34: I'm Sorry

                                    

                                          
GABBY
I step out of the shower, feeling rejuvenated as droplets trail from my damp hair. It's longer than I remember, reaching past my shoulders now, with unruly ends curling in different directions. I've always kept it cropped short—it framed my petite features better. But maybe a change is long overdue?
Plugging in my hair dryer, I settle at my desk and glance at my phone, a habit I've picked up lately. My boyfriend (cue a tiny squeal!) is a notorious texter. He's always sending random memes and asking what I'm up to. It's kinda sweet, knowing someone cares if I've eaten or finished prepping for a quiz. Funny, considering I once thought about blocking him.
So, admittedly, it's a bit unsettling not to have heard from him all evening. I glance at the clock—it's already 9 PM. He's definitely done with dinner by now.
Curiosity gets the better of me, so I send him a quick text. Minutes pass, and there's no response, which is unusual for him. Maybe he's just busy... That's fine. We'll see each other tomorrow anyway. We're seatmates, and I'm still attending the basketball practices. They've been scaled down because of the seniors' busy schedules with university apps, but overall, my timetable syncs with his.
Hair dry, and dressed in my PJs, I slip into bed, sinking under the covers. Only about four months of high school left, and this weekend, and the next, I will take my entrance exams. I'm nervous—University of Santo Tomas and De La Salle, my top picks, are both in the country's top four. I applied for a quota program too: Business Ad, major in marketing. I really hope I get in, especially at UST. It'd be amazing to be on the same campus as Kevin, watching him play basketball, cheering him on.
It might be a long-shot. I've bumped my grades up recently, and I also feel confident in the upcoming exam this weekend... Still, I'm not as smart as him. 
Just then, my phone beeps, snapping me out of my downward spiral. It's Kevin, asking if he can call. I type back "okay" and within seconds, I'm holding my phone to my ear.
"Hey," I say, upbeat.  "How's your night going?"
A faint buzz fills the line. I squint, checking my phone to see if we're connected. We are. "Kevin?"
I hear him breathing. Shallow and uneven. 
"Kevin? Are you there?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry," he eventually replies. "How are you doing?"
"I'm good," I answer. "You?"
"I... Miss you."
I can't help but pinch my lips together in delight, suppressing a smile. But it evaporates immediately—something in his tone doesn't sound like he's just flirting.
"Are you alright?" I ask, a hint of worry creeping in. "You don't sound like yourself."
He expels a peal of mirthless laughter. "How do you pick up on that so fast? You can't even see me."
"Well, as you've probably guessed by now, I've been observing you for years," I say teasingly. Truthfully, I might've spent more time watching Kevin than his cousin—the person I was supposed to be focused on.
But that's a secret he'll never learn.
"I'm fine. I mean, I should be," he says with a sigh. "But everything's changing so fast. It's kinda throwing me off."
"You're referring to...?"
"Francis is moving to Sydney."
And I foolishly thought we've got more time. 
"Uh, for school?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, he'll be back eventually, right? How long is it? Four years?"