Crossing

Chapter Three

Dinner at the Arcilla house always came with rice, side dishes of politics, and a main course of comparison. Tonight was no different.

Her father sat at the head of the long dining table, barong still crisp like he hadn’t breathed in it all day, phone buzzing every few minutes with council messages. Mayor Martin Arcilla, ruling even from his seat, even with his fork halfway to his mouth.

Across from him, her mother shimmered. Silk blouse, pale pink nails, matching lipstick. Crizelda never dressed down, not even in her own dining room. Always ready for cameras that weren’t there. That was her gift.

Abbie sat across, picking at her rice, trying to make herself invisible between the silverware and crystal glasses.

It started the way it always did.

“I spoke to Roxanne this morning,” her mother said, voice glowing. “She’s nearly finished with her thesis. Her professor says she shows so much potential. Imagine, twenty-one and already proving herself as a future leader in business.”

Her father’s chest expanded like he’d built Roxanne himself. “That’s my Angelie. Carrying our name to greater heights.”

The name dropped into Abbie’s stomach like a stone. Roxanne Angelie. The perfect syllables for the perfect daughter. Condo in Manila, private school, professors lining up to sing her praises. She was the crown jewel polished daily.

And then there was Abbie. Still in Camalig. Still fourteen. Still the afterthought.

Her father finally looked up, as if remembering she existed. “And you, Abbie? How’s school?”

She toyed with her fork. “Fine.”

“Fine?” The word snapped sharp. “You can’t be fine. You’re an Arcilla. People expect more.”

Of course they did. People expected the mayor’s daughter to shine, not scrape by.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, lashes low and dangerous. “That reminds me. I got a call from Mrs. Vergara today.”

The fork slipped from Abbie’s hand and clattered against her plate. Her heart sank.

“You cut your responsibilities at the sports meet?” Crizelda’s lips tightened. “Is that how a daughter of this family should behave?”

Her father put his utensils down with a sound louder than it needed to be. “Skipping school duties? Do you know what people will say? That the mayor’s own daughter is lazy. Undisciplined. Do you think I need that kind of scandal?”

Scandal. She almost laughed. Like missing a sports meet would end up on the evening news.

“We just… didn’t want to be water girls,” she muttered.

“Water girls or not,” Martin snapped, “you show up. You do the work. Roxanne never embarrassed us like this.”

There it was. The name. Sharp as a slap.

Her jaw locked. Her chest burned. “Of course Roxanne didn’t,” she said, bitterness bleeding through. “Roxanne’s perfect. Roxanne’s always perfect.”

The air went still. Her mother’s fork hovered midair, dripping sauce back onto the plate.

“Don’t be envious of your sister,” Crizelda said, voice cool as glass. “It doesn’t suit you. Learn from her. She makes us proud. She carries our name with dignity. You should do the same.”

Abbie forced a crooked smile, the only weapon she had left. “Sure. I’ll try harder.”

The words scratched her throat on the way out. They tasted like ash when they landed.