela Connor is spending spring break by the beach. But the difference is she'll be on an exotic island in the Philippines, where she'll spend the next six days finding her estranged mother. In the process, Mela meets her self-appointed tour guide--the hunky beach bum, Paolo, who helps Mela make amends with her past while struggling not to fall in love with her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Agay Llanera
• Release date: Nov 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310880988

Agay Llanera

Agay Llanera is a freelance writer for television and video based in Manila, and a published writer of children’s books.Her children’s book Sol is available online, and can also be read at http://www.canvas.ph/about_Sol.htm.Email her at [e-mail].

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This Side of Sunny

Agay Llanera

Smashwords Edition

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 © Agay Llanera, 2015

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book, and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover design for this edition by Gerry Isaac

Chapter 1: Lost

Saturday

Mela flinched when her seatmate’s hip bumped against hers.

It wouldn’t have been an issue if the incident happened only once, and was quickly followed up by an apology. But the jerk that had plopped down beside her with his tablet, playing some videogame that got him twitching and jerking in moments, was clearly clueless about the concept of personal space.

When he bumped into her for the third time, Mela gritted her teeth, and yanked the backpack from her lap to squeeze it between their hips. Hallelujah, the jerk bolted up in surprise. As he adjusted his baseball cap worn back to front, he dipped his head toward Mela’s hulking backpack that was digging into his side. His eyes crawled up to its owner, whose dagger eyes could’ve reduced a raging pit bull into whimpers. It got the desired effect: Mr. Videogame retreated a few inches into his space.

Basking in the small victory, Mela shifted into a more comfortable position and bumped shoulders with the elderly man sleeping beside her. He stirred and mumbled, causing Mela to freeze, only relaxing when the old man dropped his head forward, emitting a raspy snore.

That’s it. Mela quickly stood up, slung her backpack over her shoulders and stretched her arms over her head, not caring when someone scurried over and took over the spot she had just vacated. She couldn’t stand spending one more second in that tiny steel chair, separated by a hair’s breadth from her seatmates. No matter how long she had parked herself in that chair, it still felt like she was sitting on a block of ice.

It didn’t help that she was still freezing from the eighteen hours she spent on her previous flight. The cold was trapped there, in between her skin and her clothes, refusing to leave like a pesky houseguest.

A fresh wave of passengers flooded the area and Mela felt her irritation swell. More people meant more skin to make accidental contact with. Quickly, she snaked her way out of the rows of seats, careful not to bump into more people than necessary.

After crossing the hallway, she ducked into the Wifi Lounge and mentally pumped her fists when she spotted a free solo couch at the corner. She practically sprinted toward it, and closed her eyes as the plush seat cradled the contours of her body. When she fished out her phone from her pocket, her heart leapt into her throat as she discovered a video message from Sean.

The video was on pause, waiting for her to press play. But she couldn’t do that—not without lapping up the sight of him first. Eyes a shade of blue so vivid, they put to shame the blanket of sky behind him. Hair cropped short with an inch of feathery-blonde hair trailing down his forehead. A strong, square jaw that Mela couldn’t resist tracing with her forefinger. Her finger glided on the smooth glass of her phone screen but in real life, she knew his jaw would be lined with stubble that defied his persistent shaving.

Sean’s mouth was pressed into a tight-lipped smile. Mela couldn’t help smiling back at him before tapping on the play icon.

Immediately, Sean sprang to life, broad shoulders straining out of his shirt as he held the camera in front of him. His face broke out into a full-fledged smile just before he began talking.

Hey, Babe! Got here just fine. Still wish you changed your mind and joined me here. Take a load of this!

He spun the camera around, catching a horde of people on the beach lit up by the afternoon sun. In the distance, the sea managed to sparkle even with the volume of swimmers it held in its arms. When the camera finished its revolution, it landed on Sean’s beaming face.

Panama City is insane! I think half of America’s teenage population is here. His face sobered up and he leaned closer to the camera, shadows framing his face. Let me know when you get there, okay? Can’t wait to see you next week. Whatever happens, I’m here for you.

He pulled back again, the sunshine back on his face. Miss you! Love you! He blew her a kiss and waved goodbye. The video stopped with Sean’s face frozen into a half-grin, half-frown as he pressed the end button of his recording.

Mela felt a shudder in her chest, as if someone had pressed a trigger inside her, releasing a wave of homesickness.

Whatever happens, I’m here for you, Sean had said.

Which meant that she was crazy to do this: flying thousands of miles in the name of a personal mission that felt doomed from the start. Yet she was here in the airport, in between flights, the reality of being in another country not fully hitting her yet. Still, the truth was being force fed to her in small doses: the snatches of conversations around her in a language that lilted and rolled its Rs, the narrow airport seats obviously meant for smaller frames than the ones back home, and her wallet now filled with unfamiliar-looking bills from the money exchange counter.

She tried to push down the panic rising up her throat. She had planned this trip for a year and she couldn’t afford chickening out. She took a deep breath, thinking that she’d reply to Sean later when she was feeling calmer. For now, she had to send another email.

Aunt Jane! Just got here in Florida and will be hitting the beach in a while. Miss you lots.

A shadow fell on her phone and Mela looked up to see a girl, who looked all of thirteen, cheeks flushed, smiling at her widely and waving a hot pink phone. The girl stammered out a question, or at least it sounded like one.

Mela knitted her eyebrows together. I’m sorry?

The girl’s eyes widened and in an instant, switched to English. Oh my gosh! I thought you were Maja Salvador. You look a lot like her. She took a few steps back, sizing up Mela. Except you have shorter hair.

Self-consciously, Mela’s hand shot up to her greasy hair, too short for the awkward ponytail she wore.

She tucked the wayward strands behind her ear as if that would be an improvement. Who?

She’s a famous actress here. The girl smiled, composure regained now that she knew she wasn’t talking to a movie star. Can I still have my picture taken with you? So I can tell my friends I bumped into her lookalike.

She said it so sweetly that Mela let the girl sidle up to her, holding the phone at arm’s length above their heads. Almost instinctively, they pressed their cheeks together as they smiled up at the lens.

Thanks! The girl showed her the picture and Mela was dismayed that the high angle hadn’t diminished the dark circles under her eyes. The girl waved at her. Have a safe trip!

You too. Mela turned her attention back to the phone, curiosity urging her to google pictures of the actress whose name she’d forgotten. So instead, she googled the weather on the island she’ll be visiting. A series of sun icons flashed on the screen—a week’s worth of sunny forecasts.

Because like Sean and half of America’s teenage population, Mela would be spending Spring Break at the beach, soaking in the sun. But the only difference was, she’d be spending it alone, on the other side of the globe.

Chapter 2: Arrival

No matter how many times Paolo had done this, it still didn’t get old. It was just like that nerve-racking moment before punting the ball into the net—all his muscles would tense, including his brain for that one kick, which would spell the difference between a goal and a really crappy moment.

In the snack bar by the beach, Paolo shared his table with Sabine, Clarisse, and Adele, who were chatting him up with an accent so charming, it was making him forget how to execute a goal. But the balmy breeze, the gentle whoosh of waves a few meters away, and even the smooth jazzy tune gliding from the speakers were conspiring to make it happen.

Hands down, the most gorgeous of the three was Adele with fine blonde hair cascading past shoulders the color of fresh milk, and a finely chiseled face punctuated by an upturned nose.

So where are you guys from?

Guess. Adele leaned forward, eyebrow raised.

Paolo felt himself being helplessly drawn into her pale blue eyes. He gave himself a quick mental shake. The goal. Focus on the goal.

He heard them speaking French earlier so the answer was probably a no-brainer. But since they also spoke good English, he hesitated.

Quebec?

The girls burst into giggles. Sabine shook her head, her bob swishing against her cheeks. Try again.

Paolo shrugged and smiled. France, then.

Clarisse tossed her hair and looked at him in mock horror. "Comment osez-vous dire ceci?"

He burst out laughing. "Did not understand a word you said. But yeah, I got that I guessed wrong again. He gazed at Adele and pleaded in a conspiratorial whisper. Can you just save me from further shame and tell me?"

Adele’s eyes danced at him. Belgium, of course.

Of course! Paolo threw his hands up in the air. Belgium! I freaking love Belgium!

The girls giggled and Paolo felt himself relax. Not quite a goal yet, but getting there.

Why? Adelle was still looking at him, a half-smile on cupid’s-bow lips.

His reply was right there on the tip of his tongue, low and warm and ready to be said. Because . . . He gave her one of his slow smiles. "De toute beauté."

Oh, he could tell it was a good line. It was one of the few phrases he remembered from his foreign language class years ago. Whatever game they were playing, Paolo felt it shift in his favor. Sabine had paused in sipping on her mango shake. In her chair, Clarisse had straightened up. But Adele stayed still, her face not giving anything away.

"You think Belgium is de toute beauté? Beautiful? Have you been there?"

He held her gaze, eyes on the prize. I wasn’t referring to Belgium.

Adele leaned back and smiled.

Paolo mimicked her movement, his eyes never leaving hers. If you guys don’t have plans for later, I’d love to show you around.

Adele exchanged glances with her girlfriends, who gave an almost imperceptible nod—a subtle seal of approval. Okay. She smiled.

After agreeing on the time and place of the rendezvous, Paolo stood up. Best to quit while he was ahead. Girls like Adele was used to guys fawning over her. An air of mystery would keep her intrigued. Great. See you later.

He made his way out of the snack bar, flip-flops kicking up soft white sand. A breeze blew, rifling his head full of corkscrew curls. He was glad he decided to let his hair grow out this summer. It made him look more in tune with island life, more carefree.

So far, so good. Since arriving on the island, he had been successful in getting his fill of flings. It was peak season, and tourists, not just from Manila, but from different parts of the world, were coming in by the boatfuls everyday. And at least one of them was willing to hook up with him.

Most of them were either young professionals, or college students like Paolo—at least he used to be one of them, up until he left school months ago and flew to the island. He hadn’t looked back since and didn’t plan to, not for a long time anyway. On the island, summer seemed endless, and he intended to enjoy it for as long as he could.

Still smiling, he reached a narrow alley. After several feet’s stretch of concrete, he emerged into a different world.

No matter how many times he’d crossed the alley, the sound and smoke from the roaring motorcycles on the main road was always a surprise—an abrupt transition from paradise to urban jungle. Paolo walked on the sidewalk and