The Galactic Adventures of Paige and Poe: A Star Wars Story

Chapter 1

He wanted to pinch himself.

The stately halls of the Academy were everything Poe Dameron dreamed it would be—tall ceilings, commanding pillars, walls lined with portraits and stories of the greatest X-wing pilots to have flown the galaxy. Students in uniform jackets and flight gear alike, with helmets or books tucked under their arms, bustled left and right between class and training—and Poe was one of them. If my father could see me now, he thought.

Backpack in tow, he lifted his head just a bit higher and continued walking, every now and then checking the mapping device on his wrist to make sure he was going the right way to class—discreetly, so he didn't look like a total freshman.

Then, the map projection abruptly switched to a clock. Class time. "Shoot," Poe mumbled, navigating back to the map. Nevermind being discrete. He hustled down the hall like an oblivious newb, backpack jostling violently behind him, before he found Room 204. His first class: Intro to Flying.

Swinging the door open, all eyes turned to Poe as he stood frozen in the doorway. The professor looked at him squarely.

"You must be Mr. Dameron," she said.

A charismatic smile crept onto Poe's face as he smugly tugged the sides of his Academy jacket. "That's me."

The professor squinted at him, adjusting her glasses with a menacing look on her face. Poe swallowed hard. "One thing you should know about me, students," she said, "is that I do not tolerate unpunctuality in this class. Punctuality is an expression of discipline, and discipline is one of the foundational traits of any pilot. Discipline and studiousness. No aspiring flyer should expect to get their butt on an X-wing if they don't first get their nose in the book. Am I clear?"

"Yes, professor," the class responded in unison.

Meanwhile, Poe had tiptoed to his seat—discreetly. But not discreet enough.

"Dameron," her deep, throaty voice said sternly. "Consider this your first and final warning."

Poe cleared his throat. "Y-yes, ma'am. Professor."

She proceeded with her lecture, but Poe found himself in his head again. He scanned the room, taking everything in. The windows. The desks. The star maps and airship diagrams on the walls. Wow.

He scanned the students around him. His classmates. Future flyers. Or dropouts, who knows.

He'd spend almost the entire class looking around, daydreaming—but somehow, his eyes kept returning to one student in particular, sitting front and center. He observed her—her soft yet strong brown eyes fully focused on the lecture, looking away only to take notes in her book, and each time she did so, she'd comb her finger down her long black hair, then gently maneuver it behind her ear when she looked down to write.

This one's the nerd, Poe told himself with a smirk.

He had successfully distracted himself the entire class time. When they dismissed, Poe was so ready to get out of that box of a room, his backpack clumsily grazed over a desk on the front row, sending books and papers flying to the floor.

Hearing a gasp, Poe's eyes darted to the floor, to a young dark-haired woman frantically gathering her things.

"Oh my goodness," he panicked, "I'm so sorry." He bent down to help her, picking up whatever loose pages he could.

"I've got it, I've got it," the girl insisted. "There's a certain way I have it...organized..." She looked up at her helper—the boy who came late to class. She took the papers from him. "Dameron, right?"

"You can call me Poe," he smiled.

And she smiled back. "I'm Paige," she said with a chuckle, shrugging at the notebook page she was holding in her hand. "Paige Tico."

Poe nodded with a grin. "Well, Paige," he said, handing her a page, "I shall not forget your name."

"Likewise," she replied. "Poe."

More carefully this time, Poe rose to his feet and quietly left the classroom. Blushing. Discreetly.