In the warm afternoons of Lagonoy High School, the courts were alive with laughter, sneakers squeaking, and shouts of encouragement. The basketball team practiced under the sun, the volleyball players rallied on the opposite court, and the badminton team trained in the gym.
Among the second-year students, one boy stood tall and confident—Aika's kuya, Marco. A basketball varsity player with a loud laugh and a talent for reading people. His teasing was infamous, often directed at Jessa, the badminton captain, his classmate. He'd caught on quickly that one of her juniors—a wide-eyed first-year—had a massive crush on her. And Marco made it his mission to make her blush at least once a day.
"Oh? Jessa, your fan club's growing," he'd say as he casually leaned on the gym door, nodding toward the lovestruck boy wiping sweat from his forehead. "He nearly walked into a wall staring at you."
Jessa would roll her eyes, cheeks tinted pink. "Worry about your layups, Marco."
He laughed. "Don't worry, captain. I've got perfect aim—in basketball and teasing."
That week, during lunch break, Marco was pestering his sister Aika about her height again, jokingly leaning on her head as if she were furniture.
"Kuya! I'm growing!" Aika protested, swatting his hand away.
"Maybe by a centimeter or two every decade," Marco grinned.
As he laughed, his gaze wandered across the court and landed on a boy standing alone near the fence. The boy's eyes were on Aika, but when Marco noticed, the boy quickly looked away and walked off, a little too fast.
Marco tilted his head, piecing it together.
"Ah," he muttered to himself. "So that's what that was."
It wasn't long before practice began again. The team ran drills, and Marco was his usual energetic self, bouncing the ball, tossing quips, and directing plays. During a break, his basketball slipped from his fingers and rolled across the line into the volleyball court.
"Sorry about that!" he called, jogging after it.
But someone had already picked it up.
Captain of the volleyball team—Lara Dela Cruz. Second year. Tall, graceful, and fierce on the court. Marco's heart skipped. She smiled at him, brushing strands of hair behind her ear.
"Still losing your ball, Marco?" she teased.
"Only when I'm trying to get your attention," he said smoothly, grinning.
She snorted. "So that's your excuse now?"
Marco chuckled. Truth be told, he had liked Lara since first year. Her focus, her strength, the way she commanded attention without trying. He'd flirted, clumsily at first, then more confidently. Over time, they'd exchanged little talks between practice, short smiles, and once, a mango shake she bought him after he sprained his wrist.
And he noticed now—how her eyes lingered longer when they met his, how her smile felt warmer.
After returning to practice, his steps felt lighter.
The following days brought more of those little moments. Marco would linger by the volleyball court, towel around his neck, pretending to cool down.
"You just like standing where I can see you," Lara commented one afternoon.
"Guilty," he said. "But also, your serves are amazing."
She blushed slightly. "Flattery won't win tournaments."
"No, but maybe it'll win a heart?"
She didn't answer at first. Then, she looked at him with a playful smile. "Depends on who's serving."
Progress, Marco thought. Real progress.
By the end of the week, during one particularly quiet afternoon when the courts were emptying, Marco waited by the exit with two cold bottled drinks. When Lara finished packing up, he offered her one.
"Peace offering. For always stealing your time."
She took it, her fingers brushing his. "Accepted. But I wasn't complaining."
They sat on the court's edge, watching the sunset pour orange light over the hoops and nets.
"You really like teasing everyone," Lara said.
"It's how I connect," Marco admitted. "Helps me understand people better."
"Like that junior crushing on Jessa? Or the boy who looked heartbroken watching your sister?"
He blinked. "You noticed too?"
She nodded. "I notice things."
He smiled. "Then I hope you've noticed how I look at you."
She was quiet for a beat. Then she turned to him and said softly, "Since the start of second year. And I hoped you'd keep looking."
They didn't say more that day. They didn't need to.
Because sometimes, love grows in the middle of chaos—between volleyball spikes and basketball shots, between teasing laughs and heartfelt glances.
And as Marco walked Lara home that evening, their footsteps side by side, he knew.
This wasn't just a game.
He was playing for keeps.