Chapter Seven: Flags, Feuds, and Feelings
There were plenty of things Ryan Marquez considered himself good at:
Coding in multiple languages.
Building prototype drones out of junk parts.
Making exact predictions about sitcom-level family chaos.
But this?
This was something else.
This was real-time emotional combustion.
He stood beside Alex on Jay and Gloria's backyard patio, holding a paper plate full of chicken wings, and watched as the Dunphys and Pritchetts assembled for what was supposed to be a fun family football game.
It wasn't fun.
It was war.
It started when Luke accidentally tackled Manny during warm-ups—even though it was supposed to be flag football. Gloria went ballistic, Claire started defending Luke, Jay tried to defuse everything by yelling louder, and Phil… attempted a cartwheel.
Ryan glanced over at Alex, who wore a baseball cap, her arms crossed, eyes squinting at the disaster.
"This is what happens when competitive people try to bond," she muttered.
"No, this is what happens when people bottle unresolved emotional trauma and try to channel it into sports," Ryan said.
She turned to him, smirking. "That sounded personal."
"My last school's chess club turned into a gang turf war. Never underestimate nerd rage."
On the field, Mitchell had just been tackled by Gloria—again, not a tackle sport—and Cam was yelling something about "respecting the rules of engagement."
Lucia Marquez stood by the grill with a soda, eyes wide. "Is this… normal?"
Claire walked past, muttering, "This is normal. That's the scary part."
Carlos looked confused. "Is there… an actual score?"
"No," Ryan said. "But I think we're losing."
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Jay had invited everyone over to bond. Just a little friendly football, some food, maybe laughter.
But everything unraveled the moment Gloria overheard Claire call her a "coal digger"—a misheard insult that came from Luke repeating something Haley said.
Now, Gloria was fuming. Claire was defensive. Haley was hiding behind her phone. Luke was trying to ride Toby the corgi like a horse.
And Alex?
Alex had taken Ryan by the wrist and pulled him behind the shed to hide.
"Okay," she said, pulling her cap lower. "We survive this by doing two things: staying out of sight, and not saying anything to anyone."
"I already ran a probability model," Ryan said, crouching beside her. "There's a 91% chance someone gets a sprained ankle and a 73% chance of someone crying before this is over."
She tilted her head. "What's the probability I end up punching Haley?"
"Low. But if it happens, I have it set to auto-record."
Alex chuckled—then immediately groaned as they heard Gloria shout, "I am NOT a gold digger, you dried-up piece of kale!"
Claire shrieked, "I never said that! Luke did!"
Jay bellowed, "Can everyone just CALM DOWN?!"
Ryan peeked around the corner. Cam was now holding Lily like a football and narrating in a southern sportscaster voice. Mitchell was rubbing his temples. Phil was still trying to cartwheel, for reasons unknown.
Toby barked.
Someone's soda exploded.
And someone (probably Luke) had stepped in barbecue sauce and slid face-first into the sprinkler.
"Okay," Ryan said, ducking back into hiding, "this is top-tier chaos."
Alex rubbed her eyes. "It's like this all the time. Family dinners, birthdays, brunch—absolute madness."
Ryan nudged her shoulder lightly. "You seem to hold it together pretty well."
"Years of practice. I've perfected the art of emotional detachment and passive-aggressive sarcasm."
"You hide it well."
She looked at him, a little more softly. "You don't. Hide it, I mean."
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You're in it. Like you actually… care about what's going on, even when everyone's being nuts. You don't just watch—you feel it. That's rare."
Ryan didn't say anything at first. He just studied her. "Maybe because… I didn't have this before. Not the yelling, not the chaos. Not the mess. But definitely not the love, either."
Alex's face softened.
Then, after a moment, she said, "Come on."
He blinked. "Where are we going?"
"To play. If you're gonna be part of this disaster, you might as well participate."
Two minutes later, Ryan was standing midfield next to Luke, wearing a red bandana and holding a flag belt.
"You ever play?" Luke asked.
"Does rocket tag count?"
"Nope."
"Then… no."
"Cool. Just follow me and try not to cry if Manny hits you."
Manny walked by holding a clipboard. "I'm tracking fouls."
Ryan looked at Alex, who was lined up on the opposite team.
"You sure about this?" he mouthed.
She shrugged and gave him a wink.
Game on.
Fifteen minutes later, Ryan had somehow:
Run headfirst into Cam (who absorbed the blow like a padded wall),Accidentally intercepted a pass from Phil,Lost a shoe,And scored a touchdown after tripping over Toby and landing in the end zone.
It was the weirdest victory of his life.
As he sat on the grass, panting, Alex dropped beside him, equally out of breath.
"You're not bad for someone who programs robots."
"You're not bad for someone who once told me human contact was overrated."
She smirked. "Don't quote me."
"You say that like I don't record everything you say in a secure database."
She laughed, breathless. "You don't."
"I do."
Another pause.
Then she nudged him, softly this time. "Hey. I'm really glad you moved here."
He turned to her. "I am too."
And in that moment, between the shouting adults, the splashing sprinklers, the faint sound of someone crying (Mitchell), and the charred hot dog smell wafting from the grill, Ryan Marquez felt something impossible.
Something that not even the most complex formula could quantify.
He felt home.
Later, after Gloria and Claire apologized (sort of), after Jay handed out mystery ice cream bars from the freezer, and after Luke got his head stuck in the dog door, the families began heading home.
Lucia gave Jay a hug and whispered, "We'll bring empanadas next time. Less violent."
"Sounds safer," Jay muttered.
Alex lingered in the driveway with Ryan.
She adjusted her cap again. "So… what's the probability that I like you?"
Ryan blinked. "Um…"
She leaned closer. "Because I think it's at least 95%. Margin of error: maybe 2."
He couldn't think. His brain stalled.
"You're… serious?"
"Statistically speaking."
She smiled. "And the probability that I'll kiss you someday?"
Ryan swallowed. "Increasing daily."
Alex turned, walking backward with a grin. "Good."
Then she turned, jogged back to her family, and left Ryan standing there with his heart racing like one of his overclocked circuits.
Inside his pocket, his device chirped:
"Emotion spike detected. Significant data logged."
He tapped it off.
No need for numbers right now.
Some things, he'd decided, didn't need to be calculated.
Some things… just needed to be felt.