Chapter 5

Ted’s is louder than Isadora had realized.

Music low in the background. Glasses clinking. People talking over each other from crowded booths. The whole place smells like fried food and grease and summer air drifting in every time the door opens.

The team takes up almost an entire section near the back.

KK insisted on it.

“Chemistry building exercise,” she’d declared while dragging tables together.

Isadora sits near the end of the booth, shoulders tucked inward slightly, menu open mostly so she has something to look at.

She’s been here maybe six minutes. And she’s already aware of Paige. Not in the way she wants to be.

Just…aware.

Across the table, Paige leans back against the booth like she belongs everywhere effortlessly.

Older.

That’s the first thing Isadora notices now that she’s seeing her outside the gym, really seeing her.

Not older in a bad way. Just…grown into herself.

Sharper jawline. Broader shoulders. Taller than Isadora remembers, somehow. Her hair’s longer on top now, pushed back lazily like she didn’t spend time on it, even though it still looks good.

Too good. Annoyingly good. Isadora hates it instantly.

Hates that after everything, her brain still notices details like the way Paige laughs with her whole face or how people naturally lean toward her when she talks.

It’s irritating. Embarrassing, honestly. So Isadora keeps her attention on the menu.

“Isa.”

She looks up automatically.

KK grins across the table. “You’ve been staring at those mozzarella sticks for like ten minutes.”

“I’m reading.”

“You’re not reading.”

A few people laugh softly.

Isadora closes the menu. “Fine. I’ll get them.”

“Thank God,” KK says dramatically. “I was getting nervous.”

Conversation rolls on around her after that, easy and overlapping.

Aubrey and Azzi arguing about music. Caroline telling some story about summer workouts. Aaliyah stealing fries off someone’s plate.

Isadora mostly listens. It’s easier that way.

Safer.

“So,” KK says, turning suddenly toward her, “I gotta ask.”

Of course.

Isadora already knows she’s not going to like whatever comes next.

“What was Iowa like?”

The table quiets just enough. Not dramatically. Just attention shifting.

Isadora reaches for her drink before answering. “Different.”

“Different how?” Nika asks.

Isadora shrugs slightly. “Different system. Different people.”

“Did you like it?” Aubrey asks.

The question catches her off guard a little.

She glances down at the condensation gathering around her cup. “Yeah,” she says after a second. “I did.”

And across the table, Paige goes still. Barely noticeable. If Isadora wasn’t already watching her without meaning to, she wouldn’t catch it.

Paige’s expression doesn’t change.

She keeps looking down at her plate, pulling apart a fry with her fingers like she isn’t listening at all.

But she is. Isadora knows she is.

“What made you transfer?” Aaliyah asks carefully.

The table gets quieter this time. Isadora feels it immediately. Across from her, Paige finally looks up.

Not at her. Near her. Close enough.

“I just…” Isadora starts, then stops.

The real answer lodges somewhere sharp in her chest.

Because Iowa was good. Because Iowa was never supposed to happen. Because every game there felt a little like living in the wrong life.

“I wanted to finally accomplish the goals I had when I was a kid,” she says finally. 

It’s not a lie.

Just not the whole truth. A few people nod immediately.

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah, fair.”

“You definitely fit here.”

Isadora gives a small smile that doesn’t fully settle.

Across the table, Paige reaches for her drink. Still quiet. Still pretending not to listen.

KK, thankfully, moves the conversation before anyone can dig deeper.

“Well,” she says, “Iowa food could never compete with Ted’s anyway.”

“That is objectively false,” Azzi says.

“Wrong.”

“It’s literally not.”

“Connecticut pizza clears everybody,” KK says confidently.

The argument explodes from there. Everyone talking over each other at once. Isadora lets herself drift out of it again, gaze moving absentmindedly around the restaurant, until it catches on Paige.

Again.

Paige is laughing softly at something Aubrey said now, head tilted slightly downward. The light above the booth catches the edge of her profile. And suddenly, Isadora is seventeen again.

Standing in a gym after practice.

Watching Paige grin at someone else for the first time and realizing something inside her is about to break.

She looks away immediately. Her stomach twists hard enough to make her lose her appetite.

“Isa.”

This time it’s Aaliyah.

“You good?”

Isadora blinks, forcing herself back into the moment. “Yeah.”

“You got quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“That’s true,” Aaliyah admits.

A small laugh circles the table. Isadora smiles faintly. And when she glances across the booth one more time, Paige is already looking at her.

Not openly. Just briefly. Quick enough that if anyone else saw it, they wouldn’t think anything of it.

But Isadora notices the way Paige looks away a second too late.

Like she got caught listening. Like she’s been paying attention the entire night.

Isadora looks away first.

Again.

Her chest feels tight suddenly, the noise of the restaurant pressing in around her too loudly now, KK arguing about ranch, Azzi laughing, silverware scraping against plates.

Too much.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she says quietly, already sliding out of the booth before anyone can really respond.

“Bring me back fries,” KK says immediately.

“You have fries.”

“More fries.”

Isadora shakes her head faintly and walks away before anyone notices how fast she’s leaving.

The bathroom hallway is quieter.

Cooler.

She exhales slowly the second the door swings shut behind her. For a moment, she just stands there. Hands gripping the edge of the sink. Breathing.

This is stupid.

She’s fine. It’s just Paige.

Just Paige.

The problem is that it’s always been, Paige.

Isadora stares at herself in the mirror, jaw tight. Three years. Three years apart, and somehow Paige still knows how to unravel her without even trying.

The bathroom door opens behind her. She knows who it is before she turns around.

Of course, she does.

Paige lets the door shut quietly behind her.

For a second, neither of them says anything. The silence feels heavier here. No teammates. No noise to hide behind.

Just them.

Paige leans back lightly against the door, arms folded loosely across her chest. “You okay?”

Isadora lets out a humorless breath through her nose. “Why do you care?”

Paige’s expression shifts slightly at that. “I was just asking.”

“Right.”

Another silence.

Isadora reaches for a paper towel she doesn’t need, buying herself a second.

“Dora-“

“Don’t call me that.”

The words come out immediately. Sharp.

Paige stills.

Isadora finally turns around fully, meeting her eyes for the first time since Paige walked in.

“I mean it,” she says. “Don’t call me that anymore.”

Something flashes across Paige’s face too quickly to fully read.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Sorry.”

But the apology sounds off somehow. Careful. Guarded. It irritates Isadora instantly.

“You don’t get to do that.”

Paige frowns slightly. “Do what?”

“Act like everything’s normal.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

Isadora laughs once under her breath. “Seriously?”

Paige pushes off the door, then, posture tightening. “What do you want me to do, Isa?”

The nickname lands differently. Formal. Controlled.

Not Dora. Not theirs.

“I don’t know,” Isadora says. “Maybe acknowledge that this is weird.”

Paige stares at her. “You think I don’t know that?”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

A beat.

Then Paige’s jaw tightens slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re acting like we just lost touch after high school instead of-“

Isadora cuts herself off hard. The air between them sharpens immediately.

Paige’s eyes lock onto hers. “Instead of what?”

“Instead of you breaking my heart.”

“Instead of you throwing me away.”

“Instead of pretending I stopped mattering the second things got complicated.”

But Isadora can’t say any of that out loud. Not here. Maybe not ever.

So instead she shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Paige lets out a short breath, frustrated now. “You don’t get to start something and then do that.”

“Oh, I don’t get to do that?” Isadora snaps.

Paige goes quiet immediately because they both know.

The second the words leave her mouth, they both know exactly what she means. A long silence stretches between them.

Tense. Awful.

Paige looks away first this time, running a hand over the back of her neck. “I know I handled things badly.”

Isadora scoffs softly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I was eighteen.”

“So was I.”

That lands.

Paige’s expression flickers.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she says finally, quieter now.

“And your solution was pretending I didn’t exist?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It literally is.”

Paige opens her mouth, then closes it again.

Because she doesn’t have an answer for that. 

Isadora feels anger pushing up beneath everything else now, hot and old and familiar.

“You don’t get to call me Dora,” she says again, steadier this time. “Not after all that.”

Paige looks at her for a long second. And for the first time all night, she looks affected. Not guarded. Not controlled.

Just tired.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

Isadora swallows hard, suddenly hating how much that hurts, too.

She grabs the paper towel off the counter, throws it away, even though it’s untouched.

Then she walks toward the door.

“Isa-“

She stops. Just for a second.

Behind her, Paige’s voice is lower now. Careful. “I never meant to hurt you like that.”

Isadora’s hand tightens around the doorknob. For a moment, she thinks about turning around.

About saying something honest. Something ugly. Something years overdue.

Instead, she opens the door.

“Doesn’t really matter now.”

And then she leaves.