𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄, 𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘. - 𝐀.𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐍

STANCE, SERVE, RALLY - Twelve.

"Look alive, Flores!" Art called out across the court, using a racket in his hand to bounce a tennis ball repeatedly against the court astroturf.

"Alive? I narrowly escaped death, Donaldson!" Alaska exasperated, tossing her bag to the sidelines, "My dad lost his shit when I came home."

Alaska had to hide the confusion that crossed her mind when Art wasn't acting how she she'd anticipated. Like a someone she'd had to kiss without warning.

Unfortunately, Alaskas one unbridled evening of freedom was over - not that she made the most of it anyway.

Regardless of what she thought about Art Donaldson, this had to stop.

Alaska crouched beside her bag she'd dropped, unzipping it and unsheathing her racket.

"Playing to win today?" Art observed Alaskas change in demeanour - how her expression dropped sullenly.

"When am I not?" Alaska shrugged blandly, "We usin' your ball?"

Art nodded agreeing, bouncing the ball against the court floor one last time before seizing it in his palm.

"Serve." Alaska cooly urged, stilly waiting for Art to follow her order, as he always did.

But, he didn't.

He dropped his arms to his sides, tilting his head slightly and furrowing his eyebrows - as if he was trying to narrow in on her.

"S'thing bothering you?"

Alaska looked down at her trainers. It felt oddly humiliating looking in his eyes even from the distance between them that was divided by the tennis net.

"No, just serve."

"Mm-mm." He objected, letting the ball fall out of his hand and thimble across the floor with minimal momentum, stopping a few inches away from his feet.

"Don't be difficult, Art - just play."

"M'not. You are."

"Fine. I'll serve then." Alaska rolled her eyes, "You gonna pass the ball or am I seriously going to have to walk onto your side of the net to get it?"

Art pursed his lips, shrugging. Instead, he replied by extending his foot out a little and kicking the discarded tennis ball further across the floor so it was definitely out of his reach.

"Whoops." He smirked, "Can't reach."

Alaska groaned, dropping her racket and torpedoing to the other side of the court - her patience thinning with each step she took towards him.

"You're like, the worst tennis partner ever."

"Ouch." Art sarcastically deadpanned, raising his free hand to his heart, "Really struck a nerve, Flores."

"Good. Maybe channel it into playing fucking tennis?" Alaska bent down, plucking the ball from the ground, "I don't know how you managed to get into Stanford.. they should've offered the scholarship to Patrick instead."

Okay, now that really struck a nerve.

"I'm better than Patrick." Art blurted out before he could even mull over the words, "I'm.. better."

He repeated, however, it didn't sound as convincing the second time.

"Sure you are, Donaldson." Alaska huffed, back turned to him as she walked back over to her side of the court, "Why are you incapable of playing a match with me without misbehaving, then?"

Alaska realised her wording may have come off a little provocative on second thought - however, time would tell if she kept watch of Art's reaction.

"M-, M'sorry-," Art stammered, significantly more jittery, adverting his gaze to the sidelines.