V.
1703 Words
-Raya-
I never thought a school bench could feel like a front-row seat to another world.
The air buzzed with energy as players burst across the green field, their cleats pounding like thunder on the turf. Whistles pierced the wind. Helmets clashed. Coaches shouted things I didn’t understand. It all moved so fast—like chaos choreographed into something… electric.
I hugged my bag to my lap, eyes wide, barely blinking. “Is this always like this?”
Wendy let out a soft laugh beside me. “Yup. Welcome to American football. Loud, violent, and somehow the heart of this place.”
Irene nudged me with her elbow, smiling. “You’ve never seen a game before?”
“Not this kind,” I murmured, still watching in awe. “We don’t really have football back home. Not this version, anyway. We have basketball. A lot of basketball. But this? This feels like… a battle.”
Wendy grinned. “You’re not wrong. People live for this. Especially here in the South. Friday night games, tailgates, pep rallies—you’ll see. It’s practically religion.”
I tried to process the sheer scale of it—the massive field, the roaring players, the chant-like rhythm of drills. Everything about it felt loud, unapologetic, and alive. Not like the quiet courtyards I remembered from my old school in Quezon City, where students walked with umbrellas between buildings and the biggest commotion was a club bake sale.
A player broke into a full sprint down the field, dodging like lightning. Someone—Felix, I think—tackled him mid-air, and the whole team let out a whoop that echoed across the field.
I flinched. “Dios mio,” I muttered. “They’re going to kill each other.”
Irene laughed. “That’s just warm-ups.”
“And that is Felix,” Wendy added, pointing. “Our star athlete. Irene’s future husband, obviously.”
“Wen—” Irene hissed, cheeks flushing as she shoved Wendy lightly. “Shut up!”
I laughed, and it felt good. The tension in my shoulders eased for the first time since the morning. I’d survived my first day, sang in front of a room full of strangers, didn’t get lost—and now I was watching boys barrel into each other for sport with two girls who already felt like friends.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad.
“You thinking of joining a club yet?” Irene asked suddenly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
I hesitated. “I don’t know. It’s hard to pick when everything feels so… foreign. Even the posters on the wall use slang I don’t understand.”
Wendy smirked. “Yeah, American schools have their own weird language. You’ll get used to it.”
“You should join CreatiSyn with us,” Irene offered. “It’s mostly writing, drawing, multimedia stuff. Super chill. And you’re already good at writing, right?”
“I like stories,” I said softly. “Back home I used to write a lot. But I’m not sure if my English is good enough for... club standards.”
“Girl, you stood in front of our class and sang in Tagalog,” Wendy pointed out. “You’ve already won everyone over. Trust me.”
I smiled, but it wobbled slightly. It was easy to forget sometimes that everything here was shiny and new—and that I wasn’t. I was a walking accent, a new face, a question mark. Even my lunch earlier had gotten a few stares. Apparently rice and adobo in a thermos wasn’t “normal.”
A gust of wind swept past us, pulling loose strands of hair across my face. I tucked them behind my ear and leaned forward, eyes scanning the players again. I spotted Alec near the sidelines, helmet in hand, breathing heavy as he laughed at something a teammate said.
“You’re watching Alec like he’s in a drama scene,” Wendy teased, nudging me.
“What? No!” I pulled back, flustered. “I was just… I didn’t realize he played.”
“He’s one of the best on the team,” Irene said. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but yeah—he’s good. And kind of moody. You’ll get used to that too.”
I chewed my lip. “It’s weird. He was quiet the whole ride this morning. But now he looks…”
“Happy?” Wendy offered.
“Different,” I said. “Lighter.”
“Football does that to some people,” Irene said. “For Alec, I think it’s an escape.”
That made me wonder what he was escaping from.
Another whistle blew. The team huddled together, shouting something I couldn’t quite catch, then broke apart in a dramatic burst of motion. For a second, I imagined what it would be like to be out there. Running. Tackling. Being part of something bigger. Cheering crowds. Teammates yelling my name.
“I wonder…” I said aloud, surprising even myself. “Do they allow girls to join?”
Both Irene and Wendy turned to look at me.
“You’re thinking of trying out?” Irene asked, blinking.
“I mean,” I laughed, half-embarrassed, “why not? I can run. I’m stronger than I look.”
Wendy raised a brow. “Girl. You just got here, and you’re already considering breaking barriers?”
“I didn’t say I’d do it. I just…” I trailed off, watching the players again. “I like how alive it feels.”
The girls were quiet for a beat, then Wendy grinned. “You know what? If you do try out, I’ll make a banner. I’ll write ‘Philippines Represent!’ in glitter.”
“And I’ll help you train,” Irene added. “Even if it’s just passing a ball around. You’re allowed to explore. That’s what high school is for, right?”
I looked out at the field again and smiled, heart unexpectedly warm. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was allowed to be curious. To try. To chase things that didn’t make sense yet.
And maybe, just maybe, this place had more to offer than I ever expected.
The shrill blast of the final whistle echoed through the field, followed by a collective exhale from the team as they jogged toward the bench, shoulder pads clinking, breaths loud in the cooling air.
“Good hustle, boys!” one of the assistant coaches shouted, clapping his clipboard against his palm. “Hydrate and hit the showers. You’ve earned it.”
Helmets came off, revealing sweaty hair and flushed faces. The air now carried the tang of effort and turf, thick and grounding. Teammates laughed, bumped fists, and tossed playful insults as they reached for their water bottles.
I stood as Irene and Wendy rose to meet Felix, who had pulled off his gloves and was grinning like he just won a championship.
“You guys heading out?” I asked.
Wendy nodded. “Yep. Felix is driving her home today. You good?”
I glanced at Alec, who had silently drifted toward the edge of the bench, face unreadable. “Yeah… I’ll ride with Alec.”
Wendy smirked, eyes glinting. “Try not to fall asleep in the car. He drives like he’s chasing ghosts.”
I snorted, half amused, half nervous. “Noted.”
“See you Tomorrow!” Irene said with a warm squeeze to my arm before looping hers around Felix’s.
I gave a small wave as they walked off, then turned back—and there he was.
Alec.
Six feet tall, broad-shouldered, standing just a few paces ahead of me with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, chin tilted toward the parking lot. The setting sun cast a golden outline along the angles of his jaw. His dark shirt clung to the lines of his body, still damp from practice.
He didn’t say anything, just jerked his head slightly, the universal sign for let’s go.
I followed.
And suddenly, I was walking beside a giant.
I’m not that short—I mean, 5’5 is perfectly average where I come from—but next to him, I felt… mini. Like I’d shrunk somehow. My shoes made little taps on the pavement, while his steps were solid, confident, unbothered.
The silence stretched between us like a tightrope. I tried not to feel self-conscious. I wasn’t sure what to say—or if I was even supposed to. Maybe this was how he always was.
Still, I stole a glance at him.
He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring ahead, eyes narrowed as if still somewhere else—on the field, maybe. In his thoughts. Or just... not here.
The silence clawed at me a little.
“You were good,” I said finally, voice soft.
He looked down at me, startled. “Huh?”
“At practice,” I clarified. “You… move differently. Like it’s the one place you know exactly what to do.”
He gave a slow shrug, like he wasn’t used to compliments. “I’ve been doing it a while.”
I nodded. “It shows.”
Another beat of quiet passed. I tugged my bag higher on my shoulder and added, “You looked different out there. Lighter.”
Alec glanced at me again—this time holding the look for longer.
“Football’s simple,” he said at last. “You run. You block. You score. Everything else disappears.”
I wondered what he wanted to disappear from, but I didn’t ask.
We reached his car—a beat-up black pickup that looked like it had lived a thousand lives. He unlocked it with a click and tossed his bag into the back seat. I climbed in beside him, careful not to slam the door too hard.
As he started the engine, I stole one more glance.
His jaw was tight again, but his eyes looked softer in the fading light.
Maybe, I thought, football wasn’t the only thing he understood.
Maybe he just needed someone who didn’t talk too much. Someone who’d walk beside him quietly—even if she felt small.
And for now, that someone was me.
- Writer
