Chapter 10

(Flashback, 2019)

Senior year starts with expectations.

State title expectations. National ranking expectations. College expectations.

Every interview seems to ask the same questions.

What’s it like being committed to UConn? How excited are you to play together at the next level? Can you imagine what it’ll be like when you’re both in Storrs?

The funny thing is, neither Isadora nor Paige minds answering.

Because they’ve been imagining it for years. Long before recruiting rankings. Long before social media highlights. Long before anyone outside of Minnesota knew their names.

They’ve been planning it since they were kids.

So when Isadora finds herself sprawled across Paige’s bedroom floor one Friday night in September, the conversation drifts there naturally.

Like it always does.

Paige sits cross-legged on her bed, a basketball spinning lazily on one finger. “You realize we’re gonna win everything, right?”

Isadora snorts. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

The ball drops into Paige’s lap. “I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.”

“Exactly.”

Paige grins. “Think about it.” She points dramatically. “You.” Another point. “Me.” Then both hands. “UConn.”

Isadora rolls her eyes. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You know I’m right.”

The worst part is, she does. Paige has always had this certainty about her.

Not arrogance.

Certainty.

Like if she works hard enough, believes hard enough, the universe eventually has to cooperate. It’s one of the things Isadora loves most about her. And one of the things that scares her most, too.

Paige falls backward against her pillows. “You know what I can’t wait for?”

“What?”

“March Madness.”

Isadora laughs. “We haven’t even started our senior season.”

“I know.”

“But you’re already thinking about college.”

“I’m always thinking about college.” Paige throws an arm over her eyes. “I’m gonna hit a game winner in the Final Four.”

“You’ve planned this already?”

“Obviously.”

“Of course you have.”

Paige sits back up immediately. “No, listen.”

Her eyes light up. The way they always do when basketball gets involved.

“We make the Final Four.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re down one.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Five seconds left.”

“Paige.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are never serious.”

Paige ignores her. “I drive.”

“You shoot.”

“They double me.”

“They won’t.”

“They double me.”

“Fine.”

Paige points at her. “I kick it to you.”

Isadora immediately shakes her head. “No.”

“Why no?”

“You shoot that.”

“I trust you.”

“Bad choice.”

“I trust you.” Paige repeats it like it’s obvious. Like, there’s no universe where she wouldn’t. And suddenly, Isadora’s chest feels tight.

Not because of basketball. Not because of UConn. Not because of championships.

Just because it’s Paige.

Looking at her like that. Smiling at her like that. Trusting her like that.

The room feels warmer. Smaller.

Paige keeps talking. Something about national championships now. Something about hanging banners.

Isadora barely hears any of it. Because she’s staring.

Again.

She’s been doing that a lot lately. Watching Paige talk. Watching Paige laugh. Watching Paige exist. Trying to ignore what it’s doing to her. Trying and failing.

Paige finally notices. Her sentence trails off. “What?”

Isadora blinks. “What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

The question isn’t suspicious. Just curious.

Paige has never been good at noticing these things. Which somehow makes this harder.

“I don’t know.”

Paige narrows her eyes. “You do know.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

The smile playing at Paige’s mouth is easy. Comfortable. Completely unaware.

And suddenly, Isadora can’t do it anymore. Can’t keep carrying it. Can’t keep pretending.

Her heart is pounding so hard it hurts. Paige is still looking at her expectantly. Waiting. Trusting. Completely defenseless.

And before Isadora can think herself out of it, she moves.

It’s quick. Impulsive. Terrifying.

One second, she’s sitting on the floor. The next, she’s leaning forward.

Her lips brush Paige’s. Just once. Barely a second. Then she’s pulling away immediately.

The room goes silent. Completely silent. Paige freezes.

Actually freezes.

The expression on her face is almost impossible to read. Shock. Confusion. Disbelief. All of it at once.

Isadora’s stomach drops. Instantly.

“Oh, my God.”

The words leave her mouth before she can stop them. Paige doesn’t respond. She just stares. The basketball slips from her lap and rolls across the comforter unnoticed.

Neither of them looks away. Seconds pass. Then more.

Paige finally swallows. Hard.

And when she speaks, her voice sounds different.

Smaller.

“So…”

The word dies immediately.

Neither of them knows where to go from there. Isadora can practically hear her own heartbeat. Paige looks away first.

Toward the wall. The window. Anywhere but her.

Then she laughs. A nervous laugh. One Isadora has never heard before.

“So.”

There it is again. The same useless word. The same attempt.

Paige rubs the back of her neck. “We should probably…”

Her sentence trails off. Isadora feels sick.

Because she recognizes what’s happening. Paige is trying to put everything back. Trying to rewind the last thirty seconds. Trying to find normal.

“We should probably what?” Isadora asks quietly.

Paige looks at her. Then immediately away again. “Basketball.”

The answer comes too fast. Too forced.

“We were talking about basketball.”

The silence afterward is unbearable.

Because no.

They weren’t anymore. Not really. Not after that. Not after this.

Paige knows it. Isadora knows it. The room knows it.

“Oh.” Isadora’s voice comes out flatter than she intends.

Paige immediately sits forward. “No, I just mean…” But she doesn’t know what she means. That much is obvious.

“We’re both busy with basketball,” Paige says, a small, uncomfortable laugh escaping from her mouth. “Neither of us has time for this…right?”

“Right,” Isadora says, giving her a tight nod. 

Silence trails afterwards.

For maybe the first time in her life, Paige Bueckers has absolutely no idea what to say. And watching it happen somehow hurts more than outright rejection would’ve.

Because Isadora can see the panic. The uncertainty. The way Paige is desperately searching for the right answer and not finding one. The way she’s looking at her differently now.

Not badly. Not cruelly. Just…differently.

Which might be worse.

Paige opens her mouth. Closes it. Then tries again. “We’ve got a game tomorrow.”

The second the words leave her mouth, she seems to realize how ridiculous they sound.

Isadora almost laughs. Almost.

Instead, she nods once. Slowly.

“Right.”

Paige’s shoulders sag. Because they both know. The conversation is over.

Not finished.

Just over.

And neither of them knows how to get back to where they were ten minutes ago. The plans for UConn. The Final Fours. The championships. The future they’d spent years building together.

All of it is still there.

But now something else is sitting between them, too.

Something neither of them knows how to name. Something that makes the room feel unfamiliar for the first time in their lives.

And when Isadora eventually leaves that night, standing from the floor and mumbling something about getting home, Paige doesn’t stop her.

She just sits on the edge of the bed. Watching her go. Looking stunned.

Like she’s still trying to figure out what happened.

And for the first time in years, they don’t know exactly what the other is thinking.

~~~

A few weeks pass.

Not enough time for anyone else to notice. More than enough time for Isadora.

The thing about being best friends with someone for over a decade is that you learn the things nobody else sees.

The pauses. The hesitations. The tiny shifts in behavior that seem meaningless until they start adding up.

And lately, they keep adding up.

It starts on a Tuesday. Lunch period.

Their entire friend group is crowded around two tables pushed together near the windows of the cafeteria. Teammates. Friends. People they’ve known forever.

The conversation is loud and scattered, bouncing from basketball to homework to college visits.

Isadora is halfway through stealing fries off someone’s tray when she notices it.

Not something Paige does. Something Paige doesn’t do.

Paige isn’t sitting beside her. Normally, that wouldn’t mean anything. Except Paige always sits beside her.

Always.

They’ve sat together so consistently over the years that people stopped asking where either of them wanted to sit.

The seat was just understood.

But today Paige is across the table. Between two other friends. Talking. Laughing. Acting normal.

It shouldn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

So why does Isadora keep noticing?

“Isa.” Someone snaps their fingers in front of her face.

“What?”

“You listening?”

“No.”

The table laughs. The conversation moves on. But Isadora catches herself looking across the table again.

Paige is talking about something from practice. Animated. Smiling. Looking completely normal.

Which somehow makes Isadora feel worse.

Then it happens again. After practice.

Usually they leave together. Always have.

Their routines are practically automatic. Locker room. Parking lot. One of their cars. Food. Home.

Today, Isadora emerges from the locker room and finds Paige already gone. No text. No explanation. Just gone.

She stares at the empty parking lot for a moment.

Confused. Then annoyed at herself for being confused.

Her phone buzzes.

Paige

Sorry had to leave quickly. Mom needed me home.

The message is completely reasonable. Normal. Nothing strange about it.

And yet.

Isadora stares at it longer than she should.

A week later, they’re in English class together. Group project.

Normally, a guaranteed excuse to spend an hour talking about anything except the actual assignment.

Today Paige sits across from her instead of beside her. Again.

Not weird. Except it is.

Because every time Isadora starts a conversation, Paige answers. But she doesn’t continue it. Doesn’t build on it. Doesn’t keep it going.

It’s subtle.

So subtle.

Nobody else would notice. Nobody else knows Paige the way Isadora does.

But she does. And she can feel it.

Like a rope slowly being pulled away one inch at a time.

Not enough to snap. Just enough to create distance.

The realization fully hits during an away game. The bus ride home. Their favorite place. Or at least it used to be.

The team is scattered throughout the bus.

Half asleep. Half watching movies. Half pretending to do homework.

Paige usually sits with Isadora. Always sits with Isadora. Tonight she drops into the seat directly in front of her instead.

With another teammate.

The conversation lasts the entire ride.

Meanwhile, Isadora sits alone.

Watching dark highway blur past the window.

Trying not to feel ridiculous. Trying not to care.

Because maybe she’s imagining it. Maybe she’s overthinking. Maybe she’s becoming paranoid.

The kiss happened weeks ago. Nothing changed after that. Not really. They still talk.

Still practice together. Still hang out. Still laugh. Still plan for UConn.

Everything is technically the same.

So why does it feel different?

The answer comes on a Friday night. A few teammates and friends are hanging out at someone’s house after a football game.

Music plays from a speaker in the corner.

People are piled onto couches, beanbags, and the floor. The room buzzes with easy conversation.

At some point, Isadora finds herself telling a story. Everyone’s listening. Everyone’s laughing. Even Paige.

Then Isadora says something stupid. Something that should make Paige laugh the hardest. Because it’s an inside joke. Their joke. One they’ve had for years. The kind of thing nobody else understands.

The room laughs politely. Paige smiles. And that’s it.

Just a smile. Not the laugh. Not the immediate follow-up. Not the continuation that normally comes.

Just a smile.

Like she’s choosing not to engage. Like she’s deliberately letting it die.

And suddenly, Isadora knows.

Not thinks.

Knows.

She’s pulling away.

The realization lands so hard it almost steals her breath.

Across the room, Paige is talking to someone else now. Completely unaware. Or maybe very aware.

Isadora honestly can’t tell anymore. She studies her for a moment. Trying to figure it out. Trying to understand why.

Because if Paige is angry, she’d say something.

If Paige is upset, she’d say something.

If Paige wants space…

Well.

Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe that’s exactly what this is. Not one big moment. Not one conversation.

Just distance. Carefully created. Little by little. Until eventually, there isn’t enough left to cross.

Across the room, Paige glances up. Their eyes meet briefly. For one second. Then Paige looks away first.

And for the first time in their entire friendship, Isadora feels like she’s losing her.

And she has absolutely no idea how to stop it.

Liya yaps! :

its getting messy

don’t be silent readers!