Chapter 5 Volleyball Gods and Chess Queens

BASTI'S POV

There's a moment right before a serve when the entire gym falls away. The noise, the banners, the slap of sneakers-all of it fades.

It's just you, the ball, and the gravity waiting to catch it. I live for that silence.

"Captain, you good?" Tim asked, tossing me the ball.

I nodded. Focused. Tossed it into the air.

Then-smack.

It sailed across the net, fast and hard. Just the way I liked it.

We were killing this match. The other team wasn't bad-just painfully predictable. Their defense collapsed at the slightest pressure. Our libero, Nate, had already racked up three digs that sent their coach into meltdown mode. Tim was hot on blocks. Luke had the crowd's attention, as always.

But me?

I was watching someone else.

The girl in the front row. She sat unnervingly still-no cheers, no texts, not even a whisper to the cheerleader beside her. Just... watching. Like the entire game was some kind of puzzle she was solving.

I hadn't noticed her before the tournament. But now I couldn't not notice her.

Her name, I'd learned earlier, was Shekaira Denzel Ramos. Sounded like 'damsel' to me. The chess queen who took down Bia.

Biatrice had opinions. Mostly cold ones. And losing didn't soften her mood.

"Switch up," Luke called, jogging beside me. "Keep staring like that and she's filing a restraining order."

"I'm not staring."

"You are. You're just doing it all broody and subtle."

"She's interesting."

Luke tilted his head. "You don't usually do interesting."

I didn't respond.

Because he wasn't wrong.

Since the whole betrothal thing exploded last semester, I'd stopped letting myself feel anything real. I'd gone numb. Played the roles: golden boy, dutiful son, captain with no complaints.

But something about that damsel made me feel... off balance.

Not in a bad way. Just enough to make me wonder what she saw when she looked at me-and if it matched who I really was.

"Let's wrap this up," I muttered.

We did.

Final score: 3–0. Mater Carmeli.

After the game, I shook hands with the opponent's captain, then looked toward the stands. Damsel was gone. I didn't know why that bothered me.

Back in the locker room, I peeled off my jersey and sat on the bench while the others joked and sprayed cologne like it was holy water.

"She was watching you," Biatrice said, voice like glass about to crack.

I turned.

She leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "The chess girl. She stared at you the whole third set."

I shrugged. "I didn't notice."

"Sure you didn't."

"What do you want me to say, Biatrice?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then, "Be careful."

"With what?"

"Getting attached."

I stared at her. "I'm not."

"Good," she said. ""Because she's not one of your usual fans."

And she walked out. I leaned back against the cold metal and closed my eyes.

Denzel Ramos.

I didn't know what it was about her. But I knew I wasn't done looking.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd look back.

The next day, I found myself distracted during morning drills. Coach noticed.

"Garcia! Eyes forward!"

"Yes, Coach."

But my eyes weren't on the court. They kept drifting to the gym entrance, half-expecting her to walk in again, clipboard in hand, looking like a single glare could land someone in therapy.

She didn't.

"Who are you waiting for?" Luke asked during water break.

"No one."

He gave me a look. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That haunted stare thing again. You're one tragic backstory away from being a Wattpad lead."

I ignored him.

Luke whistled under his breath. "You really are interested."

"She's just... different."

"You mean she doesn't trip over her words just because you said hi?"

"She doesn't care who I am."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "That's what's pulling you in, huh? The fact that she treats you like you're not a Garcia."

Maybe.

Or maybe it was the way her silence said more than most people's words.

"Bros, please don't fall in love with the same girl," Nate chimed in, voice dripping with mock horror. "Don't curse us with that cliché. The universe has enough love triangles."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing for you, though?" Tim said.

Nate paused. We all stared. Then that idiot started clapping like he'd discovered gravity.

"YOU'RE RIGHT!" he put his fingers under his chin, imitating the thinking philosopher. "If they're busy pining, all the girls will be emotionally vulnerable-perfect. They will come running to me!"

Luke and I jabbed at his arm at the same time, as if our minds thought alike.

The next time I saw her was three days later. We were at the joint campus again-this time for volleyball coaching seminars and exhibition matches. I was walking out of the gym, still drenched in post-practice sweat, when I spotted her across the courtyard.

She was sitting under the shade of a tree, headphones on, a chess notebook balanced on her lap. Eyes narrowed. Focused.

I almost walked past. Almost. But something pulled me across the quad.

"Hey," I said, stopping a meter away.

She looked up slowly. "Hi."

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"This is my campus. I don't teleport between tournaments."

Right. Stupid.

"I meant outside the tournament."

She shrugged. "The chess room is being used for a math seminar. This was quieter."

I nodded, unsure what to say next. It felt like she was always ten steps ahead.

Then she surprised me.

"You guys played cleaner today," she said. "Less over-reliant on diagonal switches."

I blinked. "You watched us?"

"I was walking past," she said with a shrug. "Your weak spot was still there-just less obvious."

I almost smiled.

"Thanks for the feedback."

She didn't reply. Just returned to her book. But she hadn't told me to leave either. So I stayed.