Chapter 6 Staring Contests and Snide Comments

DENZEL'S POV

Rule #6: If someone stares too long, give them a reason to look away first.

I didn't expect a car to show up-especially not his car.

After another volleyball game, I stayed back to help the coach with logistics-then made the mistake of checking the bus schedule. The last one had already pulled away.

Of course.

My phone battery was at 7%, and Hannah's messages sparkled with glitter emojis and half-hearted apologies.

GROUP CHAT: CROSS QUEENS

Hannah: We had to go ahead! Mama's driver picked us up early! Don't kill me!

Rheiza sent a gif of someone holding a "SORRY NOT SORRY" sign.

I should've been mad. I wasn't. Just tired.

The parking lot was almost empty when I heard a low engine hum. A sleek black SUV pulled up beside me, and the tinted passenger window slid down.

"Need a ride?" came the low voice behind the window.

Him.

He was still wearing his Mater Carmeli jacket-unzipped now, sleeves rolled up. His hair was damp from a post-game rinse. He looked like he'd just walked off a Gatorade commercial.

I crossed my arms. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Waiting for you."

"Why?" I asked, folding my arms tighter.

He tilted his head. "Because the way you glared at Luke earlier told me you weren't getting picked up."

"I wasn't glaring."

I just wasn't used to being flirted with. Especially not by a guy like Luke. Still, I gave him my number when he asked. Too fast, maybe. Did that make me look like easy prey?

"You were. It was impressive."

I raised an eyebrow. "So now you're following me around?"

"If I say yes, does that make me a stalker or a gentleman?"

"Neither. Just suspicious."

He smiled. Not full. Not smug. Just... small. Like he didn't use that muscle often.

"You coming or not?"

My legs were sore. My shoes were thin. My battery was at 4%.

I got in.

The interior smelled like pine and leather. Quiet music played from the speakers-something mellow and instrumental.

"Seatbelt," he said.

I buckled in without a word and stared ahead, as if the windshield held all the answers.

We didn't talk for the first few minutes. The city blurred past us in shades of rust and neon. I could feel him glancing at me from time to time, but I refused to look.

Then he said, "You're not exactly a people person, are you?"

"I like specific people."

"Let me guess. Your two friends. Your mom. Maybe a teacher or two. And... that's it."

"You forgot myself."

He chuckled under his breath. "Right. You're your own favorite person."

"Shouldn't everyone be?"

He nodded. "Fair."

Silence again.

Then, "You're good at chess."

"Thank you."

"Biatrice doesn't lose often."

"I don't plan to either."

He glanced over. "Do you ever relax?"

"I relax by winning."

Another smile.

We reached a stoplight. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then asked, "What do you do when you're not training?"

"Work part-time. Visit my dad. Study."

"Hospital?"

"Coma," I answered flatly.

I said it flatly-not for drama, just to cut the pity off early.

He nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

"No. But I know how it feels to watch someone you care about fade."

That made me glance at him. He wasn't looking at me now. Just the road. Eyes far away.

I said nothing.

We reached my street. He slowed.

"You can drop me off here."

He parked gently and shifted in his seat. "You sure you don't want me to walk you?"

"I'm not fragile."

"I didn't say you were."

I reached for the door.

"Damsel."

I paused. Irritated.

"Next time you need a ride..." He held out a small folded card. "Call me. Or don't. Your call."

I slipped it into my pocket.

"Thanks," I said. "And it's Denzel, not damsel. Get that right."

"Anytime, damsel."

I glared at him. "Denzel," he corrected himself, slightly amused.

As I walked away, I didn't look back. But my heart did.

-

BIA'S POV

Everyone thinks losing hurts the most when the audience is loud.

They're wrong. It hurts the most when the crowd goes silent. When no one knows what to say. When the person across from you doesn't even look like they tried that hard.

I still hadn't moved from the chess match days ago.

Ramos didn't gloat. Didn't smirk. Didn't even flinch. She said "Checkmate" like it was math, not war.

And that's what made it worse.

I stared at the ceiling of my room, arms folded under my head. The ceiling fan spun above me, mocking how quickly she dismantled my game. I'd trained for that tournament. I'd reviewed Ramos' past matches, noted her patterns, weaknesses, decision time.

And still, she beat me in twenty-three moves.

"Unbelievable," I muttered.

My phone buzzed. A message from Tim.

Tim: hey. u ok?

I didn't answer. Because I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't supposed to still care this much about a match that ended days ago.

I wasn't angry. Not exactly. I respected her skill. I just wasn't used to losing. Especially not with Basti watching.

The worst part wasn't even the match. It was seeing his eyes drift toward her. Not in awe. Not in confusion.

In curiosity-focused and unblinking.

And curiosity from Basti was rare. Most people, he ignored. The rest, he tolerated.

But that girl? He looked at her like she'd done something he didn't expect. He looked at her the way I wished he'd once looked at me.

I sat up and pulled my hair into a bun, trying to shake off the sting. Tim messaged again.

Tim: want coffee?

Tim: or something that involves punching a wall?

Tim: i'll bring gloves

I couldn't help but snort.

Me: no punching walls. just pride.

Tim: got it. no punches. only pastries.

There was a knock at my door.

"Come in," I called.

Luke peeked his head in. "You okay?"

I shrugged. "Sure. Just thinking about where I went wrong."

"You didn't play badly. She just played smarter."

"Gee, thanks, Lukas."

"I mean that as a compliment."

Luke stepped inside and flopped onto my beanbag chair. "You'll rematch her. You'll probably win. You always do the second time."

"I don't care about the win."

"Liar."

I gave him a look.

He raised his hands. "Okay, okay. You care. A little. A lot. Maybe."

I sighed. "She was good."

"She was intense."

"Basti noticed her."

Luke went still.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I saw."

"That's never happened before."

"Nope."

I leaned back. "You don't think she's his type, do you?"

Luke laughed. "Basti doesn't have a type. He has a pattern: avoid, avoid, avoid."

"Until now," I breathed.

He shrugged. "If it helps, I think she hates both of us."

"That doesn't help."

Luke leaned forward. "You'll get over your first love in time."

"No," I said quietly. "I don't see that happening soon."

Silence stretched between us. Then my phone buzzed again.

Tim: i'm outside with cupcakes. open the door before i eat yours.

Luke peeked at the screen. "He brought cupcakes? You hate cupcakes."

"I like cupcakes when I lose."

He smiled. "Guess today's one of those frosting days, huh? You were in-denial about it for days."

"Shut up, dumbass."

And as I stood to open the door, I made myself a promise: I could lose with grace. But I would not fade.

Not to Ramos.

And definitely not to Basti.