Though what cemented my bond with Samuel was an incident that happened midway through sixth grade. Our school day went from seven to five with an hour break for lunch, when the school van drove me home to eat. But I hadn’t finished my homework one day and so decided to have lunch at school with Samuel—who lived far away in Baliwag and usually stayed—at the canteen as we ate our pork adobo and rice on green trays. It was a pleasant change getting to spend more time with my best friend, so I figured I’d have lunch at school from then on.

But two periods later in religion class, I felt an uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach and excused myself to go to the bathroom. I tried to hold it in, but by the time I got to the boys’ lavatory at the end of the hallway, I had already soiled myself. Thankfully, no one was there to witness my embarrassment, as I went into one of the stalls to figure out what to do. I couldn’t go back to class and tell my teacher in front of the other kids, but going to the principal’s office seemed even worse. I wouldn’t be able to face anyone at school again if they knew what had happened.

So I decided to wrap my underwear in toilet paper and throw it into the trash, then wiped off what had gotten into my pants, which were thankfully dark brown. I took a deep breath in the mirror as I washed my hands and set my face so that no one would suspect anything. I returned to my desk and continued the rest of class with Sister Antonia, the kindest of the nuns at school, and I almost decided to go to her after the bell rang to say something because my stomach still felt unsettled, but I couldn’t.

During the minutes between classes while the teachers switched rooms, our assigned monitor, Grace, stood up and walked around while the rest of us stayed in our seats. She came from a rich family and was known for being fussy and neat, which was probably why she got chosen to be monitor in the first place.

“Does anyone else smell something?” Grace asked as she wandered near the front of the class where I was sitting.

“I know what you mean,” another girl said as she sniffed. “It smells like poop.”

Other people started sniffing too, and I joined them, pretending I had no idea where the smell was coming from. But soon enough, Grace came back close to my seat.

“Is it coming from you?” she asked as she looked down at me, her eyes wide and incredulous.