The summer heat in May 2017 shimmered across the open courtyard of Dalisay High School, the concrete radiating warmth that made the air feel heavy and restless. Parents clustered under narrow strips of shade, fanning themselves with folders, while students crowded the bulletin boards, voices overlapping as they searched for familiar names. The air was thick with anticipation and nervous energy. Grade 9 was a threshold–a new beginning for many.
Nathaniel Robert "Bobby" Ramirez walked beside his mother, enrollment forms tucked under his arm. He felt strangely confident–almost excited to finally be a high school student. After all, he already knew where he belonged. For nearly two years, he and his katropa had been inseparable. They had spent Grade 8 together, building something sacred. They had made promises in that group chat, late at night when the conversations felt more real: "Whatever happens, 9th grade, we stay together." Bobby truly believed it. He believed in the permanence of brotherhood.
However, as he scanned the lists, he realized that his katropa (Marko Dela Cruz, Nathaniel Franco Perez, Jerome Sison, Joshua Razon, Clifford Aquino, Andrew Galindez, Erik Mercado, and Richard Cuevas) was all assigned to Grade 9-India. His name was not there, since he was assigned in Grade 9-Golf. A knot tightened in his stomach. The thought of being separated from his closest friends filled him with unease.
"Ma, why am I not with my friends?" Bobby asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
His mother glanced at the list, then back at him, her expression sympathetic. "It's okay, anak, Maybe it's a good thing, an opportunity to make new friends," she said gently, squeezing his hand.
Bobby nodded, but the weight of uncertainty pressed down on him. As they completed the enrollment process, he couldn't shake the feeling of being adrift, separated from the familiar comfort of his katropa. Furthermore, he nodded, forcing a weak smile of his own. "Yeah... maybe."
He did not give up that easily, though. Clutching his form, Bobby made his way to the registrar"s office, where a small line of parents and students waited. Behind the desk sat Ruben Jimenez, the Head Registrar, glasses perched low on his nose as he stamped documents with mechanical precision.
When it was Bobby's turn, he stepped forward, heart pounding. "Sir, is there any way I can be transferred to Grade 9-India? My friends are all there," he pleaded, trying to keep his voice steady.
Mr. Jimenez looked up, adjusting his glasses. He studied Bobby for a moment before responding. "I'm sorry, son. The class lists are already final, iho. Signed by the Principal herself. No changes." he explained kindly.
Bobby's shoulders slumped, disappointment washing over him. "But... why? Even one transfer, sir?" he asked, desperation creeping into his voice.
"I'm really sorry, iho. Final is final," Mr. Jimenez repeated, his tone gentle but firm.
Bobby nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thank you, sir," he muttered, turning away, the echo of the word "final" ringing in his ears.
By the time he got home that afternoon, his phone was buzzing with messages from the 8-Foxtrot SY 2016-2017 group chat. Marko, Jerome, and the others were already discussing their new class assignments, sharing excitement about being together again.
Karina Mae Arevalo, the 8-Foxtrot 2016-2017 class president, messaged him directly. "Bobby! We're all in 9-India! It's going to be awesome!" she typed enthusiastically. She even teased Bobby about being the odd one out. "BREAKING NEWS! Si Bobby Ramirez nasa 9-Golf! Hahaha! Good luck diyan!" she joked.
Marko Dela Cruz, Nathaniel Franco Perez, Joshua Razon, and Jerome Barry Sison also joined in, sending laughing emojis and playful jabs. "Wow star section ka na pala Bobby ang talino mo!" Marko teased. Franco added "LMAO penge ng talino mo Bobby HAHAHAHA" while Joshua chimed in with "RIP katropa LMAO" and Jerome concluded with "bawal na lumipat next time HAHAHAHA".
Bobby groaned and droppoed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. The messages, though lighthearted, only deepened his sense of isolation. He felt like an outsider, cut off from the group that had been his world for so long. Karina Mae Arevalo dropped the last message: "Don't worry Bobby, we'll still hang out! Promise! Feel free to visit our 9-India classroom during recess and lunch!" but it did little to ease his worries.
The next day, as Bobby lingered near the corridor, he heard someone call his name. It was Jerome Sison, his best friend, waving him over with a big smile. "Bobby! Over here!" Jerome shouted, beckoning him to join the group.
"Totoo pala, ikaw nga nasa 9-Golf," Jerome said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Sayang, sana magkakasama tayo ulit," he added, disappointment flickering across his face. "9-India kami ng mga katropa mo eh," he explained.
Bobby forced a smile, trying to mask his feelings. "Sinubukan ko pa lumipat, pero ayaw nila," he admitted quietly. "Final na daw ang listahan," he added, echoing Mr. Jimenez's words.
Jerome nodded understandingly. "Ah, ganun ba. Sayang talaga," he said, clapping Bobby on the back. "Pero huwag kang mag-alala, magkikita pa rin tayo," he reassured him.
Bobby replied, "Kaya nga eh. Feels weird na di ko kayo kaklase," he confessed.
Jerome smiled warmly. "Section lang 'yan, Bobby. Ang friendship natin, hindi matatanggal ng section," he said firmly.
The remaining days of the school break were a blur of mixed emotions for Bobby. He tried to stay positive, clinging to Jerome's words. Yet, the looming reality of starting Grade 9-Golf without his katropa weighed heavily on him in the upcoming School Year 2017-2018.
That evening, Bobby sat alone in his room, scrolling through the group chat that had become his lifeline. Messages and memes continued to pour in–inside jokes about teachers they'd never have, speculations about who would be the strictest in 9-India, excited anticipation about being together once more. Bobby clicked away from the conversation multiple times, only to reopen it moments later. The same loop, over and over.
He tried to tell himself that Jerome was right–a section was just a section. But it felt like more than that. Grade 8 had been everything. Those eight boys and the girls who sometimes hung around them had been his entire world. They stayed up past midnight on group chats, referenced inside jokes that no one else would understand, and there was an unspoken agreement among them that they were special. They had something that other groups didn't. Or so Bobby believed.
Marko had been the de facto leader, with his quick wit and effortless charisma. Jerome was the older soul in the group, always the first to offer wisdom or support. Franco was the wildcard, keeping everyone entertained with his absurd humor. Joshua, Erik, Clifford, Andrew, and Richard each brought something unique to their dynamic. And Karina Mae and the other girls–they had been part of the fabric of 8-Foxtrot, the class that had felt like a brotherhood.
Now, as Bobby lay in bed, he couldn't shake the feeling that something precious had been taken from him. It wasn't fair. They had made promises. They had said "whatever happens, 9th grade, we stay together." And yet, the system–the Principal, the Head Registrar, the bureaucracy of it all–had decided otherwise. Bobby was on the outside now, and no amount of reassurance could change that.