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By April, you are no longer first in the grade.
You tried, never skipped a day of school, never caused any trouble. But for the first time in four years, you rank second.
The list of the Top 50 seniors is taped onto the bulletin board, and everyone swarms around to take a look, even the kids who didn’t make the list. They’re not that interested in the scores, just wanting to see it with their own eyes. Whether Manon Bannerman really dropped to second place.
“Whoa, it’s real…”
“That’s insane. Thought she was unbeatable.”
“By 0.1 points…”
“Damn. That’s brutal!”
Your friends look at you with pity, assuming you’re salty, at least a little sad. You say nothing. Seeing that, they don’t dare mention the name of the person placed first, thinking it would hurt you more.
As soon as the bell rings, everyone is packed and ready. Your friends ask you to go home together. You decline.
“Hey, it’s fine, yeah? Try a bit harder next month.”
You nod and smile faintly, watching them leave one by one.
Except here’s the thing. You’re not sad at all.
You’re curious.
You stay silent the entire time because you’re waiting for the hallway to empty so you can check the list alone. You want to look without an audience.
The corridor is deserted when you finally stand in front of the board.
1. Sophia Elizabeth G. Laforteza – Homeroom 4 (Ms. Paramo)
Called it.
Ever since she transferred last month, people have been whispering about your impending “dethroning.” You share two classes with Sophia: Calculus and AP Art History. You’re wary of her. Academically, you’re evenly matched. Socially, she’s a chirpy bird on caffeine. No one ever thinks she’s new. She smiles, chats, and exists loudly with everyone.
You’re the opposite. You could know the answer perfectly and still never raise your hand. You’re painfully aware that people only know you for grades. No other talents. No charm. You admire—and resent—people who can just... talk.
You never dare to start conversations, but you always notice when she raises her hand.
You distinctly remember the two times she spoke to you. One greeting in the bathroom. One greeting in the library.
Not sure that even counts as talking. She greets everyone.
Okay. Maybe you are sad. But not because she’s better at studying. It’s because her existence forces you to think about your actual worth.
After a month of watching her, you’re afraid your admiration is being swallowed by insecurity. You’ve lived too comfortably. And the one thing you had control over after nearly four years of grinding—being first—just ended. That’s what hurts.
You stand frozen in front of the list, dragged into thoughts you’ve been avoiding. Your arms cross, pressing tightly against your chest. Shoulders raised, almost touching your ears as you take a *deep* breath.
Damn it! Now’s not the time to stress over this!!
“You’re not heading home yet?”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Is this a joke?
You spin around, lock eyes with Sophia for half a second, then immediately look away.
“S-Sophia? Uh… you’re not home yet either?”
“I forgot a book in my locker. You forgot something, too?”
She glances at the list in front of you. Your face turns tomato-red. You fumble for words. She smiled brightly at you, the squinty-eyed kind of smile.
“It’s about to rain. How are you getting home?”
omgwhyisshestilltalking???
“Bus. By bus.” Your hands start sweating. This is pathetic.
“Oh! Same!” She points at herself, cartoonishly cheerful. “You heading out now? Let’s go together!”
This one definitely counts as a conversation.
A few minutes into waiting, the rain started to drum on the roof of the bus stop. You frown, already knowing the bus will be late. Thankfully, Sophia stays quiet.
“Which stop do you get off at?”
Sigh.
“Canoga.”
“One stop after me.” She says it easily. You nod.
Conversation dead. Good.
You pray she doesn’t say anything else. Not because you dislike her. Your mind is still reeling from the identity crisis you had five-ish minutes ago.
And because… It’s Sophia.
You wouldn’t dare dream of standing this close to her. You put all your willpower into not glancing at her phone. Peripheral vision betrays you anyway: long nails, purple glitter polish, clicking softly against the screen.
Some unseen force pries your mouth open.
“Your nails are really pretty.”
She turns to you, slips one earbud out, and beams. “Thanks! I just got them done.”
Only now do you dare look at her properly. For more than a second.
Big eyes.
Full lips.
Long hair, perfectly neat, not a single strand out of place.
Is she even human?
The rain eases into a steady drizzle. You finally loosen up. Your hands stop strangling your backpack straps and lace together instead.
Beside you, Sophia stares down the road, lips moving to the song she’s listening to. A soft hum that's barely audible. But you can still catch the melody.
You turn to her. “What song is that?”
She tilts her phone toward you. “Oksihina. By Dionela.”
“Wanna listen?” She offers the other earbud. You hesitate for exactly one second, then take it. The song is gentle, calm. You don’t understand the words, but paired with the rain, the soft melody entraps you in stillness.
“It’s in Tagalog.”
“Tagalog.” You repeat, nodding as if you understand.
You stand there together, listening. Rain and music threading around you like something fragile.
“What does it mean?” you ask quietly.
“Uh… 'Oksihina' means oxygen. Like, you can’t live without the person you love. Loving someone unconditionally. That sort of stuff…” She laughs. “Kinda cheesy, huh?”
You shake your head. “I think… it makes sense.”
She looks at you, eyebrows lifting slightly. Not teasingly, just surprised.
The bus arrives, headlights tearing through the rain. You board together and sit side by side in the middle row. The atmosphere falls quiet because Sophia falls asleep almost immediately.
In the silence, you melt into the seat.
Too much has happened today.