Alex Faulkner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
videokilledme) wrote2018-01-06 11:09 pm
videokilledme) wrote2018-01-06 11:09 pm
“And The Rest Is (World) History.” Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Four
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"And The Rest Is (World) History." Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Four
[music]
World History 1001 was a Monday/Wednesday/Friday class, and they’d started off on a Monday.
On Wednesday, everything went perfectly well, just as Alex had planned for things to go that semester. Everyone kept their distance from him, with the notable exception of Bianca, who waved and cheerfully called out to him from across the room before class, to which he gave a half-hearted raise of his hand in reply; the empty chair beside him remained empty.
On Friday, everything went to hell. Instead of being content with yelling a greeting at him from afar, Bianca had claimed the empty chair next to Alex. “It only makes sense for us to sit together,” she said matter-of-factly as she dropped her backpack on the floor space between them, “since we’re working on this class project together.” Alex grudgingly admitted that she had a point, even if it wasn’t completely watertight reasoning, but it seemed like more trouble than it was worth to argue with her about it, and he knew Dr. Pace wouldn’t be on his side if he tried to bring it up with the professor. In any case, Alex found that he was annoyed at losing the extra space, but not nearly as much as he should have been, or expected to be, which was annoying in an entirely different sort of way.
Now that he knew to look for it, Alex could see a vague family resemblance between Dr. Pace and Bianca (their cheekbones, their strong jawline, the shape of their eyes, the steady and self-assured way they both moved), though nothing about their professor’s treatment of her was in any way preferential; in fact, if anything, he was slightly more inclined towards calling on her for answers to difficult questions--and not the simple cut-and-dried ‘when,’ ‘where,’ or ‘who’ questions, but the ‘whys’ and ‘hows.’ Bianca didn’t seem to take it personally in the least, rising to the challenge more often than not, sometimes with profound insight. Even Alex, who didn’t particularly care one way or the other about history, couldn’t help being a little impressed. Hearing her talk about it so expressively, and sometimes even debate points with Dr. Pace, made the subject matter sound a lot more interesting.
The most irritating part of the class, in Alex’s opinion, wasn’t anything particular to the class itself; it was actually another student. Connor Katou, the wiseass who’d been so outspoken during their very first class, was no better during their second and third sessions, speaking up out of turn to deliver needless but generally witty one-liners or argue with Dr. Pace over trivial points of the lecture. On Friday it got so bad that Bianca finally burst out in the middle of his sixth know-it-all comment, “Connor! Ohmigods, we get it, you’re super smart and funny, so shut the hell up already! Some of us want to learn something other than how much of a smartass you can be!”
The whole class had gone completely quiet, stunned silence stretching on for a long, disbelieving moment, then everyone burst out laughing all at once, Alex among them; even Dr. Pace had needed to hide a small smile with his hand. Alex hadn’t been able to stop himself from sending an appreciative look Bianca’s way, and he decided that he liked her even more than he’d first thought. Yeah...with a mouth like that on her, I can definitely see us being very good friends, he thought, watching with a smirk as Connor gaped across the room at the innocently-smiling blonde.
“So, what, you know that guy?” Alex had asked in a low voice as they packed up after class, nodding towards Connor, who had clearly recovered from Bianca’s comment and was swaggering up the main set of stairs as if he owned the place. (And, well, a surprising number of their classmates did wave or call out to him, so maybe he was more popular than Alex had realized.)
“Ugh, only by reputation,” Bianca said with roll of her eyes and a laugh. “Unc- Dr. Pace had him last semester also, and he was...something of a trial, I’d say…”
“Ah,” Alex nodded, looking away from Bianca to finish packing up his bag. “Lots of stories told around the dinner table, huh.”
“You have no idea.”
Alex’s eyes went to Connor, who was talking to another girl from their class, and leaning so far over the desk between them that he’d practically draped his entire body across it. As he watched, the handsome Asian student did the old pull-a-flower-from-behind-the-ear trick for the girl, who clapped admiringly, and then displayed a winsome blush as Connor tucked the tiny bloom into her hair. Alex nearly gagged out of reflex and sheer annoyance. “Oh, I think I’ve got some idea,” he muttered as they made their way up one of the side sets of stairs and out of the auditorium.
Bianca followed his gaze with her own and gave another amused roll of her eyes when she saw what the other student was up to. “Yeah, you probably do,” she conceded, then gave Alex a friendly swat on the side of the shoulder that was hard enough to sting. “Anyway, I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta take off! My team’s got a practice game at Howard University tonight, and we’re leaving in an hour, and I still gotta eat and change and go grab some stuff from my dorm, BUT I’ll see you at 6:00 p.m. on Sunday at the library, just as planned! Text me if you can’t make it!”
And with a brilliant smile and another stingingly sharp smack to his arm, she swept off without even waiting for any kind of reply from him, not that he had anything important to say.
He wasn’t certain that he ever had anything truly important to say to her, which was why he had a minor dilemma later that night. He wanted to know how the practice game had gone--Bianca cared about volleyball a lot, so if he wanted them to really be friends, it would be good if he tried to be interested in the sport, or her team’s games at the very least--but he wasn’t certain that he should text her.
On the one hand, she’d told him to text her. That counted as permission, didn’t it?
On the other hand, the context of that permission was probably important, and her specific directive had been to text her if he couldn’t make it to the study session, which wasn’t the case, at least not at this point. He could text her and call off their study session, then add a quick oh by the way, how’d your game go? after his apology, but that would mean not seeing her and not getting any work done on their project, and he was loathe to give up either for something so small as a casual-sounding inquiry about a practice game. That would probably do more to hurt their fledgling friendship than help it along. In any case, he didn’t want to lie to her, especially not about something so stupid.
And so the dilemma remained.
So far, the one time Bianca had texted him about their first impromptu meeting at the library was the only time either of them had sent a message to the other, which meant they’d only used it for school-related things. The only reason she’d asked for his number in the first place was to contact him about their project; she might not appreciate him using it for non-project-related things.
...Then again, she didn’t seem like the type to take offense over something so trivial, and on the off chance she did, she’d probably tell him outright, which was a genuine relief. Alex appreciated directness, and vastly preferred it to the wishy-washy diffusive attitude plenty of people put on in an effort to be polite. There was a time for tact, but there was also a time for honesty, and most people seemed to have issues finding the balance between them. Alex himself tended to err on the side of honesty; he could be terribly blunt, and unintentionally cruel because of it. (The worst example was probably something that had happened back in high school: he’d told a girl who’d recently been hanging around him a lot that he was glad that he was DJing their Homecoming Dance, because asking someone to the dance sounded like a lot of pointless trouble, especially since he really didn’t want to get romantic with anyone from their school, especially not anyone in their class. He’d found out later that she’d had a crush on him, and had been hoping he’d ask her to the dance, or that she’d find a time to ask him, and his honesty had caused her to spend three full periods in the bathroom crying. Alex still didn’t think that he’d done anything wrong there; he’d simply told her the truth. She hadn’t actually said anything to him about her feelings and he wasn’t a mind-reader, so wasn’t it her own fault for getting her hopes up, especially when he’d never once indicated that he was interested in her at all? And why would she decide to like him in the first place? He’d been even shorter and skinnier back then, and had only just been beginning to come into his own fashion-wise. He was definitely not cool, and definitely not good boyfriend material...and that latter point was still true even now.)
In the end, Alex didn’t text Bianca. He decided that he didn’t really want to after all--he’d hear all about it on Sunday, no doubt, so there was no need. He didn’t care about it that much anyway...or at least, that’s what he told himself.
They had their first Sunday-at-6:00 study session as planned, and it went well. As expected, he heard all about Bianca’s practice game (they’d lost their first set then won the other two, though it had been more of a fight than their coach liked), and he didn’t mention his inward conflict about texting her over it. They got a fair amount of work done, which was encouraging, and Alex was careful to be more conscious about the passage of time, which meant this session was shorter than their first one had been. Two hours was still a good bit of time, though, and they’d chatted as comfortably as before, like old friends. It was a strange feeling, an odd, unquantifiable warmth spreading through his chest as he sat beside her and helped her plot out points on their timeline of ancient China. He’d almost been sorry to cut things short.
Almost.
Alex had spent the first week exploring the campus, and large as Carrington was and as many places as he had yet to look over, he continued with that in the second week as well. On Tuesday night, he decided to go somewhere obvious that he’d overlooked until this point: the gym.
He hadn’t avoided it because he had any particular dislike of gyms, but it was true that most sports weren’t exactly Alex’s forte. He wasn’t very strong, and his endurance wasn’t terrible but wasn’t anything to write home about, though he was devilishly quick and dexterous, so he did do well at certain types of athletics. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to see if the gym offered any sort of martial arts classes, or something else that might help him bulk up a little bit without being too time-consuming.
He’d brought a change of clothes, just in case he saw something that looked like it was worth trying out right away, and he wasn’t disappointed: there were half a dozen racquetball courts, easily visible from the front desk of the gym. After changing and signing out one of the courts, Alex spent the next half hour or so smacking the ball around (and definitely not imagining that it was a certain irritating and loudmouthed classmate’s head, nope, definitely not); technically he had the court for an hour, so long as there wasn’t a huge waiting list, but he was already tired and knew that he needed to go study, so 30 minutes was plenty for him.
As he stepped out of his own court, he couldn’t help but notice the crowd of twenty or so people clustered around one of the other racquetball courts, down at the far end. Some kind of intuition, an icy cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, warned him to just turn around and leave--he didn’t really care what was going on down there, after all, and the odds were exceedingly slight that it would be anything he would find even remotely interesting. And yet, for some reason he ignored his better judgment and let curiosity get the better of him (it wasn’t that far, it wouldn’t take long to see what the fuss was about, and he wasn’t in any particular hurry to get home; his Deductive Logic homework and all the rest would keep for the three minutes it would take to satisfy his inquisitiveness).
Then he reached the pack of observers, managing to make use of his small frame to edge his way through them just enough to see in through the glass panel onto the court...and then he went completely still as his gaze settled on a very familiar figure.
It was Bianca.
Alex watched, his pale eyes gradually going wide with something like wonder as the blonde decimated her opponent--a guy so decidedly huge and Norse-looking that he could’ve easily been an extra on that show about vikings. Not that size mattered all that much in racquetball, at least not as far as Alex knew, though it probably did give him a reach advantage and up his serving speed also. Regardless of whether it did or not, Bianca won neatly while the crowd, an even mix of guys and girls, eagerly and good-naturedly cheered them both on. As Alex looked around, he realized with a slight start that the group of spectators had grown from twenty to closer to fifty--enough that there was hardly enough room for everyone to see into the court.
What the hell? he wondered with a shake of his head. What’s so fascinating about two students playing racquetball? Granted, Bianca’s movements were fluid and smooth, captivating to watch, and it was kind of entertaining to see someone so comparatively small claim such a decisive win against a much larger opponent, but that still wasn’t really enough to justify this level of attention.
The mob of spectators gave another cheer and crowded inwards a little as Bianca left the court triumphantly, grinning and giving Viking Guy a consoling slap on the shoulder, and Alex found himself leaning in a little to try to catch what she was saying:
“-Can try again next month, if you want! You’ve definitely gotten better, Hans! Your serve speed almost had me a couple times!”
Alex resisted the urge to snort out loud at that. Bianca had sported a wide smile for the entire part of the match that he’d seen--and there had been a competitive edge to the expression, sure, but not the faintest trace of struggle or strain. She’d beaten Viking Guy (whose actual name was ‘Hans’, apparently) easily--thrashed him, morelike. In fact, she’d hardly broken a sweat, while Hans looked like he’d finished a half-marathon. Still, Bianca’s tone was encouraging and entirely sincere, not pedantic or patronizing; she clearly meant it, both that he’d improved and that he was welcome to a rematch.
...Which begged the question as to why he would want one so badly, and also why he had to wait a month. Alex felt his eyebrows drawing together in a considering frown as he took in the burly jock’s crestfallen expression. It sucked to lose, sure, and this guy looked like the type who took even minor losses excessively hard (he also looked like the type who would give--and take--a lot of flak for getting “beaten by a girl”); but there was something else there as well, a different kind of disillusionment.
“All right, then!” Bianca pulled his attention away from Viking Guy as she made a show of stretching, then playfully flexing, showing off her well-toned biceps. “Who’s next? Bring it on!”
As she glanced over the crowd, beaming at them all, her eyes happened to land on Alex, who saw a brief flicker of surprise cross her face, though it was swiftly overtaken by an even brighter grin.
“Alex!” she called with obvious delight, then sighted down her racket at him, as if it were a sword rather than a relatively harmless piece of sports equipment. “Come to challenge the reigning queen of the courts?”
Alex felt the attention of the crowd shift onto to him, and for a moment, it left him feeling a little breathless and off-balance...but then he suddenly relaxed into the pressure. He was accustomed to having strangers looking at him, he realized: his usual stylistic choices made pretty certain of that. And while he was dressed simply now, in a plain grey shirt and black athletic shorts, he found that it didn’t matter why they were looking at him. He was still at ease, unbothered by the blunt force and weight of their attention.
...In fact, it almost felt kind of nice…
“Nnnnope,” he drawled out in reply to Bianca’s question, then gestured to his clearly sweat-stained shirt, tugging on the collar slightly in emphasis. “I’m already done here for the day, and need to go study. Just curious what all the fuss was about.”
Bianca didn’t razz him, didn’t complain or whine or press the issue. Instead, the blonde simply nodded her understanding or at least her acceptance, giving him a quick wink that was so fast and subtle that Alex was left wondering if he’d imagined it, then turned her attention elsewhere, this time to a girl with lovely golden-bronze skin and clay beads in her hair that rattled as she stepped forward, smiling and spinning her racket. “All riiiiight, a brand new challenger!” Bianca crowed, then her voice dropped to a playful stage whisper as she added, “And one that’s so pretty, I’m almost tempted to let her win!”
“You’ll do no such thing,” the girl said primly, offering her hand, and Bianca grinned as she took and shook it in a textbook sportsman’s clasp.
“Yeah, you’re right, I won’t,” she agreed easily, then gestured to the court with her racket. “All right, enough talk! Time to get our racquetball on!”
The gathered students let out a hearty cheer as the two girls pushed back through the shatterproof glass doors into the court, crushing forwards again in the hopes of getting a better view of things, almost taking Alex with them.
If he was entirely honest with himself, and he generally tried to be, Alex would’ve liked to stay to watch Bianca play at least another round, if only to try to figure out exactly what was going on here. (Was there some sort of on-the-downlow betting pool, or was there something else on the line? Was this just a racquetball enthusiasts club...or was Bianca popular enough that it was more of a fanclub meet-up?) Still, much as he wanted to stay, he’d talked himself into a proverbial corner, what with using his studies as an excuse to turn down her challenge. He basically had to leave now, at least if he wanted to preserve his pride. Normally he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but here and now, in front of a group of his peers and Bianca, it seemed a little more important for some reason.
And so, with an inward shrug, Alex edged his way back out of the crowd, turning his mind away from his far too interesting classmate and towards more immediate concerns, such as a shower, dinner, and his 64 pages of reading for Communication Theory tomorrow.
READ MORE
"And The Rest Is (World) History." Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Four
[music]
World History 1001 was a Monday/Wednesday/Friday class, and they’d started off on a Monday.
On Wednesday, everything went perfectly well, just as Alex had planned for things to go that semester. Everyone kept their distance from him, with the notable exception of Bianca, who waved and cheerfully called out to him from across the room before class, to which he gave a half-hearted raise of his hand in reply; the empty chair beside him remained empty.
On Friday, everything went to hell. Instead of being content with yelling a greeting at him from afar, Bianca had claimed the empty chair next to Alex. “It only makes sense for us to sit together,” she said matter-of-factly as she dropped her backpack on the floor space between them, “since we’re working on this class project together.” Alex grudgingly admitted that she had a point, even if it wasn’t completely watertight reasoning, but it seemed like more trouble than it was worth to argue with her about it, and he knew Dr. Pace wouldn’t be on his side if he tried to bring it up with the professor. In any case, Alex found that he was annoyed at losing the extra space, but not nearly as much as he should have been, or expected to be, which was annoying in an entirely different sort of way.
Now that he knew to look for it, Alex could see a vague family resemblance between Dr. Pace and Bianca (their cheekbones, their strong jawline, the shape of their eyes, the steady and self-assured way they both moved), though nothing about their professor’s treatment of her was in any way preferential; in fact, if anything, he was slightly more inclined towards calling on her for answers to difficult questions--and not the simple cut-and-dried ‘when,’ ‘where,’ or ‘who’ questions, but the ‘whys’ and ‘hows.’ Bianca didn’t seem to take it personally in the least, rising to the challenge more often than not, sometimes with profound insight. Even Alex, who didn’t particularly care one way or the other about history, couldn’t help being a little impressed. Hearing her talk about it so expressively, and sometimes even debate points with Dr. Pace, made the subject matter sound a lot more interesting.
The most irritating part of the class, in Alex’s opinion, wasn’t anything particular to the class itself; it was actually another student. Connor Katou, the wiseass who’d been so outspoken during their very first class, was no better during their second and third sessions, speaking up out of turn to deliver needless but generally witty one-liners or argue with Dr. Pace over trivial points of the lecture. On Friday it got so bad that Bianca finally burst out in the middle of his sixth know-it-all comment, “Connor! Ohmigods, we get it, you’re super smart and funny, so shut the hell up already! Some of us want to learn something other than how much of a smartass you can be!”
The whole class had gone completely quiet, stunned silence stretching on for a long, disbelieving moment, then everyone burst out laughing all at once, Alex among them; even Dr. Pace had needed to hide a small smile with his hand. Alex hadn’t been able to stop himself from sending an appreciative look Bianca’s way, and he decided that he liked her even more than he’d first thought. Yeah...with a mouth like that on her, I can definitely see us being very good friends, he thought, watching with a smirk as Connor gaped across the room at the innocently-smiling blonde.
“So, what, you know that guy?” Alex had asked in a low voice as they packed up after class, nodding towards Connor, who had clearly recovered from Bianca’s comment and was swaggering up the main set of stairs as if he owned the place. (And, well, a surprising number of their classmates did wave or call out to him, so maybe he was more popular than Alex had realized.)
“Ugh, only by reputation,” Bianca said with roll of her eyes and a laugh. “Unc- Dr. Pace had him last semester also, and he was...something of a trial, I’d say…”
“Ah,” Alex nodded, looking away from Bianca to finish packing up his bag. “Lots of stories told around the dinner table, huh.”
“You have no idea.”
Alex’s eyes went to Connor, who was talking to another girl from their class, and leaning so far over the desk between them that he’d practically draped his entire body across it. As he watched, the handsome Asian student did the old pull-a-flower-from-behind-the-ear trick for the girl, who clapped admiringly, and then displayed a winsome blush as Connor tucked the tiny bloom into her hair. Alex nearly gagged out of reflex and sheer annoyance. “Oh, I think I’ve got some idea,” he muttered as they made their way up one of the side sets of stairs and out of the auditorium.
Bianca followed his gaze with her own and gave another amused roll of her eyes when she saw what the other student was up to. “Yeah, you probably do,” she conceded, then gave Alex a friendly swat on the side of the shoulder that was hard enough to sting. “Anyway, I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta take off! My team’s got a practice game at Howard University tonight, and we’re leaving in an hour, and I still gotta eat and change and go grab some stuff from my dorm, BUT I’ll see you at 6:00 p.m. on Sunday at the library, just as planned! Text me if you can’t make it!”
And with a brilliant smile and another stingingly sharp smack to his arm, she swept off without even waiting for any kind of reply from him, not that he had anything important to say.
He wasn’t certain that he ever had anything truly important to say to her, which was why he had a minor dilemma later that night. He wanted to know how the practice game had gone--Bianca cared about volleyball a lot, so if he wanted them to really be friends, it would be good if he tried to be interested in the sport, or her team’s games at the very least--but he wasn’t certain that he should text her.
On the one hand, she’d told him to text her. That counted as permission, didn’t it?
On the other hand, the context of that permission was probably important, and her specific directive had been to text her if he couldn’t make it to the study session, which wasn’t the case, at least not at this point. He could text her and call off their study session, then add a quick oh by the way, how’d your game go? after his apology, but that would mean not seeing her and not getting any work done on their project, and he was loathe to give up either for something so small as a casual-sounding inquiry about a practice game. That would probably do more to hurt their fledgling friendship than help it along. In any case, he didn’t want to lie to her, especially not about something so stupid.
And so the dilemma remained.
So far, the one time Bianca had texted him about their first impromptu meeting at the library was the only time either of them had sent a message to the other, which meant they’d only used it for school-related things. The only reason she’d asked for his number in the first place was to contact him about their project; she might not appreciate him using it for non-project-related things.
...Then again, she didn’t seem like the type to take offense over something so trivial, and on the off chance she did, she’d probably tell him outright, which was a genuine relief. Alex appreciated directness, and vastly preferred it to the wishy-washy diffusive attitude plenty of people put on in an effort to be polite. There was a time for tact, but there was also a time for honesty, and most people seemed to have issues finding the balance between them. Alex himself tended to err on the side of honesty; he could be terribly blunt, and unintentionally cruel because of it. (The worst example was probably something that had happened back in high school: he’d told a girl who’d recently been hanging around him a lot that he was glad that he was DJing their Homecoming Dance, because asking someone to the dance sounded like a lot of pointless trouble, especially since he really didn’t want to get romantic with anyone from their school, especially not anyone in their class. He’d found out later that she’d had a crush on him, and had been hoping he’d ask her to the dance, or that she’d find a time to ask him, and his honesty had caused her to spend three full periods in the bathroom crying. Alex still didn’t think that he’d done anything wrong there; he’d simply told her the truth. She hadn’t actually said anything to him about her feelings and he wasn’t a mind-reader, so wasn’t it her own fault for getting her hopes up, especially when he’d never once indicated that he was interested in her at all? And why would she decide to like him in the first place? He’d been even shorter and skinnier back then, and had only just been beginning to come into his own fashion-wise. He was definitely not cool, and definitely not good boyfriend material...and that latter point was still true even now.)
In the end, Alex didn’t text Bianca. He decided that he didn’t really want to after all--he’d hear all about it on Sunday, no doubt, so there was no need. He didn’t care about it that much anyway...or at least, that’s what he told himself.
They had their first Sunday-at-6:00 study session as planned, and it went well. As expected, he heard all about Bianca’s practice game (they’d lost their first set then won the other two, though it had been more of a fight than their coach liked), and he didn’t mention his inward conflict about texting her over it. They got a fair amount of work done, which was encouraging, and Alex was careful to be more conscious about the passage of time, which meant this session was shorter than their first one had been. Two hours was still a good bit of time, though, and they’d chatted as comfortably as before, like old friends. It was a strange feeling, an odd, unquantifiable warmth spreading through his chest as he sat beside her and helped her plot out points on their timeline of ancient China. He’d almost been sorry to cut things short.
Almost.
Alex had spent the first week exploring the campus, and large as Carrington was and as many places as he had yet to look over, he continued with that in the second week as well. On Tuesday night, he decided to go somewhere obvious that he’d overlooked until this point: the gym.
He hadn’t avoided it because he had any particular dislike of gyms, but it was true that most sports weren’t exactly Alex’s forte. He wasn’t very strong, and his endurance wasn’t terrible but wasn’t anything to write home about, though he was devilishly quick and dexterous, so he did do well at certain types of athletics. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to see if the gym offered any sort of martial arts classes, or something else that might help him bulk up a little bit without being too time-consuming.
He’d brought a change of clothes, just in case he saw something that looked like it was worth trying out right away, and he wasn’t disappointed: there were half a dozen racquetball courts, easily visible from the front desk of the gym. After changing and signing out one of the courts, Alex spent the next half hour or so smacking the ball around (and definitely not imagining that it was a certain irritating and loudmouthed classmate’s head, nope, definitely not); technically he had the court for an hour, so long as there wasn’t a huge waiting list, but he was already tired and knew that he needed to go study, so 30 minutes was plenty for him.
As he stepped out of his own court, he couldn’t help but notice the crowd of twenty or so people clustered around one of the other racquetball courts, down at the far end. Some kind of intuition, an icy cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, warned him to just turn around and leave--he didn’t really care what was going on down there, after all, and the odds were exceedingly slight that it would be anything he would find even remotely interesting. And yet, for some reason he ignored his better judgment and let curiosity get the better of him (it wasn’t that far, it wouldn’t take long to see what the fuss was about, and he wasn’t in any particular hurry to get home; his Deductive Logic homework and all the rest would keep for the three minutes it would take to satisfy his inquisitiveness).
Then he reached the pack of observers, managing to make use of his small frame to edge his way through them just enough to see in through the glass panel onto the court...and then he went completely still as his gaze settled on a very familiar figure.
It was Bianca.
Alex watched, his pale eyes gradually going wide with something like wonder as the blonde decimated her opponent--a guy so decidedly huge and Norse-looking that he could’ve easily been an extra on that show about vikings. Not that size mattered all that much in racquetball, at least not as far as Alex knew, though it probably did give him a reach advantage and up his serving speed also. Regardless of whether it did or not, Bianca won neatly while the crowd, an even mix of guys and girls, eagerly and good-naturedly cheered them both on. As Alex looked around, he realized with a slight start that the group of spectators had grown from twenty to closer to fifty--enough that there was hardly enough room for everyone to see into the court.
What the hell? he wondered with a shake of his head. What’s so fascinating about two students playing racquetball? Granted, Bianca’s movements were fluid and smooth, captivating to watch, and it was kind of entertaining to see someone so comparatively small claim such a decisive win against a much larger opponent, but that still wasn’t really enough to justify this level of attention.
The mob of spectators gave another cheer and crowded inwards a little as Bianca left the court triumphantly, grinning and giving Viking Guy a consoling slap on the shoulder, and Alex found himself leaning in a little to try to catch what she was saying:
“-Can try again next month, if you want! You’ve definitely gotten better, Hans! Your serve speed almost had me a couple times!”
Alex resisted the urge to snort out loud at that. Bianca had sported a wide smile for the entire part of the match that he’d seen--and there had been a competitive edge to the expression, sure, but not the faintest trace of struggle or strain. She’d beaten Viking Guy (whose actual name was ‘Hans’, apparently) easily--thrashed him, morelike. In fact, she’d hardly broken a sweat, while Hans looked like he’d finished a half-marathon. Still, Bianca’s tone was encouraging and entirely sincere, not pedantic or patronizing; she clearly meant it, both that he’d improved and that he was welcome to a rematch.
...Which begged the question as to why he would want one so badly, and also why he had to wait a month. Alex felt his eyebrows drawing together in a considering frown as he took in the burly jock’s crestfallen expression. It sucked to lose, sure, and this guy looked like the type who took even minor losses excessively hard (he also looked like the type who would give--and take--a lot of flak for getting “beaten by a girl”); but there was something else there as well, a different kind of disillusionment.
“All right, then!” Bianca pulled his attention away from Viking Guy as she made a show of stretching, then playfully flexing, showing off her well-toned biceps. “Who’s next? Bring it on!”
As she glanced over the crowd, beaming at them all, her eyes happened to land on Alex, who saw a brief flicker of surprise cross her face, though it was swiftly overtaken by an even brighter grin.
“Alex!” she called with obvious delight, then sighted down her racket at him, as if it were a sword rather than a relatively harmless piece of sports equipment. “Come to challenge the reigning queen of the courts?”
Alex felt the attention of the crowd shift onto to him, and for a moment, it left him feeling a little breathless and off-balance...but then he suddenly relaxed into the pressure. He was accustomed to having strangers looking at him, he realized: his usual stylistic choices made pretty certain of that. And while he was dressed simply now, in a plain grey shirt and black athletic shorts, he found that it didn’t matter why they were looking at him. He was still at ease, unbothered by the blunt force and weight of their attention.
...In fact, it almost felt kind of nice…
“Nnnnope,” he drawled out in reply to Bianca’s question, then gestured to his clearly sweat-stained shirt, tugging on the collar slightly in emphasis. “I’m already done here for the day, and need to go study. Just curious what all the fuss was about.”
Bianca didn’t razz him, didn’t complain or whine or press the issue. Instead, the blonde simply nodded her understanding or at least her acceptance, giving him a quick wink that was so fast and subtle that Alex was left wondering if he’d imagined it, then turned her attention elsewhere, this time to a girl with lovely golden-bronze skin and clay beads in her hair that rattled as she stepped forward, smiling and spinning her racket. “All riiiiight, a brand new challenger!” Bianca crowed, then her voice dropped to a playful stage whisper as she added, “And one that’s so pretty, I’m almost tempted to let her win!”
“You’ll do no such thing,” the girl said primly, offering her hand, and Bianca grinned as she took and shook it in a textbook sportsman’s clasp.
“Yeah, you’re right, I won’t,” she agreed easily, then gestured to the court with her racket. “All right, enough talk! Time to get our racquetball on!”
The gathered students let out a hearty cheer as the two girls pushed back through the shatterproof glass doors into the court, crushing forwards again in the hopes of getting a better view of things, almost taking Alex with them.
If he was entirely honest with himself, and he generally tried to be, Alex would’ve liked to stay to watch Bianca play at least another round, if only to try to figure out exactly what was going on here. (Was there some sort of on-the-downlow betting pool, or was there something else on the line? Was this just a racquetball enthusiasts club...or was Bianca popular enough that it was more of a fanclub meet-up?) Still, much as he wanted to stay, he’d talked himself into a proverbial corner, what with using his studies as an excuse to turn down her challenge. He basically had to leave now, at least if he wanted to preserve his pride. Normally he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but here and now, in front of a group of his peers and Bianca, it seemed a little more important for some reason.
And so, with an inward shrug, Alex edged his way back out of the crowd, turning his mind away from his far too interesting classmate and towards more immediate concerns, such as a shower, dinner, and his 64 pages of reading for Communication Theory tomorrow.
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