Kicking Fire - A Story of Mulan

XV.

-Alec-

After practice, the field buzzed with that drained, post-adrenaline kind of energy—the kind that made everyone move slower, like our limbs were wading through molasses. Sweat clung to my skin under my shirt, which was practically pasted to my back. My legs were lead. My shoulders ached. But it was a good ache. The kind that told you you’d worked for it.

Felix was still glued to Irene like a puppy in love, flashing that dopey grin while she wiped sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of her hoodie. Mason made gagging sounds behind them, swatting Felix on the back of the head like an annoyed older brother.

I grabbed my bag and tossed it over my shoulder, fishing for my keys in my pocket. My fingers were still half-numb from catching passes, but I liked that. It meant I’d showed up today.

“Food?” Mason asked, brushing his hair back with a towel slung over his neck.

“Obviously,” Felix answered, slapping a hand over his stomach. “I’m starving.”

“Diner?” Irene suggested, linking her arm with Felix’s like it was already decided. “Come on, it’s tradition.”

My stomach rumbled right on cue. Greasy burgers. Bottomless fries. The strawberry milkshake with the chipped glass mug. Yeah, it sounded like the perfect end to a long day.

Then Irene turned to Raya.

“You’re coming too, right?” she asked, as casually as if they’d been best friends for years.

Raya blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Um, I don’t know... I mean—”

“She’s tagging along with Alec,” Irene said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So she’s coming.”

My head snapped toward her. “Wait—”

“Don’t even start,” Irene cut me off, jabbing a finger in my direction. “She’s part of the team now. You guys live in the same house. It’s weird if you don’t bring her.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. She knew exactly how to corner me. Logic, wrapped in that no-nonsense tone she always used when she wanted the last word—and, yeah, she usually got it.

Raya stood beside me, awkward and quiet, clearly unsure what to say.

So I just muttered, “Fine,” and led the way to the car, unlocking it with a click.

The ride to the diner was typical: quiet, tense, filled with unsaid thoughts. I didn’t even bother putting music on. Raya sat with her hands folded on her lap, watching the world blur past the window—small-town houses with peeling paint, a rusted-out truck in a driveway, a pack of kids riding bikes down the sidewalk. That gold-tinged light just before sunset gave everything a kind of old-film glow.

When we pulled into Eddie’s Diner, the neon sign flickered like always, buzzing above the windows fogged with heat and the smell of grilled onions. The parking lot was packed with familiar cars—half our team already inside.

The noise hit as soon as we walked in: clinks of silverware, the squeak of booths, someone yelling over the counter that the fryer was down again. We squeezed into a large corner booth—Felix and Irene on one side, Mason sliding in next to them. I ended up beside Raya, of course. Where else would she sit?

Across from us, Jessa, Kiana, and Sidney were already flipping through the menus, whispering and snickering like they weren’t trying to be obvious. Spoiler: they were.

Raya kept her head low, her posture tight like she was expecting a blow that hadn’t landed yet.

Felix raised his soda. “To a good practice!”

“Decent practice,” Mason corrected. “You tripped on a pass.”

“You tripped me first!” Felix argued, shoving him lightly.

“You ran into my elbow!”

The whole table laughed.

Raya smiled softly but didn’t join in. I caught her stealing glances at the girls across from us. Kiana leaned over to whisper something to Jessa, who rolled her eyes dramatically before sipping her milkshake with all the arrogance of someone sitting on a throne.

“Get the steak fries,” Irene told Raya from across the table with a conspiratorial grin. “They’ll change your life.”

Raya laughed quietly. “Noted.”

I don’t know why, but I looked at her then. Really looked.

Her braid had come loose in the back, strands sticking to her cheeks from the wind and sweat. She looked tired. But not defeated. There was something in her eyes—like she’d just climbed a hill no one thought she could, and was already looking for the next one.

“I’ll get the bacon cheeseburger,” she said, then turned to me. “You?”

“Just pancakes,” I said with a shrug.

Her brows rose. “Pancakes? After everything we just did?”

I smirked. “I run for pancakes.”

She laughed. A real laugh this time. It didn’t annoy me. It felt… fine. Unexpected. But fine.

The conversation shifted. Someone brought up next week’s scrimmage. Jessa leaned forward with a too-sweet voice.

“Just saying… some people should pace themselves. Especially if they’re new.”

Trish, sitting a few seats down, made a face. But she didn’t say anything.

Irene, however, wasn’t having it. She leaned forward and squeezed Raya’s hand. “You belong here. Don’t let anyone act like you don’t.”

I looked away.

Because I didn’t know if that was true.

But maybe—just maybe—I was starting to hope I was wrong.

The plates landed on the table like gifts from heaven—greasy, golden, glorious. Pancakes stacked high. Bacon cheeseburgers glistening under melted cheddar. Piles of loaded fries and onion rings towered like edible monuments to victory—or at least survival.

The smell alone could revive the dead.

Everyone dove in like we hadn’t eaten in weeks, forks clattering, soda fizzing, and napkins already smeared with ketchup and mustard within seconds. Mason was halfway through his first burger before I even picked up my fork. He was telling a story—something about how Coach killed a perfect play today by blowing the whistle early.

Felix, meanwhile, was eyeing Irene’s plate like a starving puppy.

“You gonna eat that or frame it?” she teased, sliding her fries toward him.

Felix lit up. “This is why I love you.”

“You love anyone with extra fries,” Mason said, snorting.

Laughter crackled through the booth like static. It was loud, light, typical.

“Hey, Alec,” Mason asked mid-chew, l*****g grease from his thumb, “you think we’re ready for Lincoln High next week, if ever?”

I leaned back, letting my pancake soak up the syrup. “We’re not there yet.”

Felix shot me a look. “Man, you’re never satisfied.”

“We can be better,” I said, plain and simple. “If we want to win this season, we have to be.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Kiana flick her ponytail with that slow, dramatic flair that always came before she said something venomous.

“Well,” she said with a smirk, “some of us have to actually win first.”

The words were soft. Sugarcoated, almost. But they hit like a stone.

Raya didn’t say a word. Just glanced down at her food, like maybe if she focused hard enough, she’d disappear.

“Pretty bold move,” Jessa chimed in, stirring her milkshake. “Signing up for a team that’s… well, barely breathing. I mean, I respect the passion or whatever. But let’s be honest. This isn’t a Disney movie.”

Sidney giggled. “Right? Maybe if we sing a team anthem, we’ll win something. Gotta have that magic montage.”

Raya’s face didn’t change, but I saw it—the way her fingers tightened around her fork. The way her shoulders curled just a little, like she was folding into herself.

Irene opened her mouth, probably ready to roast someone alive.

But I beat her to it.

“You know,” I said, dropping my fork just a little harder than I needed to, “for a team with zero wins, you’d think humility would come easier.”

Silence.

Thick. Immediate.

Jessa blinked like she’d misheard me. Kiana looked like someone had slapped her mid-chew. Sidney froze, her straw halfway to her mouth.

Even the sizzle of the kitchen felt far away.

I kept my tone calm. Flat. No drama. “She’s at practice. She’s working. That’s more than I can say for half the people who’ve been losing for three seasons straight.”

Felix shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat like he wanted to vanish. Mason muttered something under his breath—probably welp—and scratched the back of his neck.

Irene, smooth as ever, reached across the table. “Pass the ketchup?”

Raya handed it to her wordlessly, her gaze still glued to her plate.

I didn’t know why I said it. I didn’t plan to. I didn’t even want to.

I just looked at her—small, quiet, still trying to figure out how to fit in—and I guess something snapped. Not in a big, noble way. More like a quiet, sharp twist in my gut. I’d seen teammates talk trash before. I’d dished it out myself.

But this felt different.

She hadn’t even stepped on the field for real, and they were already writing her off.

And for some reason, that pissed me off.

Then I felt it—that look. Raya’s eyes on me. Not thankful. Not surprised.

Confused.

Just like I was.

I looked down at my plate and pushed a fry through the ketchup like it was something worth studying. Mason saved the moment by diving into a story about Coach tripping over a Gatorade bottle and landing face-first on a tackling dummy last season. Everyone laughed—relieved to move on.

Except me. And Raya.

I could still feel her stare, like it lingered in the air between us.

What the hell was I doing?

She’s stubborn. She’s reckless. She’s pushing herself into something she knows nothing about. It’s stupid.

But…

She’s trying.

And I can’t lie—half the girls on that team don’t even break a sweat.

Maybe she’s not so clueless after all.

I glanced at her, and for half a second, her eyes met mine again. Her grip on her water glass was tight. Her jaw clenched just enough to be noticeable.

Then she looked away.

I turned back to my pancakes, pretending they were more interesting than they were.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

Or maybe I should’ve said it sooner.

Whatever it was, I knew something shifted. Not just at the table.

In me.

And that was what scared me most.