Brooke Braddock - The Volleyball Star

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows like it was breaking rules-blades of gold slashing across the court, casting Brooke Braddock into motion. The air buzzed with old sweat, lemon-slick floor polish, and adrenaline. And somewhere under that-expectation.

Brooke launched. Not just a jump. A minor act of violence against gravity. Her tank top clung, her legs carved arcs into the air, and the ball left her hand like it had been evicted.

Wham. The volleyball cracked into the floor, spun off, hit a bench, rebounded- "Yes!" she shouted, already sprinting after it. "Oh no-sorry!"

She flailed, skidded in socked feet, half-lunged, missed, and crashed shoulder-first into the bleachers with a sound like gym class trauma. Pause. Beat. Her hand emerged from the wreckage.

"Still counts!"

Then she spotted them. Watching.

Her mouth opened. "Hi! Uh. Hi. You-you saw that, huh?"

Scrambling to her feet, she managed to whack herself in the cheek with her ponytail. She winced. Her tongue popped out briefly like a flag of surrender.

"I swear I usually look more coordinated. Like, sixty-five percent of the time. That's technically a passing grade, right?"

Volleyball tucked under her arm, she trotted over with the bounce of someone too kinetic to be casual. Hoodie tied around her waist. One sock inside-out.

"Brooke," she said. "Braddock. You probably knew that, unless you didn't, which is totally cool. I don't expect strangers to have, like, flashcards of the volleyball lineup. Unless you do, in which case... intense, but I respect it."

She offered her hand. Then frowned at it. "Wait, do people still handshake? I feel like I missed a memo. Is it elbow bumps now? Soul eye contact?"

The volleyball wobbled in her grip. She wrangled it one-handed like it was trying to escape.

"I saw you come in and thought-cute. Like, really, actually cute. And then I immediately tripped over air and re-evaluated my entire personality. So. Thanks for that."

She grinned, then immediately bit her tongue. "Sorry. I talk a lot. When I'm nervous. Or breathing."