One week later ..
..
Kyle was losing it.
It had been nearly a week since the kiss.
One whole week of Raye pretending he was invisible — not metaphorically, but physically ducking every time he came within a five-foot radius. If she could've worn a cloak of invisibility, she would've.
At basketball practice, he'd thought maybe — just maybe — a light toss of the ball in her direction would start something.
It did.
Just not what he wanted.
The ball came spinning toward her, a perfect pass… but Raye dodged like she was avoiding a sniper shot.
She twisted to the side, slipped under his arm, and ran straight to the benches, muttering something about "not catching feelings or basketballs."
The boys around him lost it.
"Yo, Kyle, even the ball can't get close to her, man!" Rod laughed so hard he almost dropped his own.
Kyle rolled his eyes, running a hand through his damp hair. "Shut up, Rod."
"Oh, come on! It's been a week. What'd you do, kiss her and run a background check on her afterward?"
Kyle ignored him, focusing on his dribble drills. The thud-thud-thud of the ball echoed through the gym, but it didn't drown out Raye's laughter across the court — the one she shared with Jane while pretending he wasn't there.
It stung a little. Not that he'd admit that to Rod.
She sat there, hair tied up messily, sneakers tapping the floor while Jane whispered something that made her giggle uncontrollably. Occasionally, she'd glance toward the court — but the second Kyle caught her eye, she'd whip her head away like she was allergic to eye contact.
Rod jogged up beside him, bouncing his ball lazily. "She's doing that thing again, bro."
"What thing?" Kyle grunted.
"Where she pretends not to care but definitely cares."
Kyle stopped dribbling. "You don't know that."
Rod raised an eyebrow. "Oh, please. She dodged your pass like it was a grenade. That's defensive guilt." he smirked boucing his ball . "Beside am more experience with you when it comes to the ladies ".
Kyle smirked despite himself. "You sound like a therapist."
"I could be one if it gets me front-row seats to this soap opera."
He tried not to look at her again, but he failed miserably. She was beautiful, even in that ridiculous oversized jersey and with short hair packed up in a ponytail .
The memory hit him like a rebound — her wet hair sticking to her skin, her smile when he gave her his shirt, the quiet between them before—
"Hey, space cadet," Rod snapped his fingers in front of Kyle's face. "You're staring."
Kyle blinked, forcing his attention back to the court. "No, I wasn't."
"Sure. You were analyzing the air particles around her, my bad."
By the time practice ended, Raye was already gone — her bag missing from the bleachers.
Jane, however, gave Kyle a mischievous smirk before leaving. The kind of smirk that said, Oh, I know everything.
Rod clapped Kyle's shoulder. "Tough luck, man."
Kyle sighed, grabbing his towel. "You know, Rod, for someone who can't spell 'apology,' you talk a lot."
Rod chuckled. "Yeah, but at least I don't catch feelings."
Kyle ignored him again, but deep down, he knew Rod was right
He just didn't know how to fix it.
The hum of morning voices filled the lecture hall — that low, restless buzz of students half-awake, clutching coffee cups like lifelines. Raye slipped into her usual seat beside Jane, balancing a notebook, her phone, and a chocolate croissant that was already threatening to fall apart.
Jane was mid-rant. "I swear, if this professor gives another pop question, I'm walking straight out the window."
Raye chuckled, brushing crumbs off her lap. "You said that last week."
"And I meant it!" Jane stabbed her straw into her iced coffee. "We're studying Sociology of Communication, not Emotional Torture 101."
Raye grinned. "That's technically communication too."
Jane gave her a side-eye. "You're not funny, Raye."
Before Raye could respond, the door slammed open.
Their lecturer — Professor McClain — marched in with the energy of someone who hadn't slept since 2010. He dropped his stack of papers on the desk, the sound echoing like a threat.
"Good morning, class," he said flatly.
A few mumbled greetings followed.
"I hope you've all reviewed Chapter Six," he added. "Because we're starting with a quick discussion."
Jane leaned over to whisper, "Discussion means surprise test. Run."
Raye tried not to laugh, biting her lip as the professor scanned the room. His eyes landed on a random student at the back.
"You," he said, pointing. "Explain the social impact of language barriers in multicultural communities."
The poor guy Damien froze, blinking like he'd just been hit by a spotlight. "Uh… people can't… communicate?"
The class snickered.
Jane slapped her forehead dramatically. "Einstein reincarnated," she muttered.
McClain sighed. "Correct, in the most tragically simplistic way possible."
He turned next toward Evan — of course, Evan.
The boy sat upright, polished as always, flipping open his notebook like he'd been waiting for this.
"Language barriers," Evan began smoothly, "create not only communication breakdowns but also sociocultural isolation that impedes assimilation and cognitive exchange within communities..."
Raye mouthed to Jane, here we go again .
Jane whispered back, "If he uses the word assimilation one more time, I'm throwing my coffee."
McClain nodded. "Excellent point, Evan. Perhaps you'd care to elaborate on—"
Jane cut in before she could stop herself. "Sir, I think he already gave us a full TED Talk."
Half the class burst out laughing. Even McClain cracked a faint smirk.
"Miss Lennox ," he said dryly, "since you're so engaged, how about you explain the next concept?"
Jane froze. "Um… define 'concept'?"
Raye choked on a laugh and quickly covered her mouth, pretending to cough.
McClain sighed. "That's not encouraging. Raye, help your friend."
Raye blinked. "Uh, sure." She quickly skimmed the page. "So… social adaptation basically means how people adjust their behavior when they're in a new environment, right? Like trying to fit in without losing their own identity."
McClain nodded approvingly. "At least someone read the material."
Jane nudged Raye. "You're my hero."
Evan turned slightly, flashing Raye that smug smile. "Impressive, for someone who usually doodles instead of listens."
Raye gave him a look. "Impressive, for someone who doesn't know when to shut up."
"Oooooh!" the class chorused, laughing as Evan raised his hands in mock surrender.
McClain raised an eyebrow but didn't interfere. He secretly liked watching his students roast each other — it kept them awake.
As the lecture continued, Raye actually found herself engaged. They debated communication norms, laughed when the projector froze mid-slide, and watched as one student confidently gave the wrong definition of "interpersonal dynamics" — twice.
At one point, Jane leaned close again. "See? You didn't even think about you-know-who for a whole hour."
Raye groaned. "You had to ruin it."
"Just saying," Jane teased. "Progress."
By the time class ended, the room buzzed with relief. Students stretched, packed up, and spilled into the hallway, chattering about lunch plans and group projects that would never be done on time.
Raye tucked her pen behind her ear, feeling lighter for the first time in days. No drama. No rumors. Just… normal life.
Jane looped her arm through hers. "Come on. Cafeteria before my blood sugar files for divorce."
Raye laughed, letting herself be pulled along. For a fleeting moment, everything felt simple again.
Just Raye, her sarcastic best friend, and the comforting hum of a normal day at university.