Crossing

Chapter Two

Trouble. She could smell it the moment Penelope’s hand shot up like a knife through the air. Of course it would be Penelope.

“Ma’am, Pia and Abbie weren’t at the sports meet yesterday,” Penelope trilled, eyes shining like she’d just won the lottery.

Abbie’s stomach sank. Snitch.

The room froze. Chalk clicked against the tray. Mrs. Vergara laid it down with the precision of someone setting a blade on a table. That was enough to make spines snap straight. Fifty-something, hair in a bun so tight it had to hurt, glasses sliding down her nose like they could cut. She never needed to raise her voice. One look from her was already punishment.

And then those eyes locked on Abbie.

“Abelina Dominga Arcilla. Stand up.”

The name cracked like a whip.

And right on cue, the laughter came. It always did. Abelina Dominga. Too heavy, too old-fashioned. Her sister got Roxanne Angelie, a beauty Bandit’s name, practically stitched in rhinestones. She got saddled with something that belonged on a grave.

She stood. Silence, then snickers, then the ripple of laughter. Her cheeks burned.

“Quiet,” Mrs. Vergara said, and the laughter died, though a few mouths stayed curled at the edges.

“Absent without excuse during a school-wide event. Do you think that is acceptable?”

Abbie stayed silent. If she opened her mouth, she’d probably make it worse.

“You carry a name,” the teacher pressed, voice like sharpened glass. “Your sister, Roxanne, stood in this room. She was disciplined. She had drive. She made this school proud.” A pause, deliberate. “And you. Skipping responsibilities. Average marks. No seriousness in your studies. Do you want to be remembered as the Arcilla who wasted her chances?”

The words landed in her chest like bricks. Wasted her chances. She heard Joey’s muffled laugh behind her. Of course. Joey, who’d been hopelessly obsessed with Roxanne since forever, just like every other boy in Camalig. Honestly, it was a miracle the twenty percent of boys who were gay weren’t in love with her too.

Roxanne. Five-one and somehow taller than everyone. Morena skin, curves impossible on her small frame, a face that made people stare, and the brains to back it all up. Her laugh, her voice, the way she moved, polished perfection.

And then there was Abbie. Five-six, lanky, fairer from her mother’s mestiza blood, noticed second if noticed at all. The awkward Arcilla. The spare. Her jokes filled rooms, her sister’s smile silenced them. She knew the ranking by heart.

Their parents made sure of that. Mayor Martin Arcilla, charming, calculating. Crizelda, his actress-turned-political-wife, flawless at every gala. Together they built a dynasty. Roxanne was their crown jewel, proof of their brilliance. Abbie was the accident. Proof that sometimes condoms fail.

She got her father’s plain looks instead of her mother’s beauty. Her mother had been a soap opera darling, the ten to her father’s solid five. Roxanne was the angel-faced clone. Abbie was the leftover. Too tall, too pale, teased for looking anemic.

Only her grandmother had told her anything different. Your beauty will linger, grow sharper with time, the kind men notice only when they’re ready for something real. Abbie had believed her.

“Well?” Mrs. Vergara said. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Abelina Dominga?”

Snickers again. Abbie forced a smile, crooked, defiant.

“No, Ma’am,” she said, then lifted her chin. “Except maybe my parents didn’t want to bother researching and just named me after my grandmother and the day I was born,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She kept her tone light on purpose. Inside, it cut.

Because the truth was simple: they hadn’t cared. Not enough to give her a name that wouldn’t sound like a joke. She was Abelina Dominga beside Roxanne Angelie, witch beside princess, and she felt it every single day.

Not Cinderella cruelty. No rags, no attic. She had food. Clothes. School. But the difference sliced anyway. Roxanne got ribeye, she got the burger. Same cow, different status. Roxanne strolled through Zara, she got pointed toward SM Store for their SM Woman Brand. Stark difference. A thesis in receipts.

So she’d learned. Laugh at herself before they did. Throw humor like a shield. Harden up, because what else worked. Their family lived on optics. Scandal was dangerous. Public mistreatment was unthinkable. Private hierarchy was permanent.

She widened her smile as if none of it mattered. “So yeah. That’s me. Abelina Dominga. Straight out of Sunday creativity.”

The ripple of laughter came again. Pia’s grin tried to hide itself. Joey chuckled out loud.

Mrs. Vergara’s eyes killed it in an instant. “Sit down,” she said. “And reflect on whether you want to be a shadow or a student worth remembering.”

Abbie sat. Heart hammering. Smile plastered on like armor. Inside, rebellion hummed. If she didn’t laugh at herself, everyone else would.

The bell rang. Chairs scraped, voices rose, and the room emptied into chaos. Pia hovered at her desk, guilt written all over her face. Joey sauntered over like he’d just seen the best comedy show of the year.

“Well,” he said, leaning against her desk, “that was brutal. Abelina Dominga. Sounds like you were born seventy years old.”

“Say it again and I’ll throw this mango pit,” Abbie muttered, holding up the sticky evidence of her snack.

“At least your name is memorable,” Joey said, grinning. “People forget Joey Abelardo five seconds after I introduce myself.”

“That’s because you’re boring,” Abbie shot back, though her lips twitched.

Pia finally spoke, voice low. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t dragged you to pick mangoes—”

“Don’t apologize,” Abbie said quickly. “Mangoes are worth it. Sports meets aren’t.”

“Says the girl who just got compared to Roxanne the Radiant,” Joey said, smirking.

Abbie groaned. “Roxanne the Radiant. Roxanne the Perfect. Roxanne the Human Halo. One day this town will probably build her a statue.”

Joey’s grin softened, dreamier. “I’d volunteer to polish it every day.”

Pia groaned. “Here we go again.”

Abbie grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Of course you would. Do us a favor and stop drooling over someone seven years older than you.”

“Love knows no age,” Joey declared, hand on his chest like a knight swearing an oath.

“Love knows you’re delusional,” Abbie shot back. “Every guy in Camalig likes my sister. You’re not special.”

“Even so, I’ll gladly line up,” Joey said, wagging a finger.

Abbie laughed despite herself. “You’re pathetic.”

“Pathetically in love,” Joey said without shame. “And you know what, Abbie? You should be proud. If Roxanne’s an angel, then you’re… uh…”

“A footnote,” Abbie offered dryly.

“A sidekick,” Pia said, bumping her shoulder. “And every hero needs one.”

The word twisted in her chest sharper than it should. Sidekick. Exactly the role she’d been living all along.

But she didn’t let it show. She pulled on her crooked grin like armor. “Fine. Sidekick today. Give me a few years. I might surprise you.”

They walked out together, laughter trailing behind them, but the echo of Mrs. Vergara’s words clung to her like a second skin.

Shadow or a student worth remembering?

She didn’t know yet. But the question followed her into the sunlight, heavy and unshakable.