Kicking Fire - A Story of Mulan

XII.

-Raya-

I sat down slowly. My legs didn’t feel like they were mine.

The roar of adrenaline that had carried my voice moments ago was gone—leaving a quiet ache in its place. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest, I was sure someone could hear it. What did I just do? Was I reckless? Stupid? Brave?

I didn't know.

A part of me wanted to sink into the bleachers and vanish. I could feel the weight of a dozen eyes—some curious, some confused, and a few definitely annoyed. My brain started spiraling:

Why did you say that?

You just made things awkward.

They’re probably laughing at you.

You’re not even good yet.

What if you messed it up for everyone?

But beneath the chaos, another voice whispered—steady and warm.

No. You said what needed to be said.

I hugged my knees for a second, trying to steady my breath.

Then, out of nowhere, someone stood up. A strong, clear voice followed.

“She’s right.”

Heads turned again.

Felix.

The captain. The golden boy. The only one in this entire field who seemed to exist in both worlds and be respected in each.

He stepped forward, his cleats crunching against the turf as he looked at Coach straight on.

“They deserve practice too,” he said. “Real practice. How do we expect them to get better if we treat them like an afterthought?” He gestured toward me, then the girls behind me. “Raya had the guts to say what we all ignored. She’s not wrong.”

Coach exhaled slowly, eyes narrowed in thought. A beat passed. Then he nodded.

“Alright. Girls—field’s yours.”

At first, silence.

Then it hit.

A wave of cheers exploded from behind me. My teammates were already on their feet, grabbing water bottles, jogging down the steps. Someone slapped me on the shoulder, another pulled me up. “Raya, that was insane!” “You said what we all wanted to say!” “You’re a legend already!”

I blinked, dazed, but then a smile broke free across my face.

I didn’t do it for the praise. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I had a full plan when I stood up. But seeing the spark in their eyes—the way they stood a little taller, walked a little prouder?

That was worth everything.

We jogged onto the field. The boys shifted to the bleachers, some quiet, others murmuring to each other. Alec sat there too, elbows on his knees, unreadable. His gaze found mine for a moment—sharp, unreadable, almost… conflicted.

I turned away before I could get pulled into that storm again.

This was our moment now.

The sun was still high above us, casting long shadows over the turf, like we were stepping into something bigger than just practice.

For once, the field didn’t feel borrowed.

It felt like ours.

The field stretched out ahead of me, same as before—but this time, it felt different. It didn’t feel off-limits. It didn’t feel like I had to watch from the sidelines.

This time, I belonged here… even if I had no idea what I was doing.

We split into drills, the coach barking out instructions while some of the girls jogged to their positions. I stuck close to the line of scrimmage, my heart thumping hard in my chest. Everything I studied last night buzzed in my head—terms, plays, formations. I had replayed the boys’ footwork and route-running a hundred times in my mind, tried to absorb their rhythm, the way they moved like water but hit like stone.

Now, I just had to translate all that into motion.

Easier said than done.

The whistle blew, and we began.

I sprinted when I was supposed to jog. I zigged when I should’ve zagged. I missed the catch twice, misread a route, and almost collided with Jessa during a position switch drill.

“Watch it!” she snapped, brushing past me with an annoyed look.

“Sorry,” I muttered, cheeks burning. My breath came out ragged, heat rising to my ears.

But I didn’t stop.

I forced myself to recalibrate. Focus. Watch. Learn. Apply.

On the next drill, I kept my eyes locked on the ball, timed my step, and actually caught it cleanly before securing it and passing it back.

Cheers broke out behind me.

“Yaaas, Raya!”

“You’re doing great, girl!”

I turned to see Mela and Trish grinning from the sidelines. I couldn’t help but smile back.

Then someone muttered behind me, just loud enough for me to hear, “Let’s see how long this Cinderella act lasts.”

I didn’t look to see who said it.

I didn’t need to.

The old me would’ve shrunk. Would’ve stepped back, laughed it off, or maybe gone silent for the rest of practice.

But not today.

Instead, I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, eyes sharpening. I stepped forward, chin raised, and moved to my next drill.

I wasn’t the fastest. My throws lacked accuracy. My footwork wasn’t sharp. But there was one thing I had that no one could doubt:

I kept going.

The coach didn’t say much, but his eyes tracked me often. I knew he was observing, measuring. Probably wondering if he made a mistake letting me in.

Let him wonder.

Let them all wonder.

Every mistake I made today would be something I’d master tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever I finally get it right. But I would. I’d get it right.

Eventually.

By the end of the practice, my legs ached, my shirt clung to my back, and my hands were scraped raw from one too many falls on the turf. But my heart—my heart felt full.

Not because I was good.

Because I didn’t give up.

And somehow, that felt like a win already.

The final whistle blew.

My lungs were on fire, and my legs felt like jelly, but I was still standing.

I looked around—grass stuck to my knees, my fingers smudged with dirt and sweat, my hair probably a mess under my helmet—but I was still here. Still playing. Still part of the team.

Some of the girls jogged past me, patting my shoulder as they headed toward the bench.

“Nice hustle, Raya,” Mela said, handing me a bottle of water. “You kept up better than some of the newer players last season.”

I gave her a tired smile. “Thanks.”

“You were actually decent,” Trish added, swinging her arms as we walked. “Not perfect, but you didn’t let it show. That’s something.”

“Appreciate it,” I said, chest heaving with uneven breath, but I couldn’t hide the quiet swell of pride that rose inside me. I did decent. Not bad. Not amazing. But decent.

Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of a scoff.

Jessa.

“Let’s not start giving medals for being average,” she muttered to Sydney and Kiana, just loud enough. “She dropped the ball twice and got lucky once. Big deal.”

I didn’t turn around, but I could feel their eyes burning into my back.

Kiana snorted. “Honestly, I don’t get why Coach is wasting time on someone who only joined last week. We have regionals in a month. This isn’t a summer hobby club.”

“Maybe she’s just here to collect pity points,” Sydney said coolly. “She’s good at playing the underdog.”

The words stung more than I expected. I bit the inside of my cheek and stayed quiet.

For a second, I felt myself shrinking. Like I was back in that hallway again, standing in front of the sign-up sheet while the world laughed behind me.

But then I remembered Mela’s pat on the shoulder. Trish’s compliment. Felix shouting down the boys. Irene cheering from the bleachers.

I remembered myself, sprinting across the field, stealing glances at the way Alec twisted his body before a throw, the way Felix organized a defensive line—applying what I saw, failing, trying again, and doing better.

I turned toward them, steady and composed.

“Thanks for the feedback,” I said simply, then walked away.

Let them talk.

I wasn’t here to make friends.

I was here to play.

And if that meant pushing through people like them, then so be it.

Because I wasn’t going anywhere.

I slumped onto the bench with the others, clutching my water bottle like it was the only thing keeping me alive.

“Whew. I can’t feel my calves,” Trish panted beside me.

Mela chuckled. “That means it’s working.”

Coach clapped her hands. “Good effort, ladies. We’ll review the footage tomorrow. Hydrate and cool down—don’t forget to stretch before heading home.”

As we caught our breath, the boys started moving in again.

They jogged back onto the field, freshly rehydrated and still pulsing with energy. It was like watching a pack of wolves reset after a nap—fierce, focused, hungry. Their cleats thudded against the turf in rhythm, and I found myself unable to look away.

Alec was the last to take the field, raking a hand through his damp hair, his expression unreadable. He didn’t glance my way, but something about the slight tension in his jaw made me wonder if he still hadn’t cooled down from earlier.

He blew past Felix, who said something to him and laughed, but Alec only gave a brief smirk. Then the whistle blew again, and they exploded into motion.

I watched, completely absorbed.

There was a quiet reverence in the way they moved—like this field was sacred and each snap was a prayer. The coordination, the sheer speed of it all, was a different world. And yet, I was drawn to it. Every step they took sparked something inside me. It wasn’t envy—it was motivation.

“You okay?” Irene asked softly, handing me a towel.

I hadn’t even noticed her return. She sat beside me, her gaze flickering between me and the field.

“Yeah,” I said, wiping my face, still breathless from both the game and watching them. “Just… trying to memorize everything.”

She smiled. “I think you already did.”

On the field, Alec grabbed the snap and charged down the sideline. His form was sharp, mechanical, almost too perfect.

And for a split second—just a flicker—his eyes darted toward the benches.

Right toward me.

But he looked away just as quickly, vanishing back into the storm of cleats and adrenaline.

Still, that moment stuck with me.

Even from the sidelines, I wasn’t invisible.

Not anymore.