I don’t even care if Elle’s going to tease me. Right now, I’ve got a crush on someone who makes me forget about my usual anxiety: not knowing what I will do in the future. Elle would probably say something like, “Ohh, Petraaa, you got yourself a crush?” Yeah, whatever. Go ahead. I’m not even denying this point.
Today’s the first day of school, but I’m not nervous like the other teens. In fact, I’m weirdly chill.
I distract myself by searching for the meaning of the name Pasaribu while Mom tells me to Google all my class syllabuses. It turns out Pasaribu is a Batak surname from Indonesia. Okay—confession—I just learned Indonesia is in Asia. I mistakenly believed that Indonesia was located near Hawaii or similar place.
My geography teacher would be so proud. So, yeah, maybe distracting myself like this is just a coping mechanism. Which means I’m probably just as nervous as everyone else, I just cover it differently.
I Googled “Pasaribu Union II” and boom. His profile on Transfermarkt pops up.
Name: Decker E. R. Pasaribu
Date of Birth: August 20, 2009 (16 y.o.)
Place of Birth: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Nationality: USA
Height: 1.76 m
Position: Defensive Midfielder (CDM)
Current Club: Philadelphia Union II
Joined: August 2024
Youth Clubs: Chester Youth FC, Ridley Creek Academy
Instagram: @de_pasaribu_6
I mumble, “His name is, like, criminally long—what does even E.R. stand for? Emergency Room? Haha. I swear I’m not going to school until I find out. And omg—same birth month? It’s like … fate or something? Oh, and … how I didn’t know he’s on Insta? Let’s stalk then!”
I stalk Decker Pasaribu’s Instagram. Apparently, E.R. is an abbreviation for Edward Rhyne. So, his full name is Decker Edward Rhyne Pasaribu. He does not post often, but he has 12k followers. He must go viral before.
Strangely, I’ve seen his videos many times on my TikTok “For-Your-Page” but never thought about checking his Instagram. I watched a video edit I found on TikTok after typing “Union II Subaru Park 2025.” It shows him walking into the field, waving, and pulling his leg back to make a long pass to another player. The background song was some low-rent hype track with the same four notes repeatedly.
I also watched a fan edit—baby vs now version of Decker—but I later realize the clip is from his Instagram post.
Four-year-old Decker singing BINGO.
“There was a farmer had a dog,
And Bingo was his name-o!
B-I-N-G-O
B-I-N-G-O
B-I-N-G-O.
And Bingo was his name-o!”
He’s wearing a mint T-shirt and white shorts, cheeks flushed rosy against his tan skin, smiling wide with one missing front tooth.
“Why is this so cute it hurts?” I groaned, rolling on my bed with my pillow clutched tight.
I replay that video about fifteen times. Maybe more. Don’t judge me.
The comments are crazy. People from Indonesia call him Dedek. At first I laughed, but now, I’m secretly calling him that in my head. Dedek, Dedek? I am losing my mind.
His feed is mostly football pics, training shots, and the occasional blurry selfie. I leave totally normal comments. Supportive. Very normal. (“Let’s go!!” “Nice pass!!”) Basically, I’ve become part of his unofficial fan club at this point.
“Honey, come breakfast before it gets cold. Big day today!” my mom called.
*
On my first day as a freshman, marking my first year of high school in America, they ushered me into this enormous hall. It’s two stories tall, with classrooms lining the second floor. I was packed tight, the air buzzing with footsteps and chatter from a hundred nervous freshmen. Up on the balcony, there’s a giant banner that reads WELCOME FOLKS in bright paint.
While the principal talks, I lean over to the kid next to me. “Look at his face. He looks like Red from Angry Birds.”
Two people nearby snort. Some giggle, while others just shake their heads. “Bruh, you’re so random,” said someone in my left.
“Hey, what’s your name? I feel like we’re both about to get busted by the seniors for not staying quiet.”
“Sure. I like being a rebel. My name’s Petra. What’s yours?” I grinned.
“I’m Ryleigh. And this is my cousin, Nana.” A girl with braided black hair on my right said.
“Oh, hey. Nice to meet you guys.”
Elle’s nowhere in sight. I have no idea where she is. I just know she also got into this school: Ridley Creek High School.
They shuffle us into a classroom with tiered seating—low in the front, higher in the back. I grab a seat in the middle on the side. It’s perfect for chatting and still seeing the board.