"Alright, class! Today is going to be a fantastic day filled with a whole bunch of thrilling games! Let's kick things off by choosing our captains!"
The gym groaned in collective protest, sneakers squeaking as everyone shuffled into loose clusters. The air smelled like rubber, sweat, and that faint lemon cleaner the custodians swore worked miracles.
Portia lingered near the back, arms folded loosely over her chest, watching names get tossed into the air like dice. She still felt different.
Not lighter.
Not braver.
Just seen.
The dance had done that.
She hadn't expected much dim lights, awkward swaying, the usual jokes. But when Kentrell had placed his hands on her waist, gentle and steady, something inside her had settled. He hadn't pulled her closer like he was claiming something. He hadn't kept distance like he was embarrassed.
He'd just held her.
Like it was natural.
"Portia."
Her name snapped her back.
She turned to see Julian standing a little too close, jaw tight, eyes dark. He looked like he hadn't slept. Or maybe he had just badly.
"Hey," she said, polite. Neutral.
It was the same tone she used with teachers and cashiers. The one that meant don't make this weird.
Julian noticed.
That alone made his mouth twitch.
"So," he said, glancing pointedly across the gym where Kentrell stood laughing with Joe. "Guess you're a big deal now."
She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged, but his shoulders were tense. "Just funny how fast people switch up."
Her spine straightened.
"No one switched up," she said. "Things just happened."
"With him," Julian pressed.
Her patience thinned. "Yes. With him."
The teacher clapped loudly. "Captains! Julian. Kentrell. Front and center."
The gym felt it.
Julian stiffened. His eyes flicked to Portia sharp, possessive, searching as if daring her to look away.
She didn't.
Kentrell met her gaze instead.
It wasn't dramatic. He didn't smirk. Didn't puff up.
He just looked at her like she grounded him.
Julian noticed that too.
Teams started forming. Names were called. Groans. Cheers. The usual hierarchy reshuffling itself into something cruelly familiar.
"Portia," Julian said suddenly, loud enough to carry. "You wanna play on my team?"
Heads turned.
Portia froze.
There it was.
Not an ask.
A claim.
Before she could answer, Kentrell spoke.
"Actually," he said calmly, "she's with me."
The room went quiet not silent, but close.
Julian laughed, sharp and humorless. "Didn't know she needed someone to decide for her."
Portia felt it then. The weight. The way eyes slid over her body, her face, calculating what she was worth in this moment.
She stepped forward.
"I decide for me," she said. Her voice didn't shake. That surprised her most. "And I don't want to be on your team."
A few murmurs rippled through the gym.
Julian's jaw clenched. "Why?"
She exhaled, tired of dancing around it.
"Because when you look at me," she said, "it feels like you're trying to own something. And when he looks at me" She nodded toward Kentrell. "it feels like he actually sees me."
The words landed heavier than a dodgeball.
Julian's face darkened not with embarrassment, but something colder. Something wounded and furious.
Kentrell didn't move. Didn't gloat. He just waited, steady as ever.
The teacher cleared his throat loudly. "Okay! Teams!"
Portia walked past Julian without another word and joined Kentrell's side.
As the game began and balls flew and laughter rose again, Portia realized something quietly powerful:
People had always looked at her like a spectacle.
A joke.
A want.
But Kentrell had danced with her like she was a choice.
And Julian?
Julian stood on the opposite side of the court, gripping the ball too tightly, watching her like she was something he'd lost and didn't know how to let go of.
