Fiyero dashed up the familiar stairs and around the corner. He was late, though not obscenely, but he knew how Elphaba valued punctuality. Ball propped at his hip, he knocked at the door. "Ready, Elphie?"
Galinda swung the door open, and he did his best not to seem awkward as he sent her a hesitant nod. "She's not here. She left a couple hours ago."
"Oh." His forehead bunched. "She left?"
"I think she went to practice. You're tutoring her, right?" He caught the look of incredulity, but he really couldn't blame her. "Well, you know how she is. She'll work herself to death until she gets it right." They shared a look, until Galinda stepped back.
He palmed the back of his neck. "Thanks. I'd better-" She started to shut the door, but he caught her arm. "I'm sorry, you know. For the record."
She blinked her eyes at the ceiling but gave a terse nod.
"If you need to talk…" he trailed off, certain she wouldn't want to talk to him about their break up, but he felt he should offer. He wished he could have the feelings for her he should, but they just weren't there.
Galinda forced a small smile. "I'm fine, Fiyero. Go on. She's waiting."
"You know we're not…that nothing's…"
Her lips pressed together in a familiar sign of exasperation. "Stop. I should get to be mad at you if I want, and I can't with you constantly apologizing and trying to make me feel better. We broke up. I'm not your responsibility anymore."
"But I still care about you. You know I do."
"Then give me some space."
He took a step back in acknowledgement. "Oh, hang on." Galinda slipped inside the room and reappeared with a bottle. "She forgot her water."
She passed it to him, careful not to let their fingers brush together. "Thanks." Her smile was friendly, if more somber than he could ever have imagined on the bubbly blonde. She shut the door, and he jogged his way down to the court.
"Great shot." A lanky boy that Fiyero vaguely recognized passed Elphaba the ball. "Really close that time." Her eyes glued to the rim, she sent the ball mere inches from the hoop. The boy chased down the ball and sent it back to her, quick with another encouragement.
"Sorry I'm late." Fiyero walked toward her, his eyes flitting between the two. He flashed a hesitant smile. "Have I been replaced?"
She turned to him in surprise. "Oh, no. Just practicing."
The other boy jogged up and held out a hand in greeting. "Liam."
"Fiyero." He tamped down his annoyance in a tense attempt to be friendly. Why he was bothered by Liam, he couldn't say, but that didn't mean he would give in to it.
"Did you see the last one? How were my elbows?" She had turned back to the basket, but the anxiety shone clear despite her focus. Before Liam could answer, she fidgeted in the miniscule silence and asked, "Fiyero?"
He fought a smug grin. "You're over thinking." Her expression was priceless, but he softened her with a light bump against her shoulder. "Aim. Shoot. Keep trying. You'll figure it out."
"There's got to be a more efficient way."
Her wrinkled nose could not possibly be more endearing. "Your form's improved. It's just fine-tuning now."
"If I might suggest…" Fiyero's jaw tightened when the other boy set his hands on her arms. "The angle of the arc can be better controlled if you-"
She stepped away from him. "Did I say you could touch me?"
His eyes widened almost comically, and he scuttled back. "I apologize if I overstepped. I assure you I meant no offense."
Fiyero propped the ball against his hip, the picture of nonchalance despite his strong desire to grin. "Aim and shoot. It's gotta be simple if I can do it, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "Fishing for a compliment?"
"Yes, I'm the very picture of insecurity." She snorted a laugh. "Stop stressing about it. You'll get it. Maybe not today, but sooner or later."
"Later," she groused, but the tension slid from her shoulders. She shot, and the ball arced high. It bounced against the backboard…and swooshed through the net. She stared at it for a second in shock, oblivious to Liam's enthused praise. "I made it?"
Fiyero chuckled at her expression.
"Holy Kumbricia, I made it!" She beamed and rushed off to catch the ball. Liam's arms hung out as if he'd expected a hug, but he quickly converted it into a less than plausible stretch.
Joy radiated off her as she raced back and aimed another shot. The ball bounced off the rim, and just like that, the sun went behind a cloud in her face. Her shoulders crumpled. "Not bad. Still close."
"I could get close before."
He raised an eyebrow. "So you thought once you made a basket, you'd never miss again?"
"No," but her expression said otherwise. He held the ball for a second to let that sink in. "Fine, you're right. At least I'm still close."
When the next shot fell short, he nudged her arm. "Focus on how it felt to make that first basket." A reflexive smile crept across her face. "Now try again."
The ball swooshed through the hoop, and she grabbed his arm. "I did it again."
He let her celebrate a moment, but when she turned back to the basket, he slipped the ball from her hands. "I think that's enough of that for today. Since you're scheduling your own practices, and all." She shot him a look. "Let's work on passing since your friend's here to help."
He ran her through several drills, but it seemed passing came naturally to her. Much to their combined relief. Her dribbling had also improved. Liam jogged up with congratulations, and Fiyero felt a strong urge to send her running away again. "I've got to get to class, but it was wonderful meeting you."
"You, too," he offered genially until he realized the boy meant Elphaba.
Liam leaned in, and her shoulders tensed. Fiyero took an unconscious step toward them. "I'd like to get to know you better. Could I take you to dinner sometime?"
Flustered, she tugged uneasily on her braid. "Um, I don't know."
"Or might I have your phone number to call you?"
She shot a look to Fiyero, and he held back his own feelings for the boy to say, "We'll be here the same time tomorrow, if you'd like to come play again." At least then she'd have a chaperone.
She looked at him in surprise as Liam nodded. "Tomorrow it is. Until then, Miss Elphaba." With a final lovesick smile, the boy headed off the court.
"Why'd you invite him back?"
Fiyero turned to her. "You didn't want me to?"
"I just…never mind."
He caught her elbow. "No, what?" He sent her a cajoling smile. "Tell me."
"It's easier just the two of us. But if you'd rather not-"
He shook her arm enough to draw her eyes back to his. "Of course I'd rather. You're easy to teach, and I love helping you, okay?" Her eyes flicked to his, then back to the ground. "I thought that would be easier, is all. You didn't seem comfortable alone with him."
She shifted uneasily, and he picked up the hint.
"Well, you can dribble, pass and shoot. I think you're ready to learn defense." He took the ball. "You'll like this. All you have to do is stop me from making the basket." He went over the fouls, and then sent her over by the basket to stop him.
He ran in for a simple lay up, and she blocked him. He spun around her, and she followed. Convinced she could guard well enough, he aimed a shot, and she caught the rebound.
"Great. Now you're on offense. Dribble down and try to score." He jogged ahead of her and let her down most of the court without guarding. When she started to shoot, he blocked the shot. She sent him an irritated look. "Your opponent's not just going to let you shoot. You've got to work faster."
"But I can barely make a basket as it is."
"Excuses already?"
"No. Ugh, fine." He stayed in front of her as she dribbled around him for an opening. She tried to rush him, but he didn't let her pass. The shot she aimed was hurried, but its form had potential. He caught the rebound and jogged down the court to shoot a layup.
She ran after him, too late to prevent it. "You suck," she accused, and he grinned. "Oz, this is a lot of work."
"Now you know how I feel about History."
"But there's no sprinting in History."
"Just to it." He swiped at the ball as she dribbled, but she evaded nicely. "Good save."
"Jerk."
He swallowed a laugh. "It's a game. Would you really want me to go easy on you?"
She gave him a reluctant smile. "No, you're right." Of course, he'd never admit he was still only half-playing. The flashes of triumph that sunned across her face when she managed a good defense or got a clean shot off made him desperately want to throw the game for her.
Her competitive streak came out as they played, and he quickly realized he should have started her out like this. With careful teasing, he could distract her much more effectively as he worked her around the court.
Not to mention he absolutely loved when she got sassy. She propped a hand on a hip and thrust out her bottom lip. "No fair. What's that – foul? Reaching?"
He dribbled with a cheeky grin. "No, this is reaching…" He pinched her side and dodged out of the way before she could retaliate.
"Cad!" She grabbed his arm and threw herself against him in a futile attempt to get the ball. He laughed as he dribbled with his far hand and held her at bay with the other.
"That's a foul though. Holding."
"If you can foul, I can." She jerked free and snatched again for the ball.
"Having fun?"
"Tons," she growled with another lunge.
"Me, too," he agreed amicably, grinning at the saucy tilt to her lips. He taunted her a bit longer, then jogged down the court to aim a smooth shot straight through the basket.
She surprised him when she returned a lay up of her own. "Nice," he offered sincerely, and she passed him with ball with a barely suppressed smirk.
"You needn't sound so surprised."
He grinned and went back to dribbling. "No holding this time? I was starting to enjoy it."
"I bet you were."
He dribbled closer. "Not as much as Liam, I'd bet," he teased, glad when an exasperated expression peaked through her grin. "Should I arrange some private lessons for you? I'm sure he could work on your holding."
She absorbed his innuendo with a blank expression. "Are you saying you couldn't? Here I thought you were the consummate physical educator." She moved closer, and he grinned at her swagger. "Of course, if you're saying you're not up to the challenge, I suppose I'll have to pick up the slack myself." A total inappropriate image flashed in his mind of exactly how she might, and he lost his rhythm.
She swiped out a hand and stole the ball before he could pick up his jaw. Only his quick reflexes got him down the court before she scored. "Thief."
"Learned from the best," she boasted as she dribbled left and right, looking for an opening.
"Damn right."
"Cocky much?"
"You know you love it."
She aimed a shot, and he crowded her back. Her eyes stayed on the basket, but a tension wove through her. They froze for a moment: she poised to shoot, and his arms still fenced her back. He realized with a start how close they'd ended up, and how dark her cheeks were. A ripple of awareness ran through him, and his eyes drifted undirected to her lips. Is that why she seemed so stiff? Had she suddenly felt that same unexpected pull?
No, he pushed himself an edge back. She had a would-be admirer, and he'd just gotten out of a relationship, with her roommate no less. They were friends, nothing more.
He led them off the court, calling time, and she took a long drink from her water bottle. The heat of the sun beat down on them, and she plucked at her thick sweatshirt where it stuck to her. If he wondered what she looked like underneath, he chalked it up to a natural male appreciation for the female form. And of course the curiosity that naturally develops when said form is hidden, despite the overwhelming platonic feelings of both persons involved.
And the fact that one of said persons was a surprisingly effective tease and the other an undeniably hormone-driven young man had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.