Chapter 1

I loved to play this made up game called What Could I Tell You. What could I tell you about your personality based on your clothes, your hair, and the way you talked? What could I tell you about someone I was close to? You get the gist. The game was simple. There was no reward for a correct answer. But it kept my mind occupied, plus it was fun if I happened to observe a person from afar and found out that I was right in guessing his personality.

So what could I tell you about my mom? Her name was Estella Chance. Single parent, in her early fifties. She never married but still had a daughter after adoption. I could tell you that she was a good soul from the way she'd love to donate to charities, to how she'd try to extend her sympathy to others. She kept her brown hair short. Said it was a bother to fix it every time.

Mom used to bake me cookies. Not just any plain cookies, but the ones with M&M's and caramel, or whatever I wanted. Though work occupied most of her time, she has never forgotten to take care of me. Mom also bought my first sketchpad after she learned that I wanted to take fashion design in college. It wasn't even Christmas or my birthday that time. She gave it to express support.

They'd wear your clothes someday Riri, she would say. I can't wait to see it. Mom was just like that. A good soul. A good mother. A person with goals. Except now all those descriptions were in the past tense. Today was mom's funeral. I was orphaned for the second time.

My best friend Carter made his way to me. He was dressed in black like everyone in attendance. Despite having dark circles around his eyes, he still looked sharp in his suit. His curly hair was even slicked back. I should thank him one of these days for his efforts. "What can you tell me about me?" I asked when he was near enough to talk to. He knew about my game and would sometimes play it with me.

"I don't think now is the time for this. Everyone is leaving." The funeral just ended. After saying the prayers and covering the coffin with soil, people made a beeline for the exit. Of course they expressed their sympathy to me. Most of them cried. Like I said, my mom was a good woman. I stayed behind, looking at the spot where she was buried when they were all gone.

"What can you tell me about me?" I repeated.

He leaned down to wipe dust from his shoes. "You're Riri Chance, my best friend from high school. Seventeen years old, recent graduate, no boyfriend since birth. Your perfume has a hint of musk and lavender. Oh, and sometimes your big, bright almond eyes are scary, especially when you're looking in space like that." I threatened to slap his arm.

"Okay, okay," he surrendered. "I can tell you that aside from being the most stubborn person I know, you're also unbelievably emotionally stable." I cocked an eyebrow at him. "You didn't cry," he said. "It's your mom's funeral. You're allowed to. Crying is not a weakness, especially if it's tearing you apart."

I avoided his watchful eyes. "Go ahead without me. Tell your mom that I'll come home later. Make up an excuse. I'd like to be alone for a while."

"You sure?" He sounded worried.

I put my back to him. "Uh huh."

"Don't take too long." I heard his retreating steps. I've been staying with them for a week since mom's passing. It wasn't a permanent set-up, but since I didn't have any other relatives to come home to, Carter's parents were more than happy to let me stay until an arrangement comes up.

If this happened to other people, they'd be anxious about their futures by now. Dead parent. No other relatives. Nowhere to go to. It was enough to make anyone cry. Not me though. Okay, I wasn't a complete robot. My heart was breaking. My throat hurts. I haven't had much sleep in days. But I was way past that breaking down point. I was simply numb.

I was about to turn around when a woman who was dressed in all black quietly stood beside me. Where did she come from and why didn't I hear her, I thought as I stared. Regardless, the moment I saw her face, I knew who she was. "Uno?" I said. "I thought you wouldn't come."

Her fingers tightened around the stem of the white rose she was carrying. "I got delayed."

I could tell you a lot of things about this person from a single glance. Her name was Uno. She was twenty one years old. With naturally pink lips, straight nose, and piercing blue eyes, she was the kind of person who would get a second, third, hundred stares as she passed. Her lean and tall form was impossible to miss. At the moment, her ash colored hair framed her pale face as she gazed at the spot where mom was buried.

"Sorry I couldn't come sooner." Her voice cracked. "But I want you to know that Manager Chance was a good woman." Manager Chance. That was what everyone called mom. Aside from raising me, she did a good job at being a manager. Uno was her talent, a Hollywood star. I was in the presence of one of the most bankable celebrities in our time, and I couldn't even enjoy it because of the circumstances. She offered a hand. "I believe we haven't been introduced personally yet."

"We haven't." Her palm was a stark contrast to my cold shaking hand. "I'm Riri Chance," I managed to say. "Mrs. Chance's daughter."

"Glad to finally meet you." We resumed staring at mom's grave. By now, twilight was upon us. What remained of the sunlight played with our hair, our faces, our skin. It was beautiful and sad, just like poetry. It smelled of dirt and sunshine. It was a series of contradictions. I didn't know what to feel.

"Hey," she said after a while. "Would you like to go with me? Even though technically we both had the same mom." She made quotation marks in the air. "We haven't known each other until now. I think it would be good for us to talk." Mom never cared to introduce us before, saying she didn't like work and family life to mix. You'd meet Uno at the right time, she would reason.

"I don't want to interfere with your schedule," I said. She was an actress. She probably had meetings left and right.

"I'm on break." She took my hand and clasped it tightly. "Please don't say no." Uno flashed me one of her famous rarely-seen-except-on-movies killer smiles. Dimpled. Lopsided. And all that. It didn't quite reach her eyes though. I understood that part clearly. She was in mourning and wanted someone to talk to. Someone who knew what it felt. If there was that someone, it would be me. Both talent and daughter were orphaned by the same woman.

I breathed in before saying, "Okay, count me in."

"Great, give me a second." Uno went to her knees and solemnly placed the white rose on the soil. She closed her eyes for a second. "Thank you for everything," she murmured before getting up. Uno has been under mom's care since she started in the show business. Mom has never complained once, and from what I understood, her wage was more than generous.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked as we walked on the grass.

"I missed lunch today. Is it okay if you eat with me? I know a good restaurant near here." She avoided a tombstone. "They serve good dishes."

"Sure. Whatever you want."

I followed closely behind her. Though she was taller than me, Uno wasn't the type to walk quickly. Based on her manner of walking, one hand tucked in the pocket of her black slacks, I could tell you that she was an easygoing person. I was subconsciously playing the game again. It has become a habit. We stopped beside a heavily tinted, black Hummer truck. Uno opened the passenger door for me and helped me get up. For someone who was used to being fawned over, she was incredibly nice.