"I think... I think you were the guy from the party."
I waited for a minute. Nothing. When I looked over, Minho was completely knocked out, chest rising steadily under the blanket I had given him.
"Minho?" I whispered, leaning in slightly. Still no response.
"Well... I'll ask him next time then. Third time's a charm," I murmured to myself before heading upstairs to grab him a thicker blanket from the linen closet.
I returned and tucked him in like some kind of grumpy toddler. He mumbled something in his sleep, it sounded suspiciously like "Mhm bacon n' eggs" — before turning to his side.
I gave him one last look before quietly slipping out of the dorm and heading toward school, hoping I'd at least catch up with the others by lunch.
...
The cafeteria was buzzing with students. Of course, walking through a sea of boys was like trying to sneak through a lion cage wearing steak-flavored perfume. I kept my head down until I spotted the group at the center table.
"Hey," I greeted, sliding into the empty spot beside Twan.
"Elise!" Ryan waved a chopstick at me. "Just in time. Hungry?"
Twan was shaking his salad like it owed him money. "This looks good," I commented, eyeing the bright green mix.
"Me or the salad?" he grinned.
"Twan, you've been shaking that for five minutes. You're gonna emulsify it," Travis muttered, sipping his soda and not even glancing up from his book.
"Have you eaten, Elise?" Ryan asked.
"Not yet. I was actually about to grab—" Before I could stand, a firm hand pushed my shoulder gently, guiding me back to my seat.
"No need. I gotchu," said James, dropping a heavy paper bag on the table like he'd just completed a food side quest. He unpacked it like it was treasure: udon, gyudon, grilled tuna, boiled veggies, dried veggies, takoyaki, fish cakes, banana milk, and matcha soda.
"James—this could feed a small country."
"Well, you are the first girl to survive under our roof. Gotta keep you alive somehow."
I laughed. "Fair point."
Twan reached for a fish cake, but James slapped his hand away. "Touch it and you're eating glue sticks for lunch, I swear."
"Geez, alright," Twan said, rubbing his hand. "Violence isn't the answer."
"I'm the answer," James winked.
Ryan groaned. "God, stop flirting with everything that breathes."
I offered James a piece of dried asparagus, which he dramatically declined like I just handed him poison.
"Veggies aren't his thing," Twan whispered.
"Unlike me," Twan added, proudly holding up a forkful of greens. "Health is wealth."
"You only started eating salads because Ryan made you feel bad about chugging soda after sprints," James muttered.
"And look at Ryan now. Dude's built like a Greek god."
"Can we not bring me into this? I'm just trying to enjoy my soba," Ryan replied, clearly exhausted from the conversation.
While they bantered, Travis remained silent, headphones in, a book in one hand and soda in the other. He looked like the cover of a dark academia romance novel.
...
The bell rang. Lunch was over. Basketball time. Great. Minho wasn't around, which meant I was filling in.
Just when we were about to start, the gym doors burst open like a scene from a teen drama. Minho limped in, wearing his PE uniform like some stubborn war hero, towel draped over his shoulder.
"What is he doing here?" I whispered to James.
"He's doing exactly what we told him not to," James muttered. "I'll talk to him."
While the others swarmed around Minho, I sat on the bleachers watching the commotion unfold. Mr. Saejima and the coach gestured for someone in the back to come forward. A tall guy with brown-streaked hair and a sharp undercut stepped up.
That's when Minho's face twisted. First confusion. Then annoyance. Then straight-up "I'm out." He turned on his heel and walked straight out of the gym.
"What was that about?" I asked Ryan when he returned.
He hesitated. "Long story, but that guy's name is Josh. He's taking Minho's place in the elims since Minho can't play. Our original sub bailed."
"Why would Minho walk out over that?"
"He's... passionate," Ryan shrugged. "Proud. Competitive. Slightly allergic to being replaced."
"Pfft. Sounds personal," I muttered.
Ryan glanced sideways at me. "You care?"
"Just seems dramatic." I replied.
"You seem invested."
I narrowed my eyes. "You seem annoying."
He just grinned. "Touché."
As Coach called the rest of the class to start group practice, I sighed and turned toward my assigned group.
Ryan smirked at me as I passed. "Enjoy the bonding time."
"Great..." I muttered under my breath, already regretting everything.
Dragging my feet across the glossy gym floor, I made my way to the corner where my group had gathered — the non-varsity, semi-athletic crew of guys who weren't bad at basketball, but definitely not aiming for the NBA anytime soon.
As I got closer, I could already sense their attention shift toward me. One of the taller guys, dark hair, soft-looking eyes, and the kind of smile you could only describe as "boy-next-door" — waved as I approached.
"Hey, Elise! Have you warmed up yet?" he asked, bouncing the ball between his hands casually.
I blinked. Okay... friendly. Unexpected, but friendly.
"Oh, uh... yeah, a little bit." I scratched the back of my head. I wasn't sure if stretching during lunch counted as warming up, but I wasn't about to admit that.
"Cool. We're down two members so we better start running the drills Coach told us to do before he gets on our asses," he said with a small grin, nodding toward the clipboard on the bench.
"Right. Yeah. Totally. Let's get into it," I replied, trying my best to sound like I knew what the hell I was doing. My hands were already starting to sweat.
He turned to pass the ball to another teammate, but paused, glancing at me with a slight tilt of his head. "Wait—be honest," he said, holding the ball against his hip. "You do know how to play basketball, right?"
I froze. My brain blanked out for a moment. It was like the world slowed down just enough for me to run through my options: I could tell him the truth and probably get sidelined for being useless. Or... I could fake it 'til I make it. Confidence, right?
"Yeah," I lied with a smile that screamed "please don't make me prove it right now." "You don't need to worry about me."
He chuckled — not mocking, but amused. "You know, you can tell me the truth, right?"
Before I could answer, a loud bounce echoed across the court as a stray basketball shot from another group smacked the bleachers and ricocheted our way. It rolled up to our feet, interrupting the moment and breaking the tension like a poorly timed sound effect.
He picked it up, spun it on his fingers like a pro, and said, "Alright then. Let's see what you got."
Oh no...