phaedra

“Are you trying to stare a hole through her head?” 

Nika wears a knowing smile as Paige tries (and fails) to play off her shattered reverie, the blonde girl’s eyes snapping back to the half-painted homecoming banner in front of them as a flush creeps up her neck. 

“Ion know what you’re on about, twin,” Paige says. Playing out her feigned nonchalance, she dips her paintbrush into the container of blue paint with an overdramatic flourish of her wrist and sticks the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in mock concentration as she brings the brush back to the paper. She definitely does not register the familiar swish as Azzi’s ball no doubt finds its basket, doesn’t picture the small self-satisfied quirk of Azzi’s lip as her wrist hangs in the air, still lined up after her perfect shot. 

“Right,” Nika drawls, leaning back on her hands to survey Paige’s work. “And you definitely meant to write HOMECOMING DAZZI instead of HOMECOMING DANCE.”

Paige looks (really looks) at the banner in horror. Sure enough, her own loopy, traitorous lettering stares back at her—Freudian slip bright blue for the whole gym to see. 

“Dude, shut upppp,” Paige groans, shoving her elbow into Nika’s side as the brunette guffaws next to her. 

“You’re so whipped,” Nika gets out between peals of laughter. Paige pointedly ignores her as she weighs the best ways to fix her mistake before someone else sees. The practice gym is less crowded than usual, Paige notes thankfully as she casts her eyes around in a preliminary sweep—it's normally a popular place to spend Study Hall. Unfortunately, on her second pass, she registers that less crowded includes Midtown Science’s biggest jackass and #1 pain in Paige’s butt. Worse yet, his familiar pair of Kobe’s are beelining toward them.

“Flash incoming,” Paige hisses to the brunette who is now clutching her sides in pain from laughing too hard. Nika straightens immediately. As intent as her best friend might be to win Olympic gold in the sport of heckling her, she stands ten toes down for Paige should anyone else intend to torment her the same. 

It happens quickly. One moment Paige’s hands are buffering in real time, trying and failing to come up with a way to cover up Azzi’s name on the banner before Flash can get a glimpse, and the next, her Spidey senses register the ball hurtling toward them. She has to will her hand not to move to catch it on impulse—calculates the arc perfectly so that she sees it in her head before it plays out in front of her. The ball knocks right into the container of paint, drowning her botched lettering in a puddle of blue just as Flash comes toe to toe with the banner. The ball rolls to a stop in front of his feet, flecking his spotless Kobe’s with paint. Whatever clever jab Flash had swaggered up to them prepared with dies in his throat as he whirls around to punish whomever is responsible for the destruction of his shoes. 

KK Arnold has the decency to shoot a sheepishly apologetic look at Paige before crossing her arms, cocking her hip, and daring Flash to say something.

A sneer curls at the edge of Flash’s lip as he sizes KK up, but when he speaks, it’s Azzi he addresses over her shoulder.

“Don’t know why you’d rather practice with these wannabe hoopers instead of me. Can’t even pass.” Flash toes the ball.

KK scoffs and visibly bristles. Paige’s grip on the paintbrush tightens. Azzi approaches and slings her arm around her teammate, expression cool, betraying nothing.

“These ‘wannabe hoopers’ won a state championship last year. How did the boys’ team do again?” Azzi looks at KK, feigning confusion. KK cracks a grin and brings a finger to her chin as she pretends to think.

“Ion remember them makin’ playoffs, d’you?”

“Yeah, doesn’t ring a bell…” 

“Whatever. Not like there’s competition in the girls’ lea-” Flash closes his mouth as Azzi raises an eyebrow at him. He regroups. “Still couldn’t score on me one-on-one, Arnold.”

“Pass the ball and let’s see, Thompson.” KK squares her jaw.

Flash scoops the ball up with ease, and extends his arm in offering to the 5’9” guard. “Come and get it, then.”

Paige watches as anger flares in KK’s eyes, foreign given her famously easy-going demeanor. The gym feels rife with tension—previously occupied and otherwise disinterested eyes all zeroed in on this moment, hungry in anticipation of altercation. Paige realizes that she’s holding her breath.

The fire in KK’s eyes still smolders, but she rises above Flash’s insult as she plucks the ball from his outstretched hand. Her teammates clear the court behind her as the two make their way toward the hoop. KK dribbles once. Twice. Flash bends his knees slightly and makes himself large in front of her. Come on, Paige thinks, wipe the floor with him. 

Just as KK makes her move, Nika clears her throat. Paige’s attention shifts instantly from somewhere down the court to Azzi. Fucking. Fudd. Standing right in front of her. And apparently talking to her, Paige realizes stupidly as she rakes her gaze up from where she’s sitting cross-legged until it lands on Azzi’s angelic face.

“Sorry, what was that?” Paige feels her ears burn. Their first real conversation absolutely did not start like this in her many imaginings of the interaction. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Azzi smiles and Paige almost forgets how to breathe. “I was just saying that I’m sorry about your poster.” Azzi gestures sheepishly at the spilled paint. “New paint and paper on me, since we botched that pass.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth, brain supplying entirely unhelpful commentary about how that botched pass was in fact extremely necessary, bordering on divine timing. Nika cuts in to save her from her gaping. “The homecoming committee thanks you for your contribution.”

“Homecoming, huh?” Azzi cranes her neck to read what’s left of the banner, eyes curious. “This year’s theme: A Night in Paris…”

Paige clears her throat and wills words to come out of her mouth. Only one does. “Oui.” 

Azzi quirks her eyebrow at Paige, amusement playing on her lips. Smooth, Nika mouths. Paige can tell she’s already filing it away for use as her new vocal stim of the week. 

“You really know your French,” Azzi teases, eyes warm. “They must feel real lucky to have you on the committee.”

The official reason that Paige had agreed to join said committee is that Nika wanted more extracurricular credit and had begged her to join too. The unofficial reason is that the committee spends a lot of time painting posters in the vicinity of the girls’ basketball team. This would be a completely inappropriate time to reveal said information.

 “Oui,” Paige supplies weakly instead, mentally willing the ground to swallow her where she sits. What are you, a one trick pony?

But then Azzi laughs, real and unguarded. Paige realizes she would gladly suffer endless embarrassment to be the reason for that sound again. “I’m Azzi, by the way.”

Paige swallows the immediate I know on the tip of her tongue. Nika rescues her again. “I’m Nika. The one who apparently knows one word is Paige.”

“Hey, I know more words.” Paige regains her ability to speak.

“That’s six!” Azzi says brightly.

Nika laughs. “I like you. I hope we see you at homecoming. Tickets go on sale Friday.”

“Wow, a French expert and a born saleswoman. The committee really should be grateful.”

“I take my job seriously,” Nika says with all the solemnity she can muster. Then, ever the wing-woman, she adds casually, “Paige does, too... if you ever need French assistance.”

Paige nearly chokes on her spit. She sends Nika a glare and hopes to god that the innuendo goes over Azzi’s head.

Azzi considers the pair for a moment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Paige, thankfully, has exactly zero seconds to process or begin to spiral about Azzi’s response because suddenly all the hairs on her forearm stand on end.

This time when the ball comes out of nowhere, Paige is on her feet, arm outstretched automatically before her brain is conscious of the movement. Across the gym, Flash lands heavy on his feet in front of KK as his eyes follow the path of the ball he blocked with an overly aggressive swat in their direction. The ball makes contact with Paige’s hand, inches away from hitting Azzi in the face. She palms the ball easily, bringing it to her chest as she surveys Azzi’s expression. Shock registers. Then Azzi is looking at her with her jaw slightly unhinged, eyes soft and wondrous. Paige nearly melts.

“Give it up, Bueckers.” Flash ambles in their direction, motioning lazily for the ball. Then, shifting focus to Azzi with a smirk, “Sorry, princess, had to make sure you were paying attention when I win.”

Azzi blanches. Paige sees red. Any semblance of restraint in the name of anonymity or decency or fairness melts away. The only thing Paige wants is to wipe that shit-eating smirk off Flash's face. What kind of asshole thought nearly breaking Azzi’s perfect nose was grounds for flirting? And belatedly, Princess???

“The ball, Bueckers…” Flash drawls, “I’m not getting any younger.”

Paige glances at Azzi. Her features are already reorganized into her usual serene inscrutability. Turning her gaze back to Flash, she mirrors his stance with KK from before, arm extended with the ball in offering.

“Why don’t you take it from me?”

Ooooooo comes the quiet chorus from Azzi’s teammates. Or maybe from the onlookers in the gym. Paige’s awareness has narrowed to herself, the ball, and Flash. She walks decidedly toward the center of the court, arm still held out, eyes challenging.

Flash regards her warily for a moment, no doubt calculating how seriously to take an open threat from the girl who had only ever taken his shit laying down. He calculates wrong, of course. He crosses the floor to stand in front of Paige, confidence building with every step. When he’s within swiping distance, he moves to dislodge the ball from her hand.

Too slow, asshole. Paige has to force herself not to smile gloatingly as she pulls the ball just out of Flash’s reach, swapping it to her other hand. Annoyance flashes in his eyes.

“Go ahead, man. Take it.” Paige goads.

Flash dives again, and Paige almost feels bad. She passes the ball behind her back to her other hand and holds it high above Flash’s head. Like taking candy from a baby. He jumps for it futilely, but Paige jumps too, whipping the ball around his head. Flash follows the ball with his body like a puppy chasing its tail, turning his back on Paige as he makes a delayed circle. By the time he registers what’s happened and turns back to face her, Paige has bounced the ball off his back, caught it, and stands smirking to receive him.

Paige can hear the murmurs and the reactions from the crowd of onlookers, knows that Flash can hear them too—as if she needs more to egg her on. She’s enjoying herself now. 

They regard one another for a moment. Then Paige moves like she’s about to hurl the ball at Flash’s face. The reaction is priceless: Flash ducks and covers in terror. The crowd goes wild with laughter. Paige feels like she’s avenged Azzi’s almost broken nose. She needs to reign herself in before the power goes to her head.

“Just take it man,” Paige says, saccharinely sweet as she extends the ball. Then, thinking to even the playing field, she covers her eyes, turns her back, and adds “Here, how about this.”

She feels Flash walk up behind her. Feels him exhale with relief when he finally gets a hand on the ball. Feels him try to pull the ball from her grasp and come up short. She smirks, turning back to be able to take in the look on his face. Flash tries to pry the ball from her palm again, this time with both hands. He pulls harder. The ball doesn’t budge. With a huff, he backs away.

Recollecting himself, Flash gets into a defensive stance. Then with new vigor, he challenges her. “Alright, bring it! Come on, Bueckers.” 

Paige grins. He wants her to score on him? Fine. She dribbles easily until she stands a few feet away from the three-point line. Behind Flash, the net feels like a promise she can’t bear not to keep. They eye one another warily, tension building as Flash regards her like a cobra about to strike. Paige sets her jaw, then moves.

Dribbling twice, she feigns right before bouncing the ball behind her back and palming it with her left. She steps back then launches the ball hard. Too hard, she realizes the second it begins its arc from her hand. It sails over Flash’s outstretched arms and hits the square of the backboard with a crack. The ball drops cleanly through the net as a shower of shattered glass rains down around it. The gym goes silent as Paige feels every eye upon her.

Fuck. All of the sensibility that had flown out the window before comes crashing back to Paige at once. This is going to be impossible to explain. To the school. To Aunt May. To Azzi. It takes everything in Paige not to turn around and seek comfort in the gaze of the one person to whom this might not be a total shock. But there will be time to debrief with Nika later, Paige consoles herself. For now, she needs to be single-minded in seeing this through. She begins what feels like an endless walk to where the ball has come to rest. 

Flash, who had gone white as a sheet when the backboard exploded, shrinks back from Paige as she ambles past. She picks up the ball gingerly when she finally reaches it, then turns to scan the gym for its intended recipient. KK turns out to be easy to spot—she’s one of the first to break the gyms’ silence, prodding her teammate, Sarah, beside her as she practically shrieks, “Did you SEE that?!??” She seems positively elated when Paige drops the ball into her waiting hands.

Dropping her gaze and doing her best not to overanalyze the buzz around her, Paige makes for her pile of stuff that lays unceremoniously heaped next to the ruined homecoming banner and a beaming Nika. And off to the side, not that Paige notices, Azzi’s presence still lingers. She doesn’t allow herself a glance.

“Y’mind taking care of this?” Paige nods toward the banner where the pooled paint has begun to dry at the edges.

“Course.” Nika replies easily. Paige shoots her a grateful look then moves to gather her things.

She’s almost strong enough to make her exit without chancing a look in Azzi’s direction. Almost. Oh, who is she kidding, she needs to know. As nonchalantly as she can manage, she allows her gaze to drift to the only person whose reaction actually matters.