VI.
1805 Words
-Raya-
The hum of the engine filled the silence. The wind barely whistled through the tiny c***k in the passenger-side window. Outside, trees blurred past under the amber spill of sunset, but inside the car, the air felt… still. Dense. Like the whole vehicle was holding its breath.
I sat with my hands curled in my lap, fingers picking at a loose thread on my jeans. Alec didn’t say a word, eyes locked on the road. His face unreadable, like stone carved by routine.
I wanted to ask something. Anything. But the words kept sticking like honey behind my teeth. Too sweet. Too unsure.
I opened my mouth once. Closed it. Opened again. Closed again.
Come on, Raya. Just talk.
“Football,” I finally said. My voice barely sounded like mine. “How… does it work, exactly?”
He flicked his eyes toward me for half a second, then back to the road. “It’s a game.”
Helpful.
“I mean… I know that.” I let out a breathy laugh, more awkward than amused. “I just… I’ve never really watched it. There’s no American football back home. Just basketball. And volleyball. And… Manny Pacquiao.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
That was something, right?
“It’s like… offense and defense, right?” I tried again.
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“Like… the quarterback throws the ball?”
“Sometimes he runs it.”
“Right.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “Sounds brutal.”
“It is.”
I waited for him to say more. He didn’t.
A minute passed. Maybe two. I stared at my knees.
“Do girls play football here?” I asked softly.
He let out a quiet exhale, almost a scoff, but not quite. “Yeah. They do. We’ve got a girls’ team. Technically.”
“Technically?”
“They barely get funding. Zero wins last season. Probably gonna shut down soon.” He shrugged, still not looking at me. “Nobody really watches them.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Why? You interested?” he asked, finally glancing my way.
I hesitated. “Somehow. It looked… exciting.”
Alec’s jaw moved like he was grinding words between his teeth. Then he said, casually, “You’re better off with something else. Like the karaoke club or whatever. Something that fits.”
I blinked. “Fits?”
“You know,” he said with a shrug, “you’re a girl. And… Filipino. Not really the football type.”
"You're not going anywhere with football" he said. The words landed like stones in my stomach.
You’re not going anywhere with football.
That was it.
That was the sentence. The line that sliced through the curiosity I didn’t even realize had started blooming in me.
He didn’t say it to hurt me. But it hurt anyway.
I turned my face toward the window and said nothing for the rest of the ride.
The golden hour had faded into blue. Shadows stretched across sidewalks. The air cooled, and my chest felt heavier with each second of silence.
When we pulled into the driveway, he put the car in park but didn’t get out right away.
“I wasn’t trying to be mean,” he said finally. His voice was lower now. Careful. “I just… I want you to use your time here wisely. This country moves fast. You blink, and it’s senior year, college, jobs. Football’s a dead end—for someone like you. I’m just saying… don’t waste energy on things that won’t take you anywhere.”
I gave him a tight nod, eyes still on the dashboard. “Got it.”
And that was the last thing either of us said before we stepped out of the car.
But the words didn’t leave me.
You’re not going anywhere.
Maybe he thought he was being helpful. Maybe he thought he was protecting me from disappointment. But all I could feel was this fire quietly kindling in my chest.
Not because I wanted to prove him wrong.
But because deep down… I already knew I could.
The smell of garlic butter and roasted something hit me the second we stepped through the door. It was warm. Familiar, even if unfamiliar. The kind of smell that tugged at homesick places in my chest I didn’t even know existed.
“Perfect timing!” Carla called from the kitchen, her apron still tied around her waist, curls bouncing as she turned to smile at us. “Dinner’s ready. Come, eat while it’s hot.”
I gave her a soft smile. “It smells amazing, Tita.”
She grinned wide, waving a wooden spoon like a wand. “Of course it does. I don’t let anyone in this house go hungry. Now, go sit. Both of you.”
Alec muttered something under his breath, too quiet for me to catch, and disappeared into the dining area. I followed him, the air between us still strangely dense from the ride.
The table was already set. Chicken parmigiana, roasted veggies, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and even a plate of lumpia sat in the center like a peace offering between cultures. The lights above the dining table glowed in golden warmth, casting soft shadows over the plates.
Lila was already sitting, sipping juice with her legs swinging under the chair. Ethan came rushing in from the living room, hair messy, holding a sketchpad in one hand.
“Rayaaa!” Lila chirped. “Come sit next to me!”
“Did you see any cowboys today?” Ethan asked, plopping down across from me.
I laughed softly, easing into the seat between Lila and Carla, with Alec quiet on the far end.
“No cowboys yet,” I answered, smiling at Ethan. “But I’ll let you know if I spot one.”
Carla passed me a bowl of potatoes. “So, how was your first day?”
All eyes turned to me. I swallowed, feeling their warmth like a gentle wave—welcoming, curious, sincere.
“It was… interesting,” I said, carefully. “A little overwhelming. A lot of new things. But…” I paused, meeting Lila’s wide-eyed gaze. “Good. I think it was good.”
“Did anyone try to mess with you?” Ethan asked seriously, like he was ready to throw hands.
I shook my head with a small laugh. “No one dared. I had bodyguards.” I nudged my shoulder, as if Irene and Wendy were still flanking me.
Carla smiled proudly. “That’s wonderful to hear. I’m glad you're adjusting.”
The conversation flowed easily. Lila talked about her spelling test, Ethan showed everyone a comic strip he drew, Carla asked questions in between bites like she was checking my soul temperature—not too nosy, just enough to say I see you.
And on the other end of the table… Alec was quiet.
He ate with his eyes down, only offering the occasional nod or “pass the sauce.” The glow from the light above barely touched his corner, like even the chandelier decided to leave him alone.
I could still hear his voice from earlier.
You’re not going anywhere with football.
I looked down at my plate, pushing peas around with my fork.
He didn’t mean it to hurt. But I still felt that sting every time my gaze flicked his way.
I thought maybe he’d meet my eyes across the table. Maybe he’d offer a silent apology, or even a joke to smooth things over. But he didn’t.
And I didn’t ask for one.
Not tonight.
Because tonight, I let the rest of the table carry me. In laughter. In warmth. In garlic butter and stories and mashed potatoes. The light may not have reached Alec’s side…
…but it found me just fine.
The plates clinked gently as I set the last one on the drying rack, steam still curling from the rinsed surface. The kitchen had quieted. The voices, the laughter, even the sound of forks tapping on plates—they were all gone now, tucked into bedrooms and behind closed doors. I was the last one standing.
I wiped my damp hands on a dish towel and sighed, letting the silence wrap around me like a blanket. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full—like something important was about to be decided.
The thought hadn't left me. Not since Alec said it.
“You’re not going anywhere with football.”
I climbed the stairs slowly, each step oddly significant, like I was walking deeper into something I didn’t yet understand. My bedroom door creaked softly as I opened it. Everything inside looked untouched. The folded clothes. My books still neatly stacked. The little polaroid I had wedged into the mirror from the airport, of me and my mom right before I left.
I sat on the bed and stared at it.
I thought about that day. The chaos at NAIA, the heat, the teary goodbyes. The weight of the backpack on my shoulders wasn’t nearly as heavy as what I was carrying in my heart.
But even then, beneath all the nerves, there had been this spark. A strange, stubborn little thing.
That same spark was here again now.
I laid back, staring at the ceiling, fingers twitching slightly like they already wanted to hold something—do something.
Football.
It was ridiculous. Out of everything I’d seen today, that was the one thing I couldn’t shake. Not the new faces. Not the way everyone seemed to fit together already. Not the class where I didn’t understand half the lecture.
No, it was the field. The noise. The rhythm of it.
I had never even seen American football before today.
We don’t have it like this back home. Just basketball courts, volleyball nets, kids playing patintero on the street.
But today… something clicked.
The way they moved. The huddle. The tension before the ball was snapped. It wasn’t just chaos—it was precision and purpose. It was strength. It was speed. It was team.
Something in me sat up straighter.
Alec’s words rang again, but this time… they didn’t sting.
They challenged me.
“You’re not going anywhere with football.”
I smiled a little to myself.
That’s the thing about me. I don’t like being told what I can’t do.
That same burning I felt when I accepted the exchange program, when I boarded that plane alone, when I walked through the doors of this American school for the first time—it was back.
That fire.
That itch.
And I just knew.
Football might not have been meant for me.
But I was meant for something.
And this might just be it.
- Writer
