Kicking Fire - A Story of Mulan

II.

The smell of bacon and toast lingered in the morning air as Raya stepped into the kitchen, her borrowed backpack snug on her shoulders. She wore a soft lilac sweater—one she picked carefully the night before—and a pair of dark jeans. Comfortable, modest, and safe. Still, she smoothed her sleeves nervously, fingers tugging at the cuffs as her eyes took in the unfamiliar kitchen. Warm yellow light poured through the curtains, washing the room in a golden morning glow.

Carla stood by the stove in a sunny yellow robe, her hair pinned up in a messy twist as she flipped pancakes with the grace of someone who’d done it a thousand times. The sizzle of butter on the griddle and the light hum of a local radio station made the space feel lived in—homey in a way that pinched something deep in Raya’s chest.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Carla said warmly, turning with a bright smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Raya nodded, offering a small but sincere smile as she slid into one of the wooden chairs at the table. “Yes, thank you. The bed was really soft. I think I fell asleep in five minutes.”

“Good, I’m glad. And don’t worry about breakfast—we always make more than enough around here.”

Lila, Alec’s youngest sister, sat cross-legged on a chair in cartoon pajamas, her curly hair still sticking out in different directions from sleep. She was already on her second pancake, syrup pooling on her plate and dribbling slightly down her chin.

“You look like a teacher,” she declared cheerfully, mouth full of syrupy sweetness. “A nice one.”

Raya blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“She means you look smart,” Carla said, pouring juice into a pair of glasses. “Don’t mind her. Lila once called Alec a ‘potato with legs’ when he wore a brown hoodie to school.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Lila muttered.

Raya giggled again, the tension in her shoulders beginning to ease. The kitchen, with its white tiles and family magnets stuck to the fridge, felt like a different world from the hotel she’d just left—a space where breakfast had been silent and impersonal. This, despite the nerves buzzing in her chest, felt more like something she could grow into.

As the pancakes were stacked and plates filled, Raya’s mind briefly wandered to what the day would bring. New faces. New hallways. New everything.

But for now, the warm clatter of dishes and the smell of cinnamon syrup anchored her, grounding her in this strange new beginning.

Moments later, heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs. Alec appeared, yawning, car keys dangling from his fingers. His hair was still damp from a quick shower, the strands curling slightly over his forehead. A gray hoodie clung to his broad shoulders, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the familiar tan from days spent under the sun. He looked half awake, half in a rush.

Carla, still flipping pancakes, nodded toward the counter. “Eat something before you go, Alec. You’ll crash by third period.”

“I’m good,” he muttered, brushing a hand through his damp hair. His eyes flicked to Raya, registering her presence as if he’d momentarily forgotten she existed. “We leaving now?”

Raya stood, brushing imaginary creases from her sweater. “I guess so?”

Carla crossed the kitchen with a practiced grace, pressing a kiss to Alec’s cheek, then Raya’s. “Drive safe. Alec, don’t let her get lost on her first day.”

“I’ll do my best,” he mumbled, already heading for the door.

Outside, the chill nipped at their skin. Alec didn’t wait—he unlocked the car with a beep and slid into the driver’s seat, tossing his backpack into the back without a word. Raya followed, careful not to slam the door too hard. The leather was cold beneath her thighs.

The car ride was... quiet.

Not the kind of quiet filled with calm, but the awkward kind, where every breath felt like it echoed. The hum of the engine filled the silence between them, broken only by the rhythm of the turn signal and the muted thump of bass from Alec’s playlist—a lo-fi beat, mellow and indifferent.

“So… is it always this cold in the morning?” Raya finally asked, trying for lighthearted.

Alec glanced sideways, eyes unreadable. “This? This is warm.”

She blinked, then laughed softly. “Oh no. I might freeze by December.”

He snorted—just a breath through his nose. It could’ve been a laugh. Or not. She couldn’t tell.

Not wanting to push, Raya turned to the window. The scenery rolled by in muted colors: neat rows of houses with trimmed lawns, a few sleepy joggers in hoodies, school signs flashing blinking lights. Maplewood was beginning to stir.

As they got closer, the houses gave way to wider streets and low buildings. A school bus rumbled past, filled with rowdy teenagers. American flags fluttered at the intersections, and a line of yellow buses stood parked near the school. Raya’s eyes caught the towering bleachers rising behind the school fence—like a giant’s ribcage guarding a place of challenge and cheer.

She thought of Cebu—of busy intersections where tricycles buzzed in chaos, the honk of horns and bursts of laughter in Bisaya, the bright sunlight spilling across sari-sari stores and worn sidewalks. Here, everything felt structured. Clean. Vast. And just a little too quiet.

When Alec pulled into the student lot of Maplewood High, the school loomed like a fortress of red brick and glass. Teenagers clustered at the front doors, grouped in cliques with practiced ease—athletes tossing footballs, girls with iced coffees, the occasional couple tucked against lockers like this was a scene from a teen drama.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Alec said dryly as he parked.

Raya exhaled slowly, her heart pounding behind her ribs. “Do I need armor?”

“Depends who you run into.”

Their eyes met briefly. Something passed between them—uncertainty, curiosity, or maybe just the shared tension of a new chapter neither of them asked for.

He got out first, slinging his backpack over one shoulder without looking back.

Raya followed, clutching her bag like it might anchor her to the earth.

Her first day had officially begun.

“Front office is past the main hall,” Alec said, killing the engine with a low hum of the engine winding down. “Just show them your paperwork. They’ll give you your locker code and class schedule.”

Raya hesitated, her fingers tightening around the documents in her lap. The school loomed ahead like a palace of possibility and pressure. “Thanks. Um… maybe I’ll see you around?”

Alec gave a small shrug, eyes avoiding hers as he pushed the door open. “Yeah. Maybe.”

And just like that, he was out. The crisp morning air rushed in, and Alec stepped into it like someone returning to familiar territory. His earbuds were already in, drowning out the world as he crossed the parking lot. A group of boys near the gym raised their hands in greeting, and he melted into them, barely looking back.

Raya climbed out more slowly, the weight of her backpack like an anchor and a shield all at once. The air nipped at her skin, and her braid caught the breeze, tugging gently against her back. She took a deep breath, her nerves fluttering beneath her ribs, tangled with something fiercer—hope.

She glanced once over her shoulder, just in time to see Alec laughing at something one of his friends said, his easy confidence already at home here.

It was her first day in a new country, in a world that spoke a different rhythm, a different tone. The hum of locker doors, the murmur of slang she didn’t yet know, the scent of crisp paper and worn gym mats in the air.

But Raya Guinto had crossed oceans for this. She was no stranger to starting over. No stranger to being the newcomer, the observer, the one who had to figure it out step by step.

She squared her shoulders, adjusted the strap of her bag, and turned toward the front doors.

Whatever waited beyond them—confusion, friendship, rivalry, or something she couldn’t yet name—she was ready.

She had to be.

And with that quiet fire burning in her chest, Raya Guinto stepped into Maplewood High.