More Than That

I Hate Her. I Think.

“Do you know what I absolutely hate?” Shay muttered, popping the lid off her lunchbox with more force than necessary. She stared down at the rice and adobo like it had personally wronged her.

Across from her, Iyah Lopez didn’t even blink. Iyah—short for Alliyah Gianna—was the kind of friend who could read people like novels, annotate their behavior like poetry, and still look unbothered while eating her chicken sandwich.

“Let me guess,” she said dryly, not even looking up, “this is about her again.”

Marie Dela Cruz, their third musketeer, snorted from beside them. Witty, sharp-tongued, and known for having the best one-liners in the group, Marie didn’t even wait for a name. “Wow. Took her a whole five minutes today. New record.”

Shay shot them both a look as she stabbed her rice with unnecessary aggression. “I’m serious. She’s everywhere. Like some omnipresent school deity.”

“Here we go,” Iyah muttered, exchanging a smirk with Marie.

Shay pressed on, not caring—or pretending not to care—that she was being teased. “Every hallway. Every conversation. Someone’s always talking about Cheska. ‘Cheska helped me with my math homework.’ ‘Cheska ran five laps during break.’ ‘Cheska’s soooo perfect.’ If I hear her name one more time, I might just lose it.”

“She’s in your head rent-free,” Marie said, sipping her juice.

“Honestly, at this point she might be paying a mortgage.”

Shay groaned. “I’m just saying, I don’t get it. She’s not even that amazing.”

Iyah finally looked up, raising a single eyebrow. “You know you say her name more than you say ours, right?”

Shay blinked. “I do not.”

Marie pulled out her phone and wiggled it. “Want me to start a tally? We can keep a score for the rest of the month.”

“I don’t even like her!” Shay snapped.

“Exactly,” Iyah said, smug.

Shay huffed and dropped her spoon with a clatter. Her food was getting cold, but she couldn’t focus on it anyway. Not when her mind kept circling back to that moment again—Cheska on the bench, sunlight in her hair, smiling at her book like it was whispering secrets just for her.

That smile. So soft. So effortless.

And the way her curls had slipped loose from her ponytail, framing her face in wild spirals. Like she didn’t care what anyone thought. Shay had only seen her once—once—and somehow remembered everything.

---

Later that day, in Values class, Shay sat slouched at the back while the teacher went on about "vocation" and "life purpose." Her notebook was open, but she wasn’t taking notes.

She found herself doodling instead—shapes, half-written lyrics, unfinished lines of poetry she’d never dare to read aloud.

And then, almost absentmindedly, she scribbled a name in the corner.

Cheska.

She stared at it. Her pen hovered. She quickly scratched it out.

“Stupid,” she whispered under her breath.

The bell rang. Students shuffled out. Shay packed her things slowly, hoping to shake off whatever this thing was. But as she stepped into the hallway, she saw a group of girls walk past, one of them casually saying, “I heard Cheska’s running for class president.”

And just like that, the name was back in her head.

---

PE arrived the next day like a storm brewing under a clear sky.

The sun was unforgiving. Bright, hot, and glaring down on the open court where both Shay’s and Cheska’s sections had been assigned for a joint PE session. With the gym still under construction, everyone was forced outside.

Half the students clustered beneath the few patches of shade, while the others hovered near the court where the rackets and shuttlecocks were laid out.

Shay stepped onto the concrete, towel around her neck and her hair tied up tight. Her mood lifted a bit when she spotted the badminton rackets near the bleachers.

“Finally,” she muttered to herself. “Something I’m actually good at.”

“Yo, Shay!” a voice called from the other side.

She turned to see Kevin, a guy from Cheska’s class, waving her over. He was friendly, overly energetic, and always seemed to be in the middle of five different conversations.

“We brought gear. You wanna play?”

Shay jogged over, squinting through the sunlight. “You guys playing doubles?”

“I was rallying with Cheska earlier,” he said, holding up a racket. “She’s decent.”

Of course it was her.

Shay’s stomach twisted. “I’ve… heard of her.”

Kevin laughed. “Everyone has.” He offered the racket toward her. “Want in?”

Shay looked past him—straight at Cheska.

She was at the edge of the court again, towel in hand, sipping from a water bottle. Her white PE shirt clung slightly to her back from sweat, and her legs were long and steady beneath her navy shorts. She was laughing at something someone said, shoulders relaxed, ponytail bouncing lightly with the breeze.

Then she looked up. And their eyes met.

Shay felt something catch in her throat.

She could say no.

But she didn’t.

“…Sure,” she said, snatching the racket like it was a dare.

They didn’t talk much as they took their places on opposite sides of the net.

“Ready?” Cheska asked, adjusting her grip.

“Always,” Shay replied, tightening her hold like she was bracing for war.

The game started slow—but it didn’t stay that way.

Serve. Smash. Drop. Return. Overhead. Cross court.

Shay was fast, deliberate. Cheska was smooth, sharp, adaptable. Their movements began to sync before either of them noticed. The court became smaller, the sounds sharper. Their breaths, their footsteps, their gazes—everything existed in syncopation.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.

But their eyes kept meeting after every rally.

And in those seconds—brief, electric—Shay forgot all about hating her.

By the time the last rally ended, both girls were drenched in sweat and panting lightly, faces flushed from effort and heat.

Cheska caught the birdie in her hand mid-air and smiled. “You’re really good.”

Shay blinked. Words dissolved in her throat. “…You too,” she finally said, barely above a whisper.

Cheska gave a simple nod and turned to hand the racket back to Kevin, ponytail swishing behind her.

Shay just stood there, watching her go. Watching the way the sun caught her outline. Watching like she wasn’t supposed to.

---

At the edge of the court, two very smug best friends waited with crossed arms.

“Oh no,” Iyah whispered.

“Oh yes,” Marie replied, already grinning.

Shay stomped back toward them, wiping her face furiously with a towel.

“I still don’t like her,” she said firmly, trying to summon whatever pride she had left.

Iyah raised a brow. “Mmm. Right.”

Marie leaned forward. “Hate her so much, you forgot to blink.”

Shay rolled her eyes, cheeks burning. “You guys are the worst.”

They didn’t argue.

Because they could see it.

Even if Shay didn’t.

---

That night, Shay lay on her bed with her earphones in and her homework untouched. The ceiling fan buzzed above her, barely cutting through the sticky heat.

She kept replaying the rally in her head. The footwork. The flick of Cheska’s wrist. The quick glance between serves.

The way her smile lingered a little too long.

She opened her notes to write a poem. Something to make sense of it. But her page remained blank.

There were no words for this.

Not yet.

---

On Sunday, she found herself texting Iyah: “What if I joined the music club?”

Iyah: "You? Music club? Since when do you volunteer for things?"

Shay: "Since maybe I heard someone hangs out there during free time."

There was a five-minute pause.

Then:

Iyah: "You’re down bad."

Shay didn’t respond.

Because maybe she was.

And maybe she didn’t hate it as much as she thought.