Fridays. Blessed Fridays.

Why couldn’t all days in a week feel like Fridays?

The day of the retreat finally came. I’d been waiting for this, longing for a break, a chance to return to Bantayan and finally explore the beaches I’d dreamed of visiting for so long. Plans had fallen through before, thanks to tight schedules and unreliable friends. I loved traveling, but the thought of going alone felt… hollow. I needed company, someone to share the experience with, someone to make the moments feel alive.

The audio-visual room buzzed quietly as teachers gathered for our final pre-departure briefing. The school bus was scheduled to pick us up at five, taking us on a four to five-hour journey to Hagnaya Port, where we’d board the barge to Bantayan. Student council officers were already set—bags packed and consent forms signed.

Yet the weight of responsibility pressed on my shoulders. Monitoring the students’ safety wasn’t something I could take lightly.

Including Finlay. Especially Finlay.

The AVR wasn’t spacious. The staff had pushed the equipment against the walls to create an open area in the center for the meeting. Rows of plastic chairs filled the space, some already occupied by teachers waiting in expectant silence. The atmosphere reminded me of my first open forum in high school—serious and tense, like something important was about to unfold.

I spotted Veruca at the back, waving dramatically, urging me to join her. She always got my back.

I settled beside her, grateful for the saved seat. "You're the best," I whispered.

She grinned. “You can owe me lunch for this.”

Blanch and Arjun were still nowhere to be seen, probably cramming their last-minute packing. Up front, Chevonne sat with Jelly and her usual crowd, chatting in low murmurs.

The door opened with a soft click, and teacher Mary entered.

The low conversations ceased at once.

Dressed in our Friday uniform—an orange polo shirt embroidered with ANHS Teacher across the chest and our names printed on the back—she was the picture of calm authority. Though I often felt lukewarm about the dress code, the vibrant orange seemed fitting today. It made us look unified.

“Alright, everyone, please take your seats,” she said, her voice steady but commanding.

We obeyed, chairs scraping gently against the tiles.

“To begin, let’s have teacher Selena lead us in the opening prayer.”

We bowed our heads, most of us making the sign of the cross. Teacher Selena’s voice filled the room, soft and measured. Yet, as the prayer unfolded, the atmosphere shifted. The usual routine felt heavier, almost sacred in the quiet. Maybe it was the tension before the trip or maybe just the knowledge that we’d be off school grounds for five days straight.

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“Thank you, teacher Selena,” teacher Mary said as we lifted our heads. “Now, this meeting will focus on the retreat’s final preparations. Manong Trinidad is already outside supervising the loading of the equipment onto the school bus. Teachers who are not attending have been instructed to assist. I trust all student council officers have submitted their consent forms?”

A brief silence. No hands raised.

“Good. Now, I will call the names of the attending advisers. Please respond with ‘here’ when called.”

She retrieved her neatly folded planner from the desk and began.

“12A adviser, Vhina Escorita.”

“Here, cher.”

“12B adviser, Ritchelle Berduda.”

“I’m here.”

“11A adviser, Alyssa Gonzales.”

“Here.”

“11B adviser, Selena Guzman. Actually, no need to answer that. How about 11C adviser, Norkie Verde?”

“Here,” he replied with a deep voice. How I wished I had a manly voice just like his.

“10A adviser, Josh Kabungcag.”

“Here.” I just kept it simple. No need for extravagance.

“10B adviser, Samuel Cuer.”

No reply.

“Where is teacher Samuel? Anyone?”

“Cher, I think he’s meeting one of his student’s parents. He told me earlier, during lunch,” teacher Norkie replied. They might be friends or whatever.

“Okay, but I have not received any info from him. Kindly tell him to give me prior notice next time.”

She continued down the list, her voice measured and professional. Some teachers answered crisply. Others, like Jelly, responded with exaggerated formality.

Then came Arjun.

“8B adviser, Arjun Lovindina.”

“Here!” he squeaked, mimicking a high-pitched voice.

The chuckles rippled softly, including mine, until teacher Mary’s expression cut them short. “Let’s keep it professional, please.”

The roll call continued smoothly after that. When she reached Chevonne, her voice was a bit softer, though I might have imagined it.

If only I could say, “You’re also here… in my heart.”

Cringe.

Once the list was complete, teacher Mary scanned the room, her eyes sharp.

“Good. No absences. Remember, whether or not you’re handling a student council officer, everyone here is responsible for the students’ safety. This retreat is a privilege, and I expect all of you to uphold the school’s standards. We’ll be sharing the barge with other passengers, so I need all advisers to remind their students to behave accordingly.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Especially Priscilla, teacher Vhina.”

Vhina gave a brisk nod—the kind you give when you’re trying to appear unfazed but are clearly being singled out.

Teacher Mary continued, “I won’t keep you long. Prepare your things. Teachers, please—”

And then, the floor trembled.

At first, it was a gentle shudder. Then, it grew stronger, enough to rattle the chairs and send a few bags toppling.

It was an earthquake.

For a heartbeat, everything froze.

“Stay calm,” teacher Mary instructed, her voice firm. “Cover your heads. Don’t move yet. Wait for it to pass.”

The rumbling intensified for a moment but gradually subsided. Silence fell again, heavier than before.

“Alright, it’s stopped. No need to panic. Teacher Norkie, teacher Josh, guide the students from the next room to the evacuation area—”

Another small tremor.

“Not yet. Stay where you are. Wait for my signal.”

We waited, tension coiling tighter.

And then—

“Go!”

Chairs scraped back as we moved, guiding the students out in a calm but brisk line. It wasn’t our first earthquake. We did enough drills that it felt routine. But routine or not, the weight of responsibility stayed the same.

It reminded me of the first major earthquake I experienced, back when I was a college freshman.

The proctor that time was an old man with sunken cheeks who barely greeted us before handing out the test papers. I was distracted, doodling hearts on the back of my notebook, wondering how to catch my crush’s attention. Then, the tremor hit, vertical and violent. The entire building swayed.

It was all panic. Pure, unpracticed panic.

Drills meant nothing. We bolted for the exits in chaos.

Now, though, we knew better.

When the evacuation was over, a decision was made: The retreat was postponed to the next day.

The students were dismissed early—including Finlay.

And just like that, the excitement of the retreat was replaced by a strange, lingering emptiness.

Some fears lost their grip over time. Others just became… annoyances.

Earthquakes, it seemed, had become the latter.