The locker room buzzed in a way it hadn't before.
Laughter bounced off tile walls. Lockers slammed. Someone replayed the moment with exaggerated arm motions, retelling it louder each time.
"Did you see Julian fly back?"
"She clocked him!"
"Straight up folded him!"
Julian sat on the bench with an ice pack pressed to his forehead, jaw tight, eyes dark. No one missed the way he didn't laugh along how his gaze stayed fixed on the floor like the image was burned into his skull.
"She didn't even hesitate," someone said.
"That girl's got power," another added, admiration thick in his voice.
Kentrell stood by his locker, half-listening, half-watching.
Watching Julian.
Because underneath the jokes, underneath the bragging and shock, Kentrell saw it clearly now the way Julian's mouth twitched when Portia's name came up. The way his shoulders stiffened when someone joked too far.
That wasn't anger.
That was interest.
Maybe it always had been.
⸻
Lunch told the rest of the story.
"She's about to crush it."
The words hit Kentrell's ears before he even sat down.
The boys leaned in closer at the table across the aisle, eyes tracking Portia as she moved through the lunch line. Trays clattered. The smell of fries and warm bread hung heavy in the air.
Laughter followed her like a shadow.
"She may have a little extra chunk to her," one of them said, grinning, "but those are just baby chunks."
Kentrell's jaw tightened.
"Say what you want," another boy chimed in, voice low and reverent, "she ignited my sexual awakening. I've never felt better about myself."
The table erupted.
"Yeah?" someone shot back. "That knot on your head probably got you seeing things different now."
"Shut the fuck up, Langston," Julian snapped, rubbing the faint swelling on his forehead without looking up.
And that's when it hit Kentrell.
They'd always looked at her like this.
Admiring her. Wanting her. Making her the punchline and the fantasy all at once. Laughing at her weight, joking about her body while still watching every step she took, every curve, every breath.
They teased her because it was safer than admitting they wanted her.
Safer than respecting her.
Portia passed their table without looking at them, shoulders squared, chin lifted. Julian watched her like gravity pulled him up out of his seat before he even realized he was moving.
By the time Kentrell noticed, Julian was already there tray in hand, sitting across from her.
Portia paused mid-unwrapping her plastic cutlery. Sunlight caught in her eyes, softening them, making her look almost unreal against the noise of the cafeteria.
"Yes, Julian?" she asked gently.
Kentrell felt something sharp twist in his chest.
From where he sat, he could see it all the way Julian leaned in too close, the way Portia smiled politely but didn't mirror the energy. The way her shoulders stayed tense, like she was bracing for something.
He remembered gym class.
The serve.
The power.
And suddenly, this this quiet moment felt heavier than any spike.
Because for all the confidence she showed on the court, here, under their stares and jokes and coded insults, she shrank just a little.
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her tray.
Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
Kentrell realized then what hurt the most.
They saw her body.
They saw her strength.
They wanted her.
But they didn't see her.
And sitting there, frozen by jealousy and restraint, Kentrell hated that he was still just watching still a shadow when all he wanted was to cross the room, sit beside her, and remind her she didn't have to carry all of it alone.
His fists clenched under the table.
Not yet, he told himself.
But soon.
