XI.
1885 Words
-Alec-
It was Saturday.
Practice day.
I tossed on a hoodie, grabbed my cleats, and headed for the door. Saturdays were usually something I looked forward to—football, sweat, focus, blocking out the noise of the world. But today, I paused.
There she was.
Raya. Already outside. Standing beside my car, grinning like she just won the lottery. Ponytail bouncing, football gear bag slung on her shoulder, radiating a kind of excitement that was… honestly, exhausting to look at this early in the morning.
“Good morning!” she beamed, waving like we were best friends.
I blinked at her. “What are you doing?”
“Going to practice,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the universe.
I didn’t reply. Just walked around her, unlocked the car, and got in. I let out a quiet sigh as I buckled up. Why was she doing this to herself?
She climbed in without hesitation. “Aren’t you excited?” she asked, voice bubbling with energy.
“You still haven’t changed your mind,” I muttered, starting the engine. “You’re really pushing this through, huh?”
She only nodded, smiling.
I shook my head. “Okay. Let’s see until where this nonsense is going to bring you.”
I didn’t say it to be cruel—it was just... fact. And maybe a warning.
The rest of the ride was awkward. Our usual silence, filled only by the low hum of the road and the occasional turn signal. She didn’t try to talk. Maybe she was nervous. Maybe she was determined not to let my words affect her. Either way, I couldn’t figure her out.
Not really.
When we got to the field, she practically leapt out of the car.
She jogged off toward the bleachers where the girls were starting to gather, waving at someone—probably Irene. I caught her muttering something like, “Today’s the day.”
Warm-ups started soon after.
I was already stretching with the guys when I heard the usual snickering.
“Hey look, it’s the little warrior again,” muttered Devin.
“Thought she’d quit after yesterday,” someone else chuckled. “Or maybe realized this isn’t P.E. class.”
Felix cut in sharp, voice hard. “Enough. Let her focus.”
He was always like that—respectful, chill. Sometimes annoyingly noble.
Raya didn’t react. She was laser-focused, like she didn’t even hear them. Or maybe she did, and just didn’t care. Her eyes scanned the field like it was a playbook she was determined to memorize.
“She’s got guts,” Felix said beside me as we did knee pulls. “Irene’s up there watching too. She came to support.”
I looked toward the bleachers. Irene waved at us. Raya waved back.
Felix nudged me with his elbow. “You know, you don’t have to be so cold to her.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You’re Antarctica.”
I didn’t respond.
Truth is, I didn’t know how to act around her. It wasn’t that I hated her or didn’t believe she could try. But I’d seen what this sport could do to people—especially the ones who jumped in without knowing what they were up against.
And Raya? She didn’t have a clue.
But still… there she was. Smiling. Stretching. Showing up.
Again.
Practice started like any other.
Coach’s whistle cut through the air like a blade and we sprang into motion. Hand-offs. Formations. Sprints. Blocking drills. My body knew the rhythm—it was muscle memory by now. I moved on autopilot, blocking out everything around me.
Or I tried to.
Because out of the corner of my eye… there she was.
Raya.
Still on the sideline, stretching. Lacing her cleats tighter. Re-tying her ponytail like she was going to war.
But it wasn’t just that.
She wasn’t just there. She was watching.
Really watching.
Her eyes tracked every movement on the field. Every play, every drill, every misstep. Like she was studying us. Memorizing. Trying to figure out how it all worked.
Like it mattered.
And something in me… shifted.
I couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to.
Because the moment I noticed her gaze, I found myself straightening my posture. Checking my form. Tightening my throws. Moving sharper, faster. Pushing just a little harder.
Why?
Why did I suddenly care if my footwork was clean? Why did I feel the need to make that pivot look smoother than usual? Why was I… showing off?
I hated that word.
But there it was—scraping at the back of my mind like a whisper I refused to say out loud.
I was showing off.
For her?
No. That couldn’t be it.
I was just trying to make practice count.
Right?
Yet the more I played, the more aware I became of her presence. Her eyes weren’t just watching—they were hungry for knowledge. Like she was trying to absorb everything through sheer willpower. And every time I pulled off a clean pass or scored during the mini-scrimmage, some stupid part of me… hoped she saw.
Hoped she noticed.
What the hell was that about?
“Alec!” Coach barked.
I snapped back to reality just in time to intercept a pass and charge downfield.
Focus.
I needed to focus.
But my feet were lighter. My energy pulsed stronger. Every move felt like it had more weight.
Not for the game. Not for the win.
For her.
For that quiet girl on the sidelines with the fire in her eyes and mud already on her cleats, who had no idea what she was doing—
But still showed up.
Damn it.
What was she doing to me?
We’d just finished a scrimmage match, sweat clinging to our jerseys, hearts pounding. Coach hadn’t even blown the whistle yet, but the team was buzzing—high-fives, shouts, fists bumping in the air. The score didn’t matter. It was the rush.
That fire in our veins.
I grabbed my water bottle and tilted it back, barely tasting it, just letting the cold hit my throat. Across the field, Felix was already bouncing on his heels like a boxer itching for round two. That i***t always had too much energy.
“You ready for another round?” he smirked at me, tossing the ball between his hands.
I scoffed. “Born ready.”
Coach didn’t even need to say anything—we just shifted into positions, bodies fueled by instinct and the thrill of the game. Our cleats dug into the turf again, and the tension returned like thunder rolling back over the field.
But then, I noticed them.
The girls’ team.
They were all seated on the bleachers now, like an audience of mismatched skeptics. Most were lounging with their arms crossed, others chatting among themselves, barely interested.
Except one.
Raya sat at the edge of the bench, elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on us like we were a live play she couldn’t afford to miss. Still watching. Still studying.
Her hair was pulled back again, a little messier now. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She didn’t look like she belonged there—and yet she did.
She wasn’t just watching us play.
She was watching to learn.
“What’s she doing?” Jansen muttered beside me as we lined up for the next play. He jerked his chin toward Raya, a sneer tugging at his lips. “Trying to download our skills through eye contact?”
I didn’t answer.
Not because I didn’t have a comeback—but because something about the way she watched made me tighten my laces a little more.
“She’s not quitting, huh?” Felix added casually, standing behind me. He sounded… impressed. Not mocking. “Girl’s got a backbone.”
“Or a death wish,” someone muttered behind us.
Coach blew the whistle.
I launched forward, locking back into the game.
But this time—every throw, every sprint, every dodge—I felt her eyes.
Not heavy, not distracting.
Fueling.
Like even if she didn’t know the rules yet, she was starting to understand the rhythm. And somehow… it made me want to rise to the level she already saw in me.
I didn’t get it.
Why the hell did she have that effect on me?
But I wasn’t gonna think about it now.
Not with the ball in my hands and the end zone in front of me.
Let’s see if she was still watching when I buried this pass into the corner.
The ball sailed through the air. A clean throw. Touchdown.
The guys erupted into cheers, sweaty backs slapping, trash talk flying like confetti. Coach shouted some praise, threw in a few sharp pointers. Adrenaline buzzed in our lungs like caffeine, and we were already jogging to reset for another play.
“Let’s run it again!” someone yelled.
We were halfway back into formation when a voice—clear and cutting—sliced through the noise.
“When do the women’s team get a chance to play?”
Everything froze.
Like someone had hit the mute button on the entire field.
My head turned. Everyone’s did.
Raya.
She was on her feet at the bottom of the bleachers, eyes fierce and voice steady. Her hands were clenched, not in anger—but in something more dangerous.
Conviction.
There was a long, awkward silence. A few snickers. One of the juniors laughed like she’d just asked for a unicorn.
Coach rubbed the back of his neck and gave a half-hearted chuckle. “The women’s team? You’ll get your turn, sweetheart. Right now, the boys need more reps—we’ve got a real game coming up. Real stakes. We can’t afford sloppiness.”
I flinched.
Then he added the punchline, too casually:
“Besides, the women’s team barely wins, anyway.”
That was it. The usual blow.
Except this time—Raya didn’t shrink. She didn’t roll her eyes and sit back down like everyone expected her to.
She stepped forward.
“I know,” she said. Loud enough to echo past the stunned silence. “The women’s team barely wins.”
She didn’t say it like an admission. She said it like a dare.
“But that’s exactly why we need more practice. We need the chance to get better. Not just thirty minutes when the field is already torn up and the guys are cooling down—we need real time, equal time. To train. To improve.” Her voice wavered just slightly, but then steadied again. “Who knows? Maybe even win a game.”
A sharp silence.
Coach’s mouth twitched, caught between amusement and disbelief.
I looked around.
Some of the guys had smirks. Others looked embarrassed, like she’d just aired the one truth no one had the guts to say aloud.
But me?
Something coiled deep in my chest.
Not anger. Not even pride.
Something more unsettling.
Respect.
Raya didn’t wait for permission or applause. She sat back down, gaze calm, breathing slow—but her words lingered in the air like thunder right before a storm.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what side of the field I was standing on.
- Writer
