XIX.
1944 Words
-Raya-
There was something about this Monday that didn’t feel like a Monday.
Maybe it was the sun—not blinding or burning, but warm, golden, and comforting as it filtered through the trees lining Maplewood High’s parking lot. Maybe it was the fact that I’d gotten a good night’s sleep for once. Or maybe—just maybe—it was because today was football practice, and I felt more ready than ever.
The moment Alec pulled into the school lot, I was already unbuckling my seatbelt. He hadn’t said much during the drive, but I didn’t mind the silence anymore. I had too many thoughts in my head, too many small sparks of excitement running through my chest.
“Thanks,” I muttered as I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the car.
He just gave me a nod and drove off to find his own spot.
I turned toward the main building, weaving through the buzz of students pouring in. My backpack was heavy, but I barely felt it. My steps felt light—like the ground was on my side today. It was strange, how much a week could change things. How just one decision—joining the football team—could flip something inside me that I didn’t know was waiting to be flipped.
I was just a few steps away from my locker when I heard my name.
“Raya!”
I turned and saw Wendy rushing toward me, ponytail bouncing behind her, with that energy that could brighten a room just by entering it. Beside her, Irene walked calmly with her arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face.
Wendy flung an arm around my shoulder before I could even say hello. “Girl! Irene told me you’re killing it at practice!”
I blinked, caught off guard, then laughed. “Killing it might be a stretch.”
“I’m serious!” Irene said, nudging me lightly. “You had good form during drills. And hustle? On point.”
I grinned, warmth spreading through me. “Thanks. I’ve been watching videos and trying some extra stuff at home.”
Wendy gasped. “She studies and plays sports? Ugh, overachiever alert.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I said, still laughing.
We stopped in front of my locker and leaned against the wall as the hallway around us buzzed with the start-of-week chatter—sneakers squeaking against the floor, lockers slamming open and shut, teachers walking past with coffee cups and stacks of ungraded papers. But in that small circle between the three of us, it felt still.
“So,” Irene said, “are you officially obsessed now?”
“With football?” I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Obsessed in a good way,” Wendy added. “Like, I never thought you’d be the type to dive into a contact sport, but here we are. Second week in and you’re glowing.”
“Glowing might be the post-practice sweat,” I teased.
They laughed.
“But seriously,” I continued, “I didn’t expect to love it this much. I mean, I still mess up a lot, and I have so much to learn… but there’s just something about it. I feel different when I’m out there. Like I belong.”
Irene gave me a soft look. “You do belong. Some people might not see it yet, but they will.”
“And if they don’t,” Wendy added, “we’ll fight them.”
I snorted. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Wendy’s eyes darted to the hallway clock above the lockers. “We better hurry—our teacher hates it when we’re late.”
“Oh right,” Irene groaned, adjusting her bag. “Social Science. First period doom.”
I laughed as I grabbed my books. “You act like he bites.”
“He does,” Wendy insisted with wide eyes. “Emotionally.”
Irene smirked. “Especially if you forget last week’s reading. Which I may or may not have.”
“You guys are impossible,” I said, closing my locker and slinging my bag over my shoulder.
The three of us started walking down the crowded hallway toward our classroom. The usual chaos was all around us—lockers slamming, people brushing past in rushed waves, the low hum of gossip and early morning yawns. But walking between Wendy’s playful energy and Irene’s cool sarcasm made it easier to face the Monday rush.
“You’re really coming alive here, huh?” Wendy nudged me as we turned the corner. “Second week and you already have a squad, a sport, and a growing fan club.”
“Fan club?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Felix literally asked Irene if you’re ‘as chill off the field as you look on it.’” She waggled her brows.
Irene rolled her eyes. “He didn’t say that exactly.”
“Okay, okay,” I said quickly, feeling the heat creep to my cheeks. “Let’s not turn this into a telenovela.”
Wendy grinned, “But seriously, Raya. I’m really glad you’re finding your rhythm here.”
“I am too,” I admitted, a small smile tugging at my lips. “This place felt so intimidating at first. Still does sometimes. But… now it feels a little less foreign.”
“Good,” Irene said, her voice a bit softer. “Because it’s about time someone shook this place up.”
We reached the classroom just as the second bell rang. Our teacher gave us a pointed look from behind his glasses as we slid into our seats at the back row. Irene immediately slouched, Wendy pulled out a rainbow of pens, and I quietly opened my notebook, still buzzing from our hallway chat.
Our teacher launched into the lesson with his usual dramatic flair—something about revolutions and civil disobedience—and I tried to focus, but my thoughts kept drifting.
Practice later.
I’d packed my gear with so much care this morning it was almost embarrassing. My cleats were clean, water bottle filled, socks folded the way Coach showed us. I even had a backup hair tie in case the one on my wrist snapped. It was silly, maybe, but it made me feel ready. Like I wasn’t just pretending to belong.
My eyes flicked sideways to Wendy, who was already doodling protest signs in the margins of her notes, and to Irene, who was half-listening, half-skimming through the readings she probably meant to finish over the weekend. Something warm stirred in my chest.
This was my second week here.
And yet, this classroom, this team, these people—they weren’t just growing on me.
They were becoming part of me.
Later, there’d be a Physics quiz. An Art critique. Football practice after school. Maybe more awkward tension with Alec. Maybe more side-eyes from girls who still didn’t think I belonged.
But none of it mattered right now.
Because I was here. Learning. Laughing. Getting stronger.
And today, with my gear packed tight and my mind set, I knew one thing for sure:
I was ready to give it everything I had.
The bell rang, and Social Science came to an end. I stretched my arms over my head as our teacher called out reminders for the next reading assignment—something about resistance movements and reflective essays. I made a mental note to actually do it this time.
Irene and Wendy peeled off toward their next classes with quick waves.
“Text me if class gets boring,” Irene said, smirking.
Wendy added, “Or if Mr. Langley finally admits he is the villain in the French Revolution unit.”
I laughed. “You two are the worst kind of enablers.”
“Facts,” Wendy said before vanishing into the crowd with Irene.
Left on my own, I tightened my grip on my binder and joined the slow current of students moving through the hallway. I checked the room number scrawled on my schedule: Room 114. English Literature.
I slid into a seat near the middle, letting the low buzz of students settling in surround me. This class was fine—familiar, even. The teacher, Miss Garvey, was nice, and the lesson flew by in a blur of metaphors and Shakespearean insults. No Irene or Wendy here, though. Just a sea of unfamiliar faces I hadn't quite connected with yet.
When the bell rang again, I gathered my things and headed toward Math. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. Math had never been my favorite, but I tried to keep an open mind. After all, new country, new mindset, right?
As I stepped into the room, my eyes scanned for an open seat—and froze.
“Mela?” I blinked.
She looked up from her notebook and grinned. “Well, look who finally noticed.”
“Trish?” I said as I spotted her at the next seat over. “Wait—what? You guys are in this class?”
Trish smirked, flipping her pencil between her fingers. “We’ve been here since day one. You just never looked our way.”
“I—seriously?” I laughed, stepping toward the empty seat beside them. “That’s wild. I’ve just been zoning out in here.”
“We figured,” Mela teased, scooting over slightly to make room for me. “We didn’t want to crowd you when you still looked like a deer in headlights.”
“Well, deer is now awake,” I joked, dropping my bag beside the desk. “Mind if I sit with you guys?”
“Please,” Trish said, nudging her bag aside. “We’ve been waiting to gossip about Saturday all morning.”
I sat down, and it felt... comfortable. The kind of casual, unspoken understanding that said, You’re welcome here.
“Did your legs recover?” Mela asked with a grin.
“Barely,” I groaned. “I think my thighs filed a complaint to the universe.”
Trish laughed. “You were killing it though. That side drill stuff? Not bad for your second day.”
“Thanks,” I said, a little surprised by the compliment. “I mean, I’m still learning, but... it felt good. Like I wasn’t just guessing anymore.”
“You’re learning fast,” Mela said with a nod. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. And maybe stretch more.”
“Duly noted.”
I was about to say more when the classroom door creaked open and Mr. Granger, our Math teacher, walked in carrying a stack of worksheets and his signature cup of coffee that smelled faintly like burnt toast.
“All right, numbers people,” he called, tapping the whiteboard with a marker. “Today, we’re tackling linear inequalities. Try not to look too excited.”
Groans spread across the room, but I leaned back in my chair, feeling lighter than I had all morning.
We opened our notebooks and the lesson began, Mr. Granger scribbling across the board like he was trying to beat some invisible clock. I glanced sideways at Mela and Trish now and then. They were focused, but relaxed—clearly used to this rhythm. Occasionally, one of them would nudge my notebook to point out something I’d missed, and I’d whisper a thank you back.
Somehow, Math didn’t feel quite as heavy today.
And it wasn’t because of the numbers.
It was because I was slowly building something—connections, confidence, belonging. Piece by piece. Class by class.
Even on a Monday, that felt like a win.
- Writer
