Oh Right, We're Students!
Tai bounced a soccer ball on his head as he listened to his teammates chat, too crammed with energy to stand still, despite having run around for nearly two hours. Practice just ended, and everyone was either chilling in groups or heading to the showers. He noticed the moisture on the soccer ball, realized that it was sweat, and cringed. Maybe he could shower before meeting Sora…
He checked the digital clock on the scoreboard and cursed, jogging towards the side entrance to the stadium. Sora stood there, absently tapping her foot. "Sorry!" Tai choked. "I didn't realize practice ran over." He opened the gate, let her in, and locked it behind her. "Were you waiting long?"
"Not at all," she said, smiling warmly. Tai's eyes riveted to that smile. It reminded him a little of Kari, and he was suddenly homesick and comforted all at once. Tai shook his head to clear out that strange feeling, then grinned nervously. How could Sora feel so familiar, but so different?
"Uh, good. So, let me show you the field." Sora's head tilted as she looked everywhere, taking in a new place. The areas of the stadium that weren't open to the public or specified for player use were like the concrete underbelly of an enormous beast, skeletal and cold.
Tai heard her rapid footsteps and mentally cursed. His nerves were making him walk too fast. Breathing deeply, he forced his pace to slow, giving Sora time to catch up.
And then she was beside him, and Tai was exquisitely aware of her, as if she radiated heat or emitted light. He swallowed hard and focused on putting one foot forward, and then the next. This was only his third time being relatively alone with Sora; he sensed that Matt was kicking his ass in the numbers department, but this was far from over.
Finally, they were back at the field. Sora breathed a long, impressed, "Wooooooow." She rotated in a small circle to admire the enormous score board, the bright lights for night games and poor weather, and the stadium seating. Not every university had such a nice soccer field; schools often favored the football and basketball stadiums. But that was an advantage of attending a massive, state-run school with more funding than you could shake a stick at. Tai experienced a swell of pride as he watched Sora react to the place where he spent so much time.
Not many teammates remained on the field, but the stragglers tried to catch his eye, waggling eyebrows at him. He glared, hoping to keep them away- then recalled Kari's warnings against 'being too aggro.' Ah well, he could always smooth things over later.
Tai picked up his soccer ball and smiled, a grin of pure, boyish enthusiasm for sharing his passion with someone he cared for. "Wanna play around a little?" he asked, blissfully unaware of the potential double entendre. Then he remembered to check Sora's outfit. She wore denim shorts, a blue T-shirt, and a lightweight yellow cardigan. Whew, good, she can play soccer in that. Typically, he forgot to check her footwear.
Sora blinked, then stripped the cardigan, tying it around her waist. "You're on, Tai." Her eyes narrowed over a grin, and something within Tai stirred at her look of challenge. He felt that familiar, self-assured grin overwhelm his face. He respected the hell out of Sora's mature, loving attitude- but the discovery that she was willing and ready to throw down excited other parts of him. Arousal was the obvious culprit, but the other was an instinctive, lizard-brain approval of another human willing to take action. Like discovering like- and liking it.
It didn't matter that she was the girl he was into. The moment the ball hit the grass, she was an opposing force, and holding back was impossible. Tai sprang into prime form, kicking the ball and sprinting after it, blocking her attempts to intercede. Sora produced a sound of mixed surprised and admiration, and then she was beside him, and, even if Tai could turn off his sensory input, he would have known that she was there.
Tai couldn't say how long they danced and lunged around each other, scrambling over the ball. All he knew was that the electric current running between them grew stronger each moment, until he could estimate how far apart they were without looking. He had never felt so hyper-aware of anyone in his entire life. They both panted with effort, and his muscles strained and protested. Sweat ran down his back and forehead, a liquid sheen over his tanned skin. Every time they touched, there was a strange jolt in his gut. Soccer had never felt so sexual before, and Tai was grateful that his blood was desperately needed for the circulation of oxygen at the moment.
He couldn't say which one of them gave in first. They seemed to slow simultaneously, and soon, they were doubled over, gasping for breath. Tai sank to his ass, plopping on the soft grass, and Sora followed suit, collapsing onto her back.
For a long time, they just breathed. Then, finally, Sora rolled over, and Tai had never found a sweaty, red-faced human so attractive in his life.
"Well, Tai," she said, wiping her forehead, "color me impressed."
"Same." Tai produced that boyish, easy grin again, and Sora's eyes sparkled in response.
"I've played your game. Do you want to try mine this Sunday morning?"
"Tennis?" Tai asked. He hoped to god that he sounded casual. "I wouldn't mind giving it a shot. I don't have any equipment, though."
"Leave that to me." Sora sighed and sat up, groaning with the effort, a sound that stirred Tai's baser instincts, despite his muscle fatigue.
Don't react. Don't pump your fist. Stay cool. Be cool, dammit! He escorted Sora out of the stadium. When she was out of sight, he allowed himself a single fist pump, then headed to the showers to clean off… And hopefully, cool the hell down.
XXX
Joe and Amy stood at a fume hood in a chemistry lab. The perimeter of the room was lined with them, with two students per hood. Tables bearing lab equipment filled the center of the lab, along with places to sit and work on weekly quizzes.
Joe watched with apprehension as Amy worked a Bunsen burner. A tiny blue flame popped into life, turning scarlet and orange as she adjusted the cylinder below the flame. While he didn't want to discriminate, a lab didn't seem like the safest environment for Amy, who excelled at tripping over nothing and dropping things. Keeping an eye on her and their experiment took a toll on Joe's nerves.
But he couldn't deny that she had talent for science. This was only their third lab, and the TA already had a habit of visiting their fume hood to check their progress. Two weeks ago, Amy filtered a clear, yellow liquid from their product, then checked her lab notebook and frowned. She fretted over the vial, saying that it was saffron, rather than the yellow specified in the instructions. Joe didn't know the difference, so he grabbed the TA, who was already flustered from students asking why their solutions were light brown.
"Finally," the TA breathed. Then, she showed their vial to the class, pointing out that this could, in fact, be done using the provided guidelines and tools. It was both embarrassing and gratifying, and it had consequences that Joe hadn't foreseen at the time.
One of them was that classmates kept coming to them for help now, even if they had never spoken to Joe or Amy before. Today they were trying to purify and identify a product, and they didn't have time to babysit the others. A boy approached Amy with his lab book in hand, and Joe cringed as he invaded her personal space, leaning in to ask a question. Amy jerked backwards, and her hand bumped the Bunsen burner. It tipped, and, if it fell, the flame would land on her other hand.
Joe lunged, slamming his face into the glass surrounding the hood. He grabbed the base of the burner and sighed with relief as it connected with the table.
Crisis averted, Joe cried,"Amy!" She whirled around, eyes wide and frightened. "You need to be more careful! You almost knocked the Bunsen burner over, and you didn't even notice!"
The color drained from her face. "I'm sorry, Joe. Thank you." Her eyes flicked to his cheek, and Joe realized that it was stinging from the impact with the glass. Concern flashed through her eyes, and her hand twitched towards his face. "Are you alright?"
Joe took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Amy needed the scolding, as far as he was concerned, but she didn't need the panic and irritation he was raining down on her. In a stiff, distinctly not-fine tone, he asserted, "I'm fine."
The boy still hovered near Amy, who had moved so far away from him that she was now infringing on Joe's bubble. Joe looked him in the eye and frowned. "Don't startle people in a lab," he scolded, venting his sour emotions on him. Joe wasn't particularly worried about being disliked by this guy; the fewer people who came to them for every difficulty, the better.
"Chill, man," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just trying to ask a question."
"The TA's over there. We don't have much time left to finish our experiment, so if you'll excuse us…" The boy directed an imploring look at Amy, but she, bless her, was already clamping a Florence flask above the Bunsen burner. Scowling, the boy left.
"He's mad," Amy whispered, not looking away from the clamp.
Joe rolled his eyes. "You can't please everyone. All that matters to me right now is our grade. Besides, you nearly got burned because he scared you, and he didn't even bat an eyelash. Do you really want to help him?"
"Point," Amy muttered. "Ahhh, crap, we need to do some calculations…"
"I did them already," Joe said, handing his work over. Amy looked it over, and she worried her lower lip with her teeth.
"Explain it to me later?"
While Amy had a knack for precisely following a protocol and using lab equipment, Joe was better with math. He did their calculations in the lab, then went over them with her afterward. "No problem."
"Thanks. The desiccator has been running for long enough; will you get our product?" Since she was measuring a liquid, Joe nodded and went to one of the tables in the center of the room.
The desiccator was an instrument shaped vaguely like a large tea pot, designed to remove moisture from products via vacuum pressure. Glancing through the clear lid, Joe saw their product had crystallized. He released the vacuum, causing a long, loud hiss. Once the hissing stopped, he hovered by the instrument, puzzling over how to remove the lid.
"You know," Amy called over her shoulder, "Mimi ordered me to swap numbers with you."
Joe grinned, both amused by Mimi's bossiness and giddy with any indication of her favor. "Did she? So, what will you do?"
"You're joking, right? I'm not crossing Mimi." Joe would have laughed, but he was annoyed at the stupid desiccator. Despite releasing the vacuum, the lid was still sealed to the bottom piece. Brute force wasn't an option. Their product was in a precarious pile on a piece of filter paper; if he disturbed the instrument too much, he risked endangering their work.
"Speaking of which," Amy continued, her voice muffled as she reached into the hood, "I think you had better watch your step, Joe."
Joe whipped his head up, giving all of his attention to Amy's back. "W-w-what?" Being in trouble with Mimi was not on his priority list. For one, he desperately wanted her to like him. And he had not forgotten the mixture of malice, sensuality, and glee in her voice when she dangled that straightening iron in Izzy's face.
"Yeah. Lately, she keeps talking about how a man should make his intentions clear and step up to the base… I think she meant plate? Sports aren't her thing, although she has an interesting take on the 'first, second, third base, and home' thing…"
Joe was no longer listening to Amy's verbal meandering. His skin was cold and clammy. Make his intentions clear… Step up to the plate… Amy's words, uttered so infuriatingly cheerfully and conversationally, commandeered his brain. Then, something fizzled and popped in there, like a light bulb blowing.
"W-when a girl says that, does she mean that she wants… She wants me to ask her out?"
"I don't know what it means to other girls," Amy snapped, suddenly annoyed.
"I'm sorry," Joe said hastily. This information was important enough that he was willing to humor Amy, even if he couldn't comprehend her shift in mood.
Amy turned away from the hood, mouth open to reply, but her eyes widened. She rushed towards him, half-shouting, "Hold the desiccator level!" Joe glanced at the forgotten instrument and gasped. It was at an angle, and their product was in danger of slipping off the filter paper and falling through the grate beneath it, lost to them forever. He quickly leveled it.
"Let me see that, please." Her fingers explored the perimeter of the lid, and she found a latch that Joe hadn't noticed. It released with a click, and she eased the lid off. Gingerly, she lifted the filter paper and the product on top of it. "Whew," she breathed, walking slowly back to the hood. "I think we're okay."
Joe placed the instrument down and went to join her. "I'm sorry. And after snapping at you for inattention just a few minutes ago…" He felt like a schmuck, which he was regrettably accustomed to.
"No harm done. I probably shouldn't have brought that topic up during a lab…" Amy stared at him for a few beats, then offered a tiny smile. "I think that is what Mimi was implying, by the way. That she feels like it's about time for you to ask her out."
Joe fought down the choking noise clawing up his throat. Panic flooded his chest, like water bursting from a dam. "It seems so soon..!" he gasped. Why was it suddenly difficult to breathe…?
Again, Amy watched his face, then patted his arm. "Joe..." she began gently. "This is college, you know? You're, what, eighteen or nineteen?" She waited for his nod of agreement before continuing. "It's not uncommon for strangers to go home together from a party and- Well, let's just say that asking Mimi on a date after almost a month isn't a rush. Everyone has their own pace, but… Well, I guess that includes Mimi, too."
Joe cleared his throat and made a strangled sound, unable to speak. Despite his panic, he eventually noticed that Amy was fidgeting. He was just about to ask what was wrong when she took a deep breath.
"This isn't any of my business, really. But Mimi is… She's my friend. You're a good person. I like you. But if you hurt her- really hurt her, I mean- I won't want you around. And, to be honest, I don't know how to retaliate, but…"
She released a breath, then caught his gaze. Her eyes were hard, penetrating, devoid of her normal easy cheer. For a moment, Joe believed that she could pluck the worst possible punishment from his subconscious fears, and carry it out.
She never completed her sentence. She didn't need to.
And then her eyes were all warmth and good humor again. "Pass me that beaker, will you?" she said, holding a hand out. Joe hastened to oblige her. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Joe managed a frazzled chuckle.
Izzy would be so pissed if he found out that he got threatened with castration by straightening iron, and I got a look. In fact, I might just tell him, someday.
XXX
Amy walked with Matt in the PAC, leaving the building after their intro to voice class. Matt was describing the bands he had checked out on campus in his efforts to join the right one for him. Amy was listening, but her thoughts blanked when they passed the cafe tucked into the back corner of the lobby.
Antigone sat in a plastic chair, sipping coffee, eating a salad, and reading a thin book that was probably a script. No, Amy amended, not Antigone. Shauna. Shauna Cross. Without realizing it, she stopped, forgetting everything around her until someone tapped her shoulder.
"Uh, hello?" Matt frowned thoughtfully, then followed her gaze. "You're staring at that girl," he whispered, half laughing. "See something you like?"
"Oh, stop," Amy chided, smacking his shoulder without heat. "Remember that play you helped me find? She was in it. She was amazing. I want to talk to her, but is that weird?"
Matt's eyes widened a touch. He pushed her shoulders gently. "Go. Mush."
"But what am I supposed to say?" Amy whined.
Matt snorted. "Please. We're all performance artists. You know we love praise. And once you get talking, you'll forget you were nervous. So, go. I'm leaving. Go." He walked away, shot her a look that said she had better not follow him, and was gone.
Feeling oddly abandoned, Amy sighed and slowly approached the actress. Once she was by her table, she began fidgeting, and Shauna glanced up from her script, looking every bit the put-upon celebrity. Mistaaaake, Amy thought grimly, but she was too far in to back out now.
"Hi," she opened lamely. "Sorry to bother you? It's just, I saw you as Antigone the other day? And you were amazing? I mean, seriously, I was captivated. I-" She realized that she was babbling, ending every sentence with an upward inflection. "Um. I really enjoyed it."
Slowly, Shauna put down her script. Amy's eyes roved over the text and found that it was A Midsummer Night's Dream. She suppressed an excited squeal.
"I didn't think anyone went to those. It wasn't a real show." Shauna tilted her head, and her bob moved with it. Amy cleared her throat. It was oddly difficult to think with those captivating eyes focused on her. They made her… itch, somehow.
Stars, Amy thought, fighting to keep her expression normal. This girl has got 'it.' Whatever it is. That thing that makes someone gripping and irresistible effortlessly. "I was here, and I had some time to kill, so I figured, why not?"
The girl nodded. "Yeah. I feel like I practically live here." She nudged the other chair at her table backwards with her foot, inviting Amy to sit. Amy removed her backpack and took the offer.
"What flavor of performance artist are you?" Shauna asked, picking at her salad.
"Vocalist," Amy replied. Shauna chewed, swallowed, and smiled. There was something Amy couldn't name in her expression. It was almost mischief, but… not quite.
"You any good?" Shauna asked, and Amy understood. This was challenge, competition, sizing each other up. Even though they weren't involved with the same art, they were still the same sort of creature. Still, Amy didn't worry about outperforming her fellow fledgling vocalists if she wanted to succeed. Honestly, she knew she probably should be more competitive, but it wasn't in her nature. If people wanted to hear her voice, they would listen. If not, that was that.
But she was honest, and there was only one honest answer to that question. "Yes." There was no challenge or bragging in her tone; it was as if Shauna had asked if she was wearing shoes.
Shauna gave her a long, assessing look, as if she didn't quite understand what she was seeing. "How good?"
Amy shrugged, unwilling to brag, but also unwilling to sell herself short. She sensed that her simple responses were intriguing Shauna, so she continued along that line, hoping that she wasn't being conceited. "We're students, not professionals, but I love what I do, and I'm good at it- like you."
Shauna crossed her arms and laughed, a husky, attractive sound that sent a tiny shiver up Amy's spine. Was she attracted to Shauna? Maybe it was just that, like Mimi, Shauna's attractiveness and magnetism were so great that they transcended the bounds of orientation. Or maybe I'm bi. Occam's razor. Parsimony. The simplest solution is often the correct one. I should probably think about this later…
"You know," Shauna said, leaning towards her, "in a way, I have been paid to act before." Her lips settled into a smirk. "Does that make me a professional?"
"In a way?" Amy echoed, unsure what to make of that. Shauna's smirk morphed into a full-on grin, but she shrugged.
"Never mind." She held a hand out. "I'm Shauna Cross. What's your name?"
Amy slipped her hand into Shauna's. "Amy Donahue. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Shauna released her with a delighted laugh. "So polite! You may be too gentle for the stage, Amy."
"Being gentle never hurt anyone," Amy replied, unruffled. This wasn't the first time someone suggested something like that, and it wouldn't be the last. Foolish darling that she was, Amy believed that passion and hard work would get her further than ruthlessness and cunning.
Shauna shook her head, still smiling. "But it never helped."
"As you will," Amy said, trying to indicate disinterest in arguing. Shauna blinked, suddenly studying her. "Um, is something the matter?"
"No. Your phrasing just reminded me of someone, is all. Someone I was just thinking about, actually…" Amy's confusion must have been obvious, because Shauna made a dismissive hand gesture. "Never mind, it's not important. And, listen, I hate to send you away, but I need to have a scene memorized by my next class." Shauna tapped her script with a blood red, perfectly manicured fingernail.
"Oh!" Amy rose from the chair. "I didn't realize… Sorry to bother you. It was nice talking to you."
"Don't apologize! You are just adorable, you know that? I'm sure I'll see you around. In fact, you be sure to come to this," she said, raising the script. "You like Shakespeare?"
"The bard is my homeboy," Amy said solemnly, and Shauna burst into laughter.
"Oh, God, you're fun. See you later, Amy."
"Bye!" Amy said, smiling and picking up her backpack.
See, Matt, she thought as she bounced down the lobby's many stairs. I can make friends as well as the next person.
