Match day
Friday,
Match day.
The air felt heavier.
Not from the clouds—sky was spotless, sun already slicing across the bleachers—but from the weight of it all. From the expectations. The pressure. The heartbeat that hummed beneath every shoe on concrete.
Riverbend felt like a dam about to crack.
And in the middle of it—
Ling walked through the courtyard like a storm cloaked in discipline.
Black joggers. Team hoodie unzipped just enough to reveal the crop top beneath. A flash of her abs as she slung her gear bag higher on her shoulder. Jaw locked. Eyes unreadable.
She didn’t speak.
Not to the security guard who opened the gym doors.
Not to the sophomore who greeted her with a nervous, “Good luck, Captain.”
Not even to Junji or Milk, who exchanged a look behind her back.
“Yup,” Milk whispered. “She’s in full ice queen mode.”
“Orm,” Junji whispered back.
“Definitely Orm.”
And across the campus, just beyond the east wing stairwell—
Orm felt it too.
She stood by the trophy case, arms folded, hair slicked into a perfect ponytail, lips pressed into a line that had nothing to do with cheer practice.
Tess handed her a bottle of water. “You okay?”
Orm nodded once.
But she didn’t look up.
Because she felt it—Ling’s presence. Like heat. Like gravity. Like the quiet promise of something that used to be hers but now stood just out of reach.
“She’s headed to the locker room,” Kary said quietly from beside her.
Orm didn’t reply.
Didn’t have to.
Because her pulse had already answered for her.
“Do you want me to trip her?” Kary asked lightly. “Accidentally. Emotionally.”
Orm exhaled through her nose. “She’s not the enemy.”
“No,” Tess muttered. “But she’s clearly still in your head.”
“And you’re still in hers,” Kary added. “You should’ve seen the way she glared at your name on the stadium schedule this morning. Thought the sign was gonna catch fire.”
Orm looked down.
Her fingers had curled into fists.
Just briefly.
Because today wasn’t just game day.
It was the first game day since the beginning of… everything.
And Ling?
Ling hadn’t looked at her once this week without looking away even faster.
But today… they’d have to share a field.
Share a stadium. A sky.
And whether they liked it or not— They would be seen.
Cleats slammed into tile. Music pulsed from the corner speaker. The team was already buzzing.
“Pads ready!” Coach snapped. “Let’s go! It’s all eyes on us today!”
Ling stood in front of the mirror, wrapping her wrist tape tighter than usual. Her reflection looked sharp. Steady.
But behind her eyes?
Fury.
Not at the game.
Not even at herself.
At the silence.
At the way she still searched for Orm in every reflection—hallway windows, practice field bleachers, cafeteria doors.
And at the fact that she hadn’t gotten one word. Not one.
Junji passed behind her, gave her a once-over. “You look like you’re about to start a war.”
Ling muttered, “Maybe I am.”
Milk peeked in from the hallway. “Heads up. The cheer squad’s here early. I saw Tess doing her scary splits already.”
Junji raised an eyebrow. “Did you see Orm?”
“Yup.”
Junji turned to Ling. “You wanna—?”
“No.”
It came out faster than she meant. Sharper. She looked down, flexed her fingers, rolled her neck.
“I want to win.”
Junji’s voice lowered. “That’s not the only thing you want.”
Ling didn’t respond. She couldn’t.
Because wanting Orm felt dangerous today. Like stepping too close to the edge of something already cracking.
And Ling? She didn’t have time to fall.
Not before kickoff.
_______
The crowd was building. Banners waved. Students chanted. The hum of a thousand voices filled the afternoon air like electricity.
Orm stood near the edge of the track, shaking out her arms. Her white-and-blue uniform clung tight to her frame, ponytail high and precise, lip gloss subtle. She looked like every cheer captain should—commanding, composed, unshakable.
But inside?
She was spiraling.
Her eyes weren’t on the crowd.
Not the judges. Not the other schools. Not even her own squad gathering behind her.
They were on the far end of the field. Where the football team was stretching.
Where cleats pounded turf. Where the girl with the braid and the golden skin and the six-pack abs—
Ling.
Orm’s breath caught when she spotted her. Standing near the benches, adjusting her gloves, lips pressed tight in that way she always did when she was trying not to feel anything.
God, she was beautiful. God, she looked angry. And God, Orm needed to talk to her.
Just a word.Just a second.She stepped forward, about to move across the grass before the halftime show—
“Orm.”
The voice froze her in place.
Low. Cold. Familiar.
She turned slowly.
And there he was.
Her father.
In a crisp grey suit, standing by the entrance to the VIP tent, sunglasses pushed back on his head, arms folded.
“Dad?” she said, caught off-guard. “You’re… here?”
“Of course I’m here,” he said smoothly. “A game this important? With all the right people in attendance? I’d be a fool to miss it.”
Her stomach twisted.
Because her father never came to games.
Never cared about cheer, or sports, or her title. He came to galas. To boardrooms. To interviews. Not this.
He stepped closer, tone casual—but laced with ice.
“You see the recruiter up there?” he asked, nodding toward the bleachers.
Orm followed his gaze. A tall man. Late forties. Sharp blazer. Leaning forward with a clipboard in his lap, watching the football warmups like a hawk.
“That’s Sam Watson,” her father said. “We went to Yale together. Played squash on the same team.
Orm blinked. “Okay…”
“I spoke with him earlier,” her father added, his voice suddenly too smooth. “Told him I’d heard interesting things about a certain quarterback this season.”
Orm’s pulse stuttered.
Her father looked at her then—flat and unreadable.
“You know, the kind of girl who’s talented enough to carry her team but reckless enough to lose her place if she lets her emotions interfere.”
She stared at him. Blood roaring in her ears.
No.
No.
“Dad,” she whispered. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything, of course,” he went on, tone perfectly measured. “Wouldn’t want to damage her reputation before she’s officially evaluated. Just… made sure Sam understood the type of character Riverbend fosters.”
“What does that mean?” Orm asked, voice sharp. Fear sliding beneath every word.
Her father smiled faintly. “It means I’m invested in your future. And in controlling the variables that affect it.”
Then—he looked at her one last time. Cold. Final.
“Do your job. Put on a good show.”
And just like that—
He turned and walked off toward the stands.
Orm couldn’t breathe.
Not because of the performance ahead. Not because of the crowd or the lights or the pressure.
Because he was threatening her.
Threatening Ling.
He knew the recruiter. He’d already planted seeds. He was watching everything.
She turned back toward the field—
And across the green, Ling stood in the sunlight, taking a sip from her bottle, eyes darting toward the track like she’d felt something.
Orm couldn’t move. Couldn’t yell. Couldn’t cross that grass and warn her.
Not now.
So she swallowed it down.
Steeled her spine.
And walked back to her squad.
Face sharp. Eyes hard.
But inside?
She was shaking. The whistle blew.
Football team cleared the field.
And the announcer’s voice cut through the buzz of the crowd:
“Now presenting your Riverbend Spirit Squad—led by captain Orm Kornnaphat!”
Cheers exploded.
Pom-poms shimmered. Music started.
But on the bench, Ling didn’t move.
Her water bottle rested on her thigh, forgotten. Her gloves were half-peeled off. Her braid clung to her back with sweat, but she didn’t feel the heat anymore.
She was too busy staring.
At Orm.
Because Ling had seen it. The man in the grey suit. The way he stopped her. The way Orm stood too still afterward, like a glass ballerina forced into place.
And when he walked off?
Ling had seen Orm’s jaw tighten. The slight tremble in her shoulders.
Something was wrong.
Something deep. But Orm didn’t flinch now.
She stepped onto the field like she owned it. Like the turf bowed beneath her cleats. Her uniform caught the sunlight, crisp and blinding, hair tied high, lashes dark against sharp eyes.
Ling held her breath.
Because whatever just happened—Orm wasn’t carrying it in fear.
She was channeling it into war.
_______
The music kicked. Bass pulsed.
And Orm moved.
Not like a captain. Like a weapon.
Each jump was razor-sharp. Every tumble? Landed with force.
When she hit the center for the group lift, her arms locked with Tess’s, and the entire crowd gasped as they threw their flyer into a triple-twist aerial—something the squad hadn’t debuted yet.
The stadium exploded.
Junji, still on the bench beside Ling, blinked. “Holy—”
Milk choked on her water. “Did she just invent gravity and then disrespect it?”
Orm didn’t look at the crowd once.
She didn’t need to.
She knew they were watching.
She wanted them to watch.
Her full split jump was liquid lightning. Her solo tumbling pass? Perfect. Like her fury had taken shape, flipped mid-air, and landed to applause.
When she hit the final pose—arms up, ponytail whipped sideways, chest heaving—
The entire field roared.
Even the opposing team clapped.
Even the damn recruiter stood up to see better.
And Ling?
Ling couldn’t move.
Her heart was slamming into her ribs.
Because she had never seen Orm like this.
Powerful. Untouchable. So sharp and bright it hurt to look.
Around her, girls whispered—
“Who is she?”
“God, her legs—”
“She’s unreal.”
“She’s dangerous.”
Ling didn’t speak.
She couldn’t.
Because Orm was all the things they were saying and more.
And none of them knew— That under all that shine and fire and precision—
She was breaking.
And still shining through it.
For Ling?
It was unbearable.
She wanted to scream.
To run to her.
To wrap Orm in her arms, pull her off the field, whisper you don’t have to be this strong alone.
But Orm wasn’t looking at her.
Not even once. Not when she bowed.
Not when the crowd chanted her name.
Not when she walked off, chest still rising with adrenaline.
She just kept walking—
Like she hadn’t just set the stadium on fire.
Like she wasn’t trying to tell Ling something without saying a single word.
____
The team was buzzing.
Ling walked down the hallway with her helmet tucked under her arm, sweat clinging to her neck, adrenaline humming in her veins. The roar of the halftime crowd still echoed faintly behind her. But inside?
Everything felt quiet.
They were winning.
Scoreboard read 17–10. Her passes had been clean. One touchdown. One assist. Her focus sharp, her play even sharper. Coach had clapped her on the shoulder after the second quarter.
“Keep that energy, Kwong. This is your field today.”
She should’ve felt unstoppable.
But every second of halftime had been a storm under her skin.
Not because of the game.
Because of Orm.
She hadn’t meant to look.
Hadn’t meant to stare.
But God—how could she not?
The way Orm moved. The way she exploded onto the field. It wasn’t a performance—it was a message. A flare. And Ling heard it.
And it hurt.
Because it was the most breathtaking thing she’d ever seen.
And Orm hadn’t even glanced at her.
Not once.
Junji nudged her with a Gatorade bottle as they stepped into the locker room. “Hey. Captain. Come back to Earth.”
Ling blinked. “I’m here.”
Milk plopped onto the bench nearby. “We’re winning. You’re slaying. Can you at least smile like you’re not planning a murder?”
Ling gave the smallest smirk. “It’s game face.”
“Girl, your game face looks like grief,” Junji muttered.
Ling didn’t respond.
Because she couldn’t lie to them. Not anymore.
She dropped onto the bench, rested her helmet between her knees, and exhaled slowly.
The halftime show was over.
The cheers had quieted.
But Orm hadn’t moved.
She was still in full uniform, pom-poms loose in her grip, squad lined behind her as the football team filed back onto the field.
Ling among them.
Helmet under her arm. Sleeveless jersey clinging to sweat-slicked skin. Abs flexing with every stride. Head held high.
Orm’s stomach twisted.
She hadn’t looked back.
Not once.
Tess was leading the chant now—sharp, loud, focused. Kary mirrored the motions beside Orm but didn’t miss the way she wasn’t shouting. Wasn’t jumping. Wasn’t even pretending to care about the rhythm.
She was locked in place. Watching number 11.
Watching Ling.
“You gonna blink, or are we staying here until you set her on fire with your eyes?” Kary muttered between cheers, barely moving her lips.
Orm didn’t flinch. “Focus on the routine.”
“I am focused,” Kary said. “Focused on the fact that you’ve been vibrating since your dad showed up and now you’re standing here like your entire chest cracked open.”
Tess chimed in from the other side, not missing a beat. “We all saw the way he cornered you. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Orm said automatically. Too fast.
Kary scoffed. “That’s rich.”
“Let it go, Kary.”
“No.”
Orm turned her head slightly, glare sharp. “We’re in front of everyone.”
Kary just tilted her head, smug. “So you can still glare. Good to know you’re alive in there.”
Orm looked away. Back toward the field.
Ling had her gloves on now. One hand gripping her mouthguard, shoulders rolling back as she locked into position near the huddle. Every movement she made was clean. Composed.
But Orm knew her too well.
She saw the tension in her arms. The way her jaw flexed when the coach barked orders. The way her gaze skimmed past the cheer line without stopping.
Like she wanted to look.
But wouldn’t let herself.
Orm swallowed hard.
The pom-poms shook in her grip.
“She’s doing her job,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
Kary heard it. And she softened.
“Yeah,” she said. “But so are you. And that doesn’t mean it’s not allowed to hurt.”
Orm didn’t reply.
She just squared her shoulders. Took one deep breath.
And raised her pom-poms.
Because the second half had started.
And she was still captain.
Even if her heart was in the stands.
Or maybe on the field.
Or maybe still trapped in the message she didn’t send last night.
________
The whistle shrieked.
The game was back on.
Ling stepped onto the turf like a shadow unchained—shoulders squared, chin lifted, braid tight, and sweat already slick across her temples. Her heart was hammering, but not from fear. From everything else.
Orm hadn’t looked at her once.
Even after that firestorm of a halftime performance. Even after that lingering tension outside the VIP tent.
Not once.
But now— Ling didn’t have time to feel it.
Because she had a field to dominate. A team to lead. And the eyes of Sam Watson, national recruiter, trained directly on her.
She dropped her helmet into place and barked the snap.
Game face. Game fire. Game war.
From the bleachers, Sam Watson didn’t look away.
Not for a second.
The pen in his hand tapped twice against his clipboard as Ling sprinted down the line, her throw arcing perfectly into the hands of her wide receiver—who crashed through the opposing defense for another twenty yards.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath.
“Impressive, isn’t she?” said the voice beside him.
He turned.
Mr. Kornnaphat had slipped into the seat beside him, sunglasses now off, suit jacket immaculate.
“We’ve met before,” he said smoothly. “At the Deering Gala. I told you I’d keep an eye on the strong players in my daughter’s school.”
Sam glanced at him, barely polite. “She’s not your daughter, is she?”
The man blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“The quarterback,” Sam clarified. “Number 11.”
Kornnaphat froze—only for a beat.
“No,” he said. “That’s not my daughter. But she is… close to my family.”
Sam’s eyes were back on the field. Ling had just called another snap. Her entire body moved like it was built for this—legs cutting through defense, arm launching a spiral dead center to the twenty-yard line.
“She’s more than close to greatness,” Sam said. “She is it.”
Mr. Kornnaphat said nothing.
Because something in that tone? Did not sound negotiable.
Orm stood frozen in her pose. Arms up. Smile razor-sharp. Voice loud when it needed to be.
But her eyes?
They were locked on the field.
On Ling.
And she was destroying it.
Breaking tackles. Throwing impossible passes. Barking orders that even the other team seemed to obey. The crowd was screaming her name like it was already printed on a college jersey.
“God,” Tess whispered, breathless. “She’s unstoppable today.”
“Like… terrifying,” added one of the freshmen. “I think I’m in love.”
Kary muttered, “You and half the planet.”
Orm didn’t speak.
But her throat was tight.
Because this— This was Ling’s moment.
And Orm had never wanted to kiss her and scream for her and cry for her all at once more than she did right now.
Then she saw it.
A girl on the opposing squad—tall, fast, aggressive—slammed shoulder-first into Ling mid-pass. It was a legal hit. But hard.
Ling went down.
The pass still landed.
But her body rolled twice before she caught herself, popping up a second later like nothing had happened.
Orm didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Until Ling turned, helmet still on, and looked directly at her.
For half a second. Their eyes locked.
A beat.
A pulse.
Then Ling turned away again—back to the game.
Kary whispered, “I’m gonna punch your dad.”
Orm still couldn’t speak.
Because that one look?
It had wrecked her.
And somehow put her back together all at once.
Mr. Kornnaphat did not clap.
His fingers were steepled in front of his mouth. His jaw was clenched tight. And the fire burning behind his eyes wasn’t pride.
It was control slipping away.
Sam Watson, on the other hand, was standing now. Fully. Notes forgotten in his lap. One hand on the railing. His attention laser-focused on number 11, still catching her breath on the field.
“That girl,” he muttered to no one in particular, “was built for pressure.”
Mr. Kornnaphat didn’t speak.
Sam glanced sideways. “You tried to warn me off her.”
The man’s sunglasses were back on now. His expression unreadable. “I offered context.”
Sam let out a short, humorless laugh. “You offered manipulation.”
“I offered reality,” Mr. Kornnaphat corrected smoothly. “The girl’s unstable. Impulsive. Prone to distraction. She’s not suited for long-term pressure.”
Sam nodded slowly. “You’re wrong.”
“She’s not legacy.”
“She doesn’t need legacy,” Sam shot back, eyes still on the field. “She is the legacy.”
For the first time all game— Mr. Kornnaphat didn’t have a comeback.
Because in front of them, Ling straightened.
Raised her arm.
And pointed to her team—commanding them into formation like a general.
She didn’t need his approval.
She was building her own empire.
Orm’s hands were trembling.
She kept them raised. Kept her smile bright. Kept her cheers loud enough to echo.
But inside?
She was falling apart.
Because she knew what she had just witnessed.
Not just a game. Not just a touchdown. Not even brilliance.
It was Ling—unleashed.
Unstoppable. Untouchable.
God, she had never wanted to cry and scream and run to her more than she did right now.
She didn’t know if she wanted to kiss her or fall at her feet.
“She’s not human,” Tess muttered, awed. “She’s a damn storm.”
Kary, eyes sharp, added, “A storm who’s about to get scouted by someone who’s definitely writing her ticket out of here.”
Orm felt her throat close.
Because of course she was.
Of course Ling would be the one to make it out. To rise. To leave.
And what was Orm doing?
Smiling through a cracked mask while her father sat five rows up, watching her life with crossed arms and a smirk that screamed I warned you.
Her heart was still beating too fast.
Her eyes were wet—and she couldn’t even blame the wind.
Because Ling had looked at her.
Just for a second.
And it had nearly ruined her.
Then her gaze lifted—drawn like a curse.
To the VIP row.
To him.
Her father.
Still watching.
Still seated.
Still smug.
And suddenly, the field didn’t feel safe anymore.
Suddenly, she wasn’t on a team.
She was back in a cage.
_________________
The football locker room was chaos.
Cleats hit tile. Towels were flying. Victory music thumped from someone’s portable speaker—probably Milk’s. Everyone shouted over one another, sweat-soaked and smiling like they’d just walked off a battlefield with a crown.
Ling sat at her locker, helmet between her knees, hands braced on her thighs as the adrenaline still surged like electricity through her veins.
Her braid was loose, cheeks flushed, and her sports bra clung to her chest like a second skin. She hadn’t even changed yet—hadn’t moved since walking in—because her legs still felt like jelly and her mind—
Her mind was full of Orm.
The way she’d looked when Ling caught that half-second glance during the fourth quarter. The crack in her usually perfect smile. The shimmer in her eyes. The pride Ling thought she’d lost in that girl’s gaze… back again like sunlight after winter.
And God.
God, she missed her.
Behind her, Junji shoved a bottle of water into her hand. “Drink or die, Kwong.”
Ling blinked. “What?”
“You haven’t moved in ten minutes. I thought you were having a vision.”
“I was,” Ling said, cracking the cap. “And she was wearing blue and holding pom-poms.”
Milk cackled from across the room. “Your gay panic is showing.”
Junji smirked. “Not panic. Hope.”
ON the other side, cheer squad was glowing.
Everyone was still in partial uniform, glitter half-smeared, hair half-undone. Ponytails swished. Hugs flew in every direction. Laughter spilled out like confetti.
Orm sat on the bench, legs crossed, face buried in a towel for a second too long.
She wasn’t crying.
Not exactly.
She was just… overwhelmed.
Everything had gone perfect. The routine. The pyramid. The chants. Their timing had never been tighter. Their rhythm had never hit so hard.
And Ling?
Ling had killed it.
Orm had watched her burn through the turf like she was born to lead the charge of gods.
She had never looked more beautiful.
And more out of reach.
Until—
Kary yanked her towel away.
“Come on, lovergirl,” she grinned. “We’re heading down. Coach said we can walk through the main hall to the after-area—grab snacks, team pics, all that glory stuff.”
Orm blinked. “Wait… now?”
Tess looped her arm through Orm’s and started pulling. “You’re not gonna sit here and sulk while the rest of the school chants your name.”
“I—”
“No,” Kary interrupted, spinning her. “You’re coming. You’re glowing. And if the football team doesn’t start a Ling Kwong shrine by midnight, I will.”
Orm laughed—nervous, real, still dazed.
And then?
They opened the hallway doors.
It was like the floodgates had burst.
Players and cheerleaders, tangled in sweat and glitter, spilled into the corridor with echoes of laughter, water bottles, chants and impromptu conga lines.
Ling walked out of her hall just as Orm walked out of hers.
Time stopped. They weren’t even ten feet apart.
Junji had an arm around Ling’s shoulders. Kary was draped over Orm’s.
Music thumped faintly from somewhere in the background.
But it didn’t matter.
Because Ling saw her.
And smiled. Really smiled.
So wide her cheeks hurt.
And Orm?
Her breath hitched.
She didn’t even realize she was stepping forward until Kary let go. Until Ling was running.
Fast.
Straight across the chaos.
Orm gasped—but then—arms.
Ling’s arms. Wrapping tight around her waist, lifting her up like she weighed nothing, spinning her full-circle in the air.
Orm shrieked in surprise, her sneakers dangling a foot off the ground, chest colliding against Ling’s.
“L-Ling?! What are you—”
“I’m sorry but I missed you,” Ling said breathlessly, voice cracking against Orm’s ear. “I missed you so damn much and today is my day so….”
When she set her down—
There was no hesitation.
No glance around. No fear.
Ling’s hands cupped Orm’s face.
And she kissed her.
In the middle of the hall.
In front of everyone.
She kissed her like it had been years. Like she’d been drowning all week and this was air. Like Orm was the only thing left worth running toward.
Orm’s knees almost gave out.
But her hands grabbed Ling’s wrists, lips parting with a soft, desperate gasp—because everything she’d held in broke.
She kissed her back.
Harder. Fuller.
Like her life depended on it.
The cheers around them turned into shouts.
Junji screamed, “FINALLY.”
Milk howled.
Tess actually dropped her water bottle and yelled, “CAPTAIN LOVERS, LET’S GO!”
Orm pulled back just enough to whisper, breathless, “That was so gay.”
Ling grinned against her lips. “I.. I am sorry.”
And then—without letting go—Orm kissed her again, feeling full.
Ling still hadn’t let go of Orm’s hand.
They were locked into this tiny world of breathless whispers and lingering touches—heartbeats pressed so close together it was impossible to tell whose was whose.
Orm’s lips still tingled.
Ling’s braid had started to come loose. Glitter from Orm’s cheek had transferred onto Ling’s jaw. They looked like chaos and victory and something real.
“You’re glowing,” Orm whispered, thumb brushing the line of Ling’s cheekbone.
Ling leaned in, forehead pressed against hers. “That’s because you kissed me back.”
Orm chuckled softly, her laugh muffled against Ling’s collarbone. “I didn’t think you’d—”
“I didn’t think either,” Ling said. “I just… ran to you when I saw you that close, I couldn’t resist.”
A pause.
Then quieter: “I had to.”
Orm closed her eyes. Her hands gripped Ling’s jersey like she’d disappear if she let go.
And then— A sharp voice broke the air:
“Kwong.”
Ling’s head snapped toward the sound.
Coach Narit stood at the far end of the hall. Serious. Arms crossed. His usual calm expression tight with something unreadable.
“Now.”
Ling’s heart dropped half an inch. She blinked. “Coach—?”
He gave her a look. That kind of look that meant no arguments.
Orm started to pull away. “You should go—”
“No,” Ling said quickly, turning back. “Wait for me. Please.”
Orm hesitated—then nodded once. “Okay.”
Ling gave her hand one final squeeze.
And she walked.
Each step heavier than the last.
_________
The hallway outside still echoed with laughter.
But inside, it was dead silent.
Ling sat on the edge of the office chair, damp braid over her shoulder, heart thudding way too hard for someone who’d just won.
Coach Narit closed the door. Folded his arms.
Then he sat across from her, his voice low. Serious.
“You’ve got a call coming.”
Ling blinked. “What?”
He slid a folder across the desk.
The letterhead was clean. Elegant. And unmistakably American.
University of Southern California – Women’s Football Program
Division I | Early Selection Trial Invite
Ling’s mouth went dry.
Coach spoke again. Slower this time. “Sam Watson pulled strings. Made some calls. They want you to fly out for a trial month—training, evaluation, team dynamics. You’d leave in three weeks. If all goes well… scholarship. Full ride.”
Silence.
Ling stared at the page.
It wasn’t sinking in. Not fully. Not yet.
She felt like her body was moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Like this was some dream version of her life—a version where the little girl who used to sleep in a shared apartment with Leo, eating rice and egg five nights a week, suddenly mattered.
Coach added, “It’s not public yet. But it will be. You’ll need to prep. Film reels. Interviews. Clearance from your guardian. It’s fast, Ling. But it’s real.”
Ling finally looked up.
And whispered, “She’s not going to be there when I come back, is she?”
Coach frowned. “What?”
Ling shook her head, eyes glassy. “Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
Because as her heart soared, it also cracked. Because her first thought wasn’t Leo. Wasn’t Coach. Wasn’t even USC.
It was Orm.
And the sudden, aching realization that Orm might not be there when she got back. That she might never get her back. Or get her at all for that matter.
__________
Orm had been pacing.
Just once.
Just twice.
Back and forth in front of the trophy case with the photo of last year’s Spirit Squad win still glinting behind glass. Ling’s laughter still echoed down the hallway in Orm’s memory, from months ago, when they took that picture together, before it was printed and framed, before everything got so—complicated.
Her hand went to her phone.
No messages.
Just as her thumb hovered over Ling’s contact—she heard it.
That unmistakable voice.
Cold. Rich. And wrong.
“Enough waiting.”
She froze.
Turned.
Her father stood at the end of the hallway.
Not in a rush. Not angry.
Just there.
Like he’d always been. Like a shadow following her, even in places she thought she could breathe.
“Father,” she said slowly, straightening.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like he owned the floor beneath them.
“There’s nothing left for you here tonight.”
“I’m waiting for someone.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “No, you’re not.”
A pause.
Then—
“She’s leaving for America you know.”
The words hit like a blow.
Right to the chest.
“What?” Orm’s voice cracked.
“I overheard the recruiter.” His tone was low, even. Dangerously calm. “She has a tryout in Los Angeles next month. Early selection. Watson was right—she is something rare.”
Orm didn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Her father stepped closer. “I imagine she didn’t tell you yet. Interesting. Says a lot, doesn’t it?”
Orm’s lips parted—but she couldn’t find words.
“Let her go, Orm,” he continued, his voice turning colder now. “This school romance is done. She’s going where she belongs—far from here. Far from you.”
Orm’s fists clenched. “She—she —”
“She didn’t choose you yes, keep this in mind” he cut in. “And she won’t. Not when she sees what the world can give her.”
Her throat burned.
Tears stung, but she wouldn’t cry here. Not in front of him.
He glanced at her phone, still in her hand. “I’ll give you one mercy. One kindness.”
A beat.
“Come home with me now, quietly—and I won’t make this ugly.”
He turned sharply. Gestured for Harley, who emerged from the corner, phone already in hand, car waiting outside.
Orm gave the hallway one last look.
And whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Then she followed her father into the dark.
Ling burst through the doors like the air inside the building had turned toxic.
Her braid whipped behind her. Her boots slapped hard against the tile. Her heart was racing—a different kind of high from the game, this one sharp, anxious, pounding behind her ribs like it couldn’t escape fast enough.
She looked left. Then right.
Nothing.
“Orm?” she called, breath catching.
Silence.
No blue and gold uniform. No glittered skin. No shadow of the girl who’d just been in her arms, smiling like they were the only two people in the world.
“Orm?!”
Her voice echoed—but there was no answer.
Ling turned, scanned again. The hallway was empty now. Swept clean of celebration, of sound. Even the doors to the cheer corridor were shut.
She ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers trembled. She checked her phone. Nothing.
Not a text.
Not a missed call.
Just a gut-punching quiet.
Her feet backed her into the wall beside the trophy case. She stared at the place Orm had stood—waited—just twenty minutes ago.
And she whispered, “No, no, no…”
Footsteps came from behind.
Fast.
Then—
“Ling!”
Milk and Junji appeared from the end of the hallway, still flushed from celebration, but faces tightening as soon as they saw her.
Milk slowed. “She’s gone.”
Ling looked up. “What?”
Junji stepped forward. “We saw her leave. About ten minutes ago. She didn’t say anything.”
Milk’s jaw tightened. “Her father was with her.”
Ling felt the floor shift under her.
Junji nodded, voice gentler now. “He came in through the side lot. Harley too. We didn’t get close.”
Ling shook her head, eyes wide. “She told me… She said she’d wait.”
Junji exchanged a look with Milk. “I don’t think it was her choice, babe.”
“She left me again?” Ling’s voice cracked. “Just like that?”
Milk frowned. “It didn’t look… peaceful. Her face was pale as hell.”
Junji put a hand on Ling’s arm. “What happened with Coach? What did he say?”
Ling opened her mouth. Closed it again.
She blinked fast. “He said… I have a tryout. In the States. USC. One month from now.”
Silence.
Milk’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”
Junji sucked in a breath. “That’s huge, Ling.”
“I didn’t even say yes,” Ling whispered. “I didn’t get a chance to tell her. I ran back here. I thought she’d still be here.”
She laughed—but it was hollow.
“She told me to go and I did,” Ling said, voice shaking now. “And when I finally came back—”
“She was not looking great Ling, don’t spiral” Junji finished quietly.
Ling nodded, hands curling into fists at her sides.
Milk pulled her into a hug without another word.
Junji held her other side.
And in the middle of a hallway still vibrating with echoes of cheers, Ling stood—heartbreaking in silence, the memory of Orm’s kiss still hot on her lips, and her victory suddenly tasting like nothing at all.
______
The chandelier outside her window flickered in the hallway. The house was quiet now. Too quiet.
No staff footsteps. No distant clatter of crystal against marble. Not even Harley’s usual soft rounds.
Orm sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, laptop balanced on her knees, the blue light reflecting off her bare cheekbones. Her makeup was gone. Her uniform folded. Her heart?
Somewhere on the field still. Or maybe back in that hallway where Ling kissed her like they still had forever.
She hadn’t cried.
Not yet.
She didn’t know if she would.
She was too focused.
Her browser had seven tabs open—Columbia, Yale, Stanford, NYU, Georgetown, UCLA, and USC.
The top law schools in America.
Each page scrolled under her fingertips with a kind of desperation that didn’t quite reach her face. Her movements were precise. Controlled. But her breath trembled each time she typed her name into an application field.
“Full Name: Orm Kornnaphat.”
“Intended Major: International and Constitutional Law.”
She filled in scores. Awards. GPA. Letters her teachers had already written. She’d been prepping her file for years.
But she hadn’t planned to use it yet.
Until tonight.
Until the man who tried to control her reminded her just how easily he could rip her away—and how fast he would try to sever her from the one thing that had ever felt like hers.
Ling. Ling, who held her like she mattered. Ling, who kissed her like she was irreplaceable.
Ling, who didn’t come back—but not because she didn’t care. Because the world was moving fast. And Orm… wouldn’t let her face that world alone.
Her phone buzzed once. Then fell silent.
She didn’t check it.
Didn’t dare hope it was from her.
Instead, she opened the application page for USC—her hand paused only once, when it asked:
“Why do you want to join our program?”
Orm stared at the cursor.
Then typed, without thinking:
Because I believe in justice. And because someone I love showed me that some things are worth chasing across oceans.
She stopped. Erased the “someone I love” line. Replaced it with:
Because I want to fight for those who don't get to choose their own path. I want to be one of them, and then I want to make sure they never feel alone again.
She hit save.
Then sat back.
Exhaled. Finally.
And whispered to the dark:
“I’ll be here for you, Ling.”
Not to stop her. Not to hold her back.
But to meet her there. To love her,and Leo, like they deserve.
_________
The apartment was quiet.
Leo had fallen asleep hours ago—curled up under his soccer blanket with one hand still gripping the last red game piece from their board game night. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, a stuffed tiger tucked under his chin like always.
Ling didn’t have the heart to move it.
She stood in his doorway for a long moment, just watching. A soft smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She stepped back and closed the door with practiced silence.
Then padded down the narrow hall toward the kitchen.
The smell hit her first—ginger and jasmine rice.
Comfort.
Home.
“P’Noy,” Ling said softly, stepping into the kitchen where their longtime nanny stood in her old robe, barefoot, a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.
“I knew you didn’t eat,” P’Noy muttered, not turning around. “Finals, football, heartbreak—you’re always the same. Always forget the basics.”
Ling exhaled a laugh. “It’s not heartbreak.”
P’Noy turned around, one brow raised.
Ling looked down.
“Okay,” she muttered. “It’s a little heartbreak.”
P’Noy set the bowl down in front of her and pulled out a chair. “Sit. Before your bones turn to ash.”
Ling did.
The rice was warm. Soft. Exactly how it had tasted when she was six. When her parents had just died and the world had collapsed and P’Noy had been the one person who never asked her to smile when she couldn’t.
She took a bite.
Swallowed.
And whispered, “She left again.”
P’Noy didn’t ask who. She just reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Ling’s face.
“With her father,” Ling added. “He showed up. Took her. Just like that.”
P’Noy’s face softened. “That girl loves you.”
“She didn’t say goodbye.”
“She didn’t get the chance.”
Ling’s throat tightened.
“She always waited for me. Always. But these last few weeks, she’s been off, asking for distance” Her voice cracked. “It felt like everything we were—just got erased in a blink.”
P’Noy sat beside her now. Rested a weathered hand over Ling’s.
“I’ve known you since you were small,” she said. “Since your knees were scabbed and you cried over scraped pride and broken toys. And I’ve only ever seen you look at one person like this.”
Ling blinked fast. “I feel stupid.”
“You’re not. You’re just young. And in love. And scared.”
Ling nodded, eyes burning.
“She was the first person I ever wanted something real with. Not just flings or fun. I wanted to build something with her.”
“And that’s still possible sweetheart. But remember, her world is not the same as ours. It’s more complicated, more cold”
Ling looked up.
P’Noy’s eyes were kind, but firm.
“You’re both still learning,” she said. “But if it’s real? You’ll find your way back. Orm doesn’t come from softness. She doesn’t know how to ask for comfort the way you do. But she’s trying. I saw this girl with you and Leo, and she has a pure heart”
Ling wiped under her eye with the back of her hand. “I wish she had tried harder.”
“She probably wishes the same.”
A long silence.
Then Ling asked, “Do you think I should leave? For the trial?”
P’Noy didn’t hesitate. “Yes. You’d regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t.”
Ling nodded. “Even if it means leaving her behind?”
P’Noy squeezed her hand.
“Don’t think of it as leaving her. Think of it as walking ahead. And if she’s the right one, she’ll meet you there.”
Ling smiled, just barely. “You’re really good at this, you know.”
“I raised you a bit, didn’t I?”
Ling let herself laugh. A real one this time. Quiet. But whole.
She ate a few more bites in silence before whispering, almost to herself—
“I hope she still loves me.”
P’Noy didn’t answer.
She just reached over and gently rubbed Ling’s back.
And that was enough.
The room was dark, save for the soft gold glow of the city slipping through the curtains.
Ling lay on her side, one hand under her pillow, the other clutched to her chest like it was trying to hold in a secret too loud to silence.
She hadn’t changed out of her team hoodie. The one Orm tugged her into hours ago when she spun her around like nothing else existed.
That moment.
That kiss.
It hadn’t been planned.
It had just happened—like breath. Like instinct. Like gravity doing what it was made to do.
Ling hadn’t been able to stop herself.
She hadn’t wanted to.
Because that kiss?
It was everything.
It was weeks of tension and silence and stolen glances and aching in the pit of her stomach every time she saw Orm pretending like they hadn’t built a universe out of each other behind closed doors.
It was enough.
Enough waiting. Enough wondering.
Enough holding back.
And now… it was also all she had.
Because Orm was gone.
Again.
And Ling had no idea when—or if—she’d come back.
She rolled onto her back, eyes tracing the shadows across her ceiling.
She wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t even confused.
She knew why Orm had done it. Why she had pulled away before. Why she left now.
But that didn’t make it easier.
Because the truth was—
Ling would’ve stayed.
Ling would’ve fought.
Ling would’ve faced anything for her.
Even the world Orm was so afraid of dragging her into.
Her phone was beside her pillow. She unlocked it again.
No messages.
Just the last one she’d sent.
From weeks ago.
Left unread.
She closed her eyes.
But the kiss replayed behind her eyelids like a movie she couldn’t pause.
The way Orm had gasped softly into her mouth.
The way her hands trembled against Ling’s shoulders.
The way her lips chased Ling’s like they were finally allowed to want something for themselves.
Ling whispered into the dark:
“I’m not letting go this time.”
Whatever happens.
Whatever that man said to her.
Whatever storm was coming—
Ling was going to hold her ground.
Because Orm had once told her she was a fighter.
And now?
She was ready to fight for them.
Even if she had to chase her all the way to hell.