Chapter 4: One-on-One in the Gym
The gym was a cathedral at midnight.
Jaz pushed through the side door, the one that never locked properly, and stepped into the vast darkness. The emergency lights cast everything in pale red—the bleachers, the scoreboard, the free-throw line she'd stood on a thousand times before. The air smelled like floor wax and old sweat, and her sneakers squeaked against the hardwood as she walked toward the rack of basketballs.
She couldn't sleep.
Nicole's last text sat in her chest like a stone: I'm counting on it. Three words. Nothing special. But she'd read them forty times, trying to decode the tone, the meaning, the future. That was the problem. She was trying to read Nicole like a playbook, and Nicole didn't come with diagrams.
So here she was. Midnight. Alone. Shooting hoops in the dark like some kind of lovesick cliché.
She grabbed a ball, spun it in her hands, and stepped to the line. The first shot clanged off the rim. The second one hit the backboard and bounced away. The third one went in, and the swish echoed through the empty gym like a secret.
She kept shooting. Free throw after free throw. The rhythm settled her, the repetition a meditation. Her body knew this. Her hands knew this. The ball left her fingers with a familiar snap, and the net whispered its approval.
She didn't hear the door open behind her.
Didn't notice the figure moving through the shadows of the bleachers. Didn't realize she wasn't alone until a voice cut through the silence.
"Your form's slipping."
Jaz spun, ball cocked at her hip, heart hammering. Nicole stood at the edge of the court, arms crossed, leaning against the bleachers like she belonged there. She was wearing a faded hoodie and leggings, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face half-lit by the dim glow of the emergency lights.
"You're supposed to be asleep," Jaz said.
"So are you."
"I couldn't."
"Me neither." Nicole pushed off the bleachers and walked toward her, footsteps soft on the hardwood. "Saw the light from the path. Thought maybe someone broke in."
"Just me."
"I can see that." Nicole stopped a few feet away. Her eyes traveled over Jaz—the sweat at her temples, the ball in her hands, the way she stood like she was ready to bolt. "You look like you're trying to solve something."
Jaz laughed, but it came out hollow. "Something like that."
Nicole didn't ask what. She just walked over to the rack, grabbed a ball, and positioned herself under the hoop. "Shoot."
"What?"
"You asked me to rebound for you. At the party. I'm here. Shoot."
Jaz stared at her for a long moment. Then she turned back to the line, dribbled twice, and let the ball fly. It hit the rim, bounced high, and Nicole snagged it out of the air with both hands.
"Not bad," Nicole said.
"That was terrible."
"Okay, it was terrible." She passed the ball back. "Try again."
Jaz caught it, squared up, and shot. This time it went in. Nicole grabbed it before it hit the ground and passed it back without a word.
They fell into a rhythm.
Pass. Shoot. Pass. The only sounds were the squeak of Jaz's sneakers, the thump of the ball against the floor, the occasional swish of the net. Nicole didn't offer advice. Didn't cheer. She just kept feeding the ball back, her presence steady and quiet, a counterweight to the chaos in Jaz's head.
The silence between them wasn't empty. It was full. Comfortable. Intimate.
Jaz shot again. Missed. Nicole rebounded, passed, waited.
"You're in your head," Nicole said.
"Always."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Nope."
"Okay."
She kept shooting. The rhythm continued. Her shoulders loosened. Her breath deepened. The ball started finding the net more often than not, and the tightness in her chest began to unwind.
Then she stepped back. Way back. Past the three-point line, past where she usually shot from in practice. She dribbled once, twice, three times, and let it fly.
The ball arced high, spinning, and dropped through the net without touching the rim.
Jaz turned, fist pumping, a grin splitting her face. "Did you see that?"
Nicole was standing close.
Close enough to touch. Close enough that Jaz could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, the slight part of her lips, the way her breath caught when their gazes locked. She was still holding the ball, but her arms had gone still, and the air between them had shifted into something electric.
Jaz's grin faded.
The gym was silent. The red emergency lights painted Nicole's skin in warm bronze, and Jaz wanted to reach out and trace the curve of her jaw, the slope of her shoulder, the line of her collarbone. Her heart was pounding—not from the shots, not from the sprint, but from the sheer terrifying proximity of this woman who had somehow dismantled every defense she'd ever built.
She set the ball down.
It rolled away, forgotten.
Jaz stepped forward. Her hands were shaking. She didn't know what she was doing—there was no script, no line, no game plan. There was just Nicole, looking up at her with those steady eyes, waiting.
She lifted her hand. Let her fingers brush Nicole's cheek. The skin was warm, soft, and Nicole's eyes fluttered closed for just a second.
"You're trembling," Nicole whispered.
"I know."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what happens next." Jaz's voice was barely audible. "Because I've never done this without pretending. Because you make me want things I don't have words for."
Nicole opened her eyes. "Then stop talking."
Jaz leaned in.
The kiss was slow. Searching. Jaz's lips brushed Nicole's once, twice, a question she didn't know how to ask. Nicole answered by rising on her toes, her hands finding Jaz's waist, pulling her closer. The second kiss was deeper. The third one was something else entirely.
Jaz's hands moved to Nicole's face, cradling her jaw like she was holding something precious. Nicole's fingers curled into the fabric of Jaz's hoodie, anchoring her. Their bodies pressed together, warmth bleeding through cotton and spandex, and Jaz felt something crack open in her chest.
This. This was what she'd been missing. Not the heat. Not the chase. This quiet, terrifying, beautiful stillness.
Nicole pulled back first.
Just an inch. Just enough to breathe. Her lips were swollen, her eyes dark, and she looked at Jaz like she was seeing her for the first time.
"There," she whispered.
"There?" Jaz's voice was hoarse.
"That's what happens next."
Jaz laughed—a real laugh, shaky and relieved. "That's it?"
"For now." Nicole's hands slid up to Jaz's shoulders, then her neck, then her jaw. She held Jaz's face in both hands and kissed her again, soft and quick. "But you still have one more day."
"One more day until what?"
"Until you tell me the truth." Nicole stepped back, and the loss of her warmth hit Jaz like a cold front. "No more games. No more charming your way out of things. Tomorrow, you tell me what you actually want. And I'll tell you what I want."
Jaz swallowed. "What if I'm not ready?"
"Then you're not ready." Nicole shrugged, but her eyes were soft. "But I think you are. I think you've been ready for a long time. You just didn't have anyone worth telling."
She turned and walked toward the door.
Jaz stood frozen, her heart hammering, her lips still tingling. "Nicole."
Nicole stopped. Looked back.
"Thank you," Jaz said. "For rebounding."
Nicole smiled—that slow, knowing smile that made Jaz's knees weak. "Anytime."
The door swung shut behind her.
Jaz stood alone in the gym, surrounded by shadows and red light and the ghost of Nicole's kiss. She looked at the ball, still rolling slowly across the floor, and something settled in her chest.
One more day.
She could do this.
She had to.
Because for the first time in her life, she wasn't playing for the win. She was playing for something real. And that was worth more than any game she'd ever played.
She grabbed the ball, walked back to the line, and shot once more. The net swished. The sound echoed through the empty gym like a promise.
The sound echoed through the empty gym like a promise.
Jaz stood there for a long time after the door clicked shut, the ball still spinning in her hands, her lips still carrying the ghost of Nicole's mouth. The red emergency lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the building, a pipe clanked and settled. She shot until her arms ached and her legs went heavy, and when she finally left, the sky was still black and her phone said 3:47 a.m.
She didn't sleep. Not really. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every second—the way Nicole's breath had hitched when Jaz touched her face, the way her fingers had curled into Jaz's hoodie like she was afraid Jaz might disappear. Around 5 a.m., Jaz gave up and made coffee. She sat at the kitchen table, mug warming her palms, watching the sun come up through the blinds.
Her roommate shuffled in around seven, bleary-eyed and smelling like last night's party. Marcus grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and leaned against the counter.
"You look like shit," he said.
"Thanks."
"Long night?"
"Something like that."
Marcus studied her for a beat, then shrugged and went back to his room. Jaz appreciated that about him—he never pushed. He just existed, solid and unbothered, like a piece of furniture that occasionally gave good advice.
She dragged herself through her morning classes. Economics. Statistics. A gen ed she couldn't remember signing up for. The professors talked, and Jaz took notes, but her mind kept drifting to Nicole—to the curve of her smile in the dim gym light, to the weight of her hands on Jaz's neck, to the words she'd left hanging in the air: Tell me the truth. Whatever it is.
By noon, Jaz had chewed her cuticles raw and rewritten the same sentence in her notes twelve times. She grabbed lunch from a food truck and ate it standing up, watching students stream past. Couples held hands. Friends laughed at inside jokes. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going.
Jaz finished her wrap, tossed the wrapper, and headed toward the library. She didn't know if Nicole would be there. She didn't have a plan. But her feet carried her across campus anyway, past the fountain where everything had started, past the bench where Nicole had sat that first day, unimpressed and unbothered.
The library was quiet. Dusty light filtered through tall windows, illuminating rows of books and the faint smell of old paper. Jaz walked past the circulation desk, past the study tables, past the stacks where students hunched over laptops with headphones in.
She found Nicole in the back corner.
Nicole sat at a small table near the window, surrounded by books, her hair up in a messy bun, a pen tucked behind her ear. She was reading something with a cracked spine and faded cover, her lips moving slightly as she scanned the pages. She looked up when Jaz approached, and her expression didn't change—no surprise, no smile, just that steady, knowing gaze.
"You found me," Nicole said.
"I wasn't looking."
"You walked all the way across campus by accident?"
Jaz shoved her hands in her pockets. "Maybe."
Nicole set her book down and leaned back in her chair. The afternoon light caught the gold in her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the small scar on her chin that Jaz hadn't noticed before. She waited. She didn't fill the silence with questions or small talk. She just sat there, patient and calm, like she had all the time in the world.
Jaz pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. The wood creaked under her weight. She folded her hands on the table, then unfolded them. She looked at the books stacked beside Nicole—psychology, philosophy, something with a title in Spanish—and then she looked at Nicole.
"I don't know how to start," Jaz said.
"Start anywhere."
"That's the thing. I've spent my whole life knowing exactly what to say. I've got a line for everything. But with you, I—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't have any lines."
Nicole nodded slowly. "Good."
"Good?"
"Lines are for people who are afraid of the truth." Nicole tilted her head. "You're not afraid of me, Jaz. You're afraid of what I might see."
Jaz's throat tightened. She looked down at the table, at the grain of the wood, at the faint scratches left by decades of students. Then she looked up again.
"You're right," she said. "I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of this. Of you. Of waking up one day and realizing I don't know how to be the person you need me to be." Her voice cracked. "I've never done this before. Not for real. I've hooked up. I've flirted. I've played the game so long I forgot there was anything else. But then you walked into that classroom, and you didn't care. You didn't laugh at my jokes. You didn't swoon. You just—looked at me. Like you saw right through the bullshit."
"I did," Nicole said.
"And you stayed anyway."
"I did."
Jaz leaned forward. "Why?"
Nicole was quiet for a moment. She reached across the table and let her fingers rest on Jaz's wrist. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a current through Jaz's whole body.
"Because I saw you," Nicole said. "Not the charm. Not the confidence. The girl underneath. The one who reads books she doesn't understand. The one who shoots hoops at midnight because she can't sleep. The one who's been looking for something real her whole life and doesn't know how to ask for it."
Jaz's eyes burned. She blinked hard.
"I want you," she said. The words came out rough, unpolished. No game. No performance. Just the truth. "I want this. Whatever this is. I want to try. I don't know how to do it, but I want to learn. I want to be the person you see when you look at me."
Nicole's thumb traced a slow circle on Jaz's wrist.
"I've been waiting for you to say that," she said.
"Was it worth the wait?"
"Yeah." Nicole smiled. "It was."
She leaned across the table, and Jaz met her halfway. The kiss was soft at first—gentle, careful, the kind of kiss you give someone when you're not sure if they'll still be there when you open your eyes. But then Jaz's hand found Nicole's jaw, and Nicole made a small sound against her mouth, and the carefulness dissolved.
Jaz pulled back just long enough to stand. She came around the table and sat down in the chair beside Nicole, their knees knocking together. Nicole turned toward her, and Jaz cupped her face with both hands, and this kiss was deeper. Hungrier. Two days of wanting, of waiting, of playing by rules Jaz didn't understand, all pouring out at once.
Nicole's fingers found Jaz's waist. Slid under the hem of her shirt. Brushed the skin just above her hipbone, and Jaz's breath caught.
"Wait," Nicole whispered.
Jaz froze. Pulled back. Her hands were still cupped around Nicole's face, her heart still hammering. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Nicole's voice was breathless. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, but her eyes were steady. "But we should slow down."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know you." Nicole moved her hands back to Jaz's shoulders, then to her chest, then to her lap, folding them there. "All of you. Not just this. Not just the heat. I want to hear about your family. Your childhood. The first time you picked up a basketball. What you're afraid of. What you dream about when you're not dreaming about basketball."
Jaz let out a shaky laugh. "That's a lot of questions."
"We've got time."
"Right." Jaz exhaled. "Time."
She sat back in her chair, putting space between them. Not because she wanted to—every cell in her body was screaming at her to close the gap and forget the rest. But because Nicole had asked. And for the first time in her life, Jaz wanted to give someone exactly what they needed.
"Okay," she said. "What do you want to know?"
Nicole smiled. That slow, warm smile that made Jaz's chest ache.
"Everything," she said. "But let's start with something simple. When did you first realize you were good at basketball?"
Jaz thought about it. The old gym in her neighborhood. The cracked asphalt court where she'd spent every summer. Her dad standing on the sidelines, clapping every time she made a shot.
"Third grade," she said. "I joined a rec league because my best friend at the time wanted to try it. I was terrible at first. Couldn't dribble to save my life. But then one day, we were playing a scrimmage, and I stole the ball and just... ran. All the way down the court. Everyone was chasing me, but I was faster. I made the layup, and the whole gym went crazy." She smiled at the memory. "I've been chasing that feeling ever since."
"That feeling?"
"Being good at something. Being the best." Jaz paused. "Being seen."
Nicole nodded. "And when did you realize you were good at being charming?"
Jaz laughed. "Middle school. I figured out that if I smiled right and said the right things, people would like me. It didn't matter if I actually knew who I was. They just wanted to be around the version I gave them."
"Did it work?"
"At first. Then it got old." She picked at a frayed thread on her hoodie. "Everyone wanted the highlight reel. Nobody wanted the blooper reel."
"And what if I said I wanted both?"
Jaz looked at her. Nicole's face was open and honest, no trace of irony, no hidden agenda.
"Then I'd say you're the first," Jaz said.
They talked for hours.
The library emptied slowly, students drifting out as the afternoon wore on. Somewhere around 4 o'clock, Nicole pulled out a granola bar from her bag and split it in half. Jaz ate her portion in three bites and watched Nicole nibble at hers like a bird.
They shared pieces of themselves. Nicole talked about growing up in the Bronx with her abuela, about the summer she spent learning herbal medicine from a neighbor who claimed to be a curandera. She talked about transferring to Hillman because she wanted a fresh start, somewhere she could figure out who she was without the weight of everyone's expectations.
Jaz talked about her dad, who had died when she was sixteen. About the way the whole world had gone sideways after that, about how basketball was the only thing that kept her grounded. She talked about her mom, who worked double shifts and still showed up to every home game, clapping from the back of the bleachers.
"I'm going to ask you something," Nicole said. "You don't have to say yes."
"Okay."
"I want to see you play. For real. Not the midnight practice, not the scrimmage. An actual game."
Jaz's heart stuttered. "You want to come to a game?"
"Unless you don't want me there."
"No—I do. I just—" Jaz ran a hand over her face. "It's weird. I've played in front of hundreds of people. Thousands, sometimes. But the idea of you watching me..."
"Scares you?"
"Yeah." She laughed. "I told you, you make me terrified."
Nicole reached over and took her hand. Her fingers were warm, her grip steady. "Good. Now you know how I feel."
They sat like that for a while, hands intertwined on the table, watching the light change outside. The library was nearly empty now. A librarian shuffled past, giving them a pointed look, and Jaz glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Almost six," she said. "You probably have somewhere to be."
"Not really." Nicole squeezed her hand. "But I should probably eat something that isn't a granola bar."
Jaz grinned. "I know a place. Pizza. Not fancy, but it's the best on campus."
"Is this you asking me on a date?"
"Maybe." Jaz's grin widened. "Unless you don't want it to be."
Nicole stood, gathering her books. She stacked them neatly, slid them into her bag, and then turned to face Jaz. Her expression was thoughtful, like she was weighing something.
"I have a condition," she said.
"Name it."
"I'll bring my friends to your game. The one this Friday. And I'll wear your jersey—"
"Wait, what?"
Nicole's eyes sparkled. "You heard me."
"You'll wear my jersey?"
"To the game. The one after this Friday. Your next home game." She crossed her arms. "If we're doing this—if we're actually trying—then I want to be part of your world. The way you're asking me to be part of mine. And your world is basketball."
Jaz stared at her. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. She looked like she'd been hit by a screen she hadn't seen coming.
"And in exchange," Nicole continued, "you come to my study group. You let me introduce you to my friends. You actually talk to people instead of performing for them."
"That's a lot."
"Too much?"
Jaz shook her head slowly. "No. It's exactly enough."
She stood, shouldered her bag, and offered Nicole her hand. The gesture felt ceremonial, like something she was doing on purpose, not just because she wanted to touch Nicole—though she wanted that too.
Nicole took it.
They walked out of the library together, past the circulation desk, past the front doors, into the golden haze of late afternoon. The quad was alive with students—some rushing to evening classes, others lounging on the grass. A group of guys played soccer with a beat-up ball, and a girl sold handmade jewelry from a blanket near the fountain.
Jaz held Nicole's hand the whole way to the pizza place. She didn't let go when they ordered. She didn't let go when they sat down in the corner booth and shared a pepperoni pizza between them. She didn't let go until the pizza was gone and Nicole said she had to go home and study.
"Friday," Nicole said, standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.
"Friday," Jaz repeated.
"I'll bring Dani and Priya. Carmen and Leah too."
"That's a lot of witnesses."
"Good." Nicole leaned up and kissed her—quick, soft, a promise more than anything else. "I want there to be witnesses. I want everyone to see."
"See what?"
"See you being real."
She stepped back, her hand slipping out of Jaz's, and walked away. Jaz stood there, outside the pizza place, under a streetlight that flickered to life as the sun dipped below the horizon. She watched until Nicole disappeared around the corner.
Then she pulled out her phone.
Her thumb hovered over the group chat with her teammates. She thought about the game on Friday. The way it felt to play in front of a crowd, to sink a shot when the whole gym was holding its breath. She thought about Nicole in the stands, wearing her number, watching her.
For once, she wasn't afraid.
She typed a message and hit send.
I'm bringing someone to the game. Table in the first row. Don't make it weird.
The replies came in fast.
Marcus: who is it?
Rayna: OH SHIT
Tasha: finally
Keeks: is it the girl from the party?
Jaz smirked and pocketed her phone, walking home through the dusk, her steps light, her heart full, her future suddenly wide open.