too big for my britches

“You might be able to find a few quarters on the streets,” their voice was quiet, lazy eyes watching as a new cat appeared in their game. Basil honestly thought this was good advice. 

“I ain’t stoopin’ so low as to search th’ d’rn ground for quarters! Lawd, can y’imagine? Me, bent down there, searchin’ f’r d’rn coins just ‘cause I on’t have enough for a coke? Lawd. May God ne’er curse me with that desp’ration.” She shook her head, hands on hips.

“Then get a coke,” they replied simply, eyes never leaving their phone. Basil was incredibly preoccupied with Neko Atsume ( the kittens needed them! ).

Gracie shrugged. “See now, that there’s the probl’m. I ain’t got a lick o’ money in order to get a coke.” She pouted, crossing her arms. “I maybe have a dollar ‘r two, but coke’s’re pr’tty expensive ‘round ‘ere.”

Rafael was QUITE easily amused; his mind often simplistic when he isn’t treading the court or a ball isn’t in his hand ( VOLLEYBALLS PARTICULARLY   he’s awful at every other sport ). So hearing her accent drenching each and every word, well, he was entertained ( yet again, NOT A HARD FEAT ). And she kept going and going   Rafael ALMOST didn’t want to interrupt, but the setter was quite fond of the idea of his presence being known. “Ah ! ! I haven’t had one in a while either,” he tapped the hollows of his cheek, trying to recall the last time he had a carbonated drink of any sorts. Rafael tried to eat well: He needed to be in TOP shape for volleyball ( even if this meant his sister and mother bombarding him by calling him too ‘flaco’ ). “Ah, now you’ve put me in a mood ! ! ” He laughed and flashed his signature RAFAEL smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Gracie looked at the young man who answered, her blue eyes sizing him up. He looked--Mexican? Cute, sure; she’d go as far as to say handsome, but still. “Sorry, darlin’,” she said, smiling sweetly, “Now where’re you from? I’m from down ‘ere in Georgia, but, well, quite frankly, you look like you just ‘bout pulled up in a ship some’ere, so where’s y’r fam’ly?” She smiled. “Y’ever been on down to Tex’s? So warm down there, and the Mexic’n food--Gawd.” She looked up at him, curiosity and naivety lacing her features, threading her eyes a particular color of oblivious, an almost wet-paint color; it seemed, in that moment, that the red, white, and blue button on her backpack gleamed brighter in the fluorescent light. Sure, Gracie didn’t know any better, and in the moment, it seemed polite to ask about his heritage. He just looked so interesting, and she’d love to know more about his culture.