Work Text:
It’s only been a month since Taissa Turner transferred to Wiskayok High and joined the soccer team and Van is pretty sure she’s going crazy.
Like, straight up certifiable. And she’s pretty sure Taissa has started to notice by now.
It’s like… everything she would normally say or do just completely flies out the window everytime she sees her. Gone is the Van who can always toss around a lighthearted joke, who lets anything roll right off her back. Instead, she’s a fumbling, stuttering mess and no matter what she just can’t help it.
And it’s not like Taissa is mean, or anything. Intimidating? Yes. Intense? By far. Driven? Oh, most definitely. But mean? No, no way. Maybe to girls like Jackie who get threatened by any interruption to the precious status quo, but Van doesn’t see it that way.
No, the reason why she’s going crazy, the reason why she can’t hold a conversation with Taissa for longer than three sentences is because Taissa Turner is probably the prettiest girl Van has ever seen.
And, like, okay; she’s known that she’s liked girls for forever . This is not breaking news. But like— she’s never felt something like this , before. Obviously there are pretty girls at Wiskayok High, but she’s also known a majority of them since elementary school, and liking one of them feels like liking your cousin, or something. The pretty girls catch her eye, sure, but they’re never on her radar. Usually she’s looking ahead towards the future; to a place and time where she’s far from New Jersey and running into a girl at a coffee shop, or something— just like the movies. She has plans , okay? And none of them involve crushing on a classmate and possibly getting outed against her will.
But then Taissa Turner had to move to Wiskayok. Had to show up on the first day of practice, arms crossed and expression distinctly cool and eyes that were completely impenetrable.
At first some of the girls had griped at how she made it on the team without trying out, but by the end of practice they were noticeably silent. Any and all protests after that had died down quickly. Taissa was just that good .
And Van knew she was a goner immediately. There had been a moment, when Taissa was scrutinizing them all down the line, and their eyes had met. Just a fleeting, passing glance. But it had been enough to send a shiver down her spine, making her avert her eyes and getting betrayed just a second later by her cheeks heating up.
Afterwards, when they were still on the field and Van was desperately trying to catch her breath, Taissa had actually come up to her . Skin shining with sweat, stray curls peeking out of her headband, and Van was momentarily struck dumb by how good she looked— even when the rest of them looked like sweaty rats. She’d stuck her hand out to Van, then, and said, “Good game.”
That’s when Van choked. Like, actually choked. As in, swallowing down her spit at the wrong time only to start letting out these hacking coughs like a fucking crazy person, doubled over and trying to catch her breath, feeling like the world’s biggest dumbass. Meanwhile, Taissa just stood there; outstretched hand beginning to waver in the air as her eyes grew wide.
Yeah, she probably could have laughed it off if it was anyone else, but it took so long to get her breathing back under control that by the time she was done she didn’t wanna just start laughing out of nowhere and have Taissa think that she was laughing at her, or something. So she decided to just save herself further misery and embarrassment by instead choosing to pump Taissa’s hand in the air once, choking out a stilted, “Thanks,” before turning away completely. Nat gave her a crazy look when she was finally able to look up past the turf from the field, and all she could do was stick a half-hearted middle finger up as she tried to temper her breathing. An amazing first impression, of course. Definitely not one that she played over and over in her head just so she could cringe at herself.
And that was basically it. The one girl she thought was cute— and she practically hacked up a lung right in front of her before acting like she’d never interacted with a human before. Afterwards it had tempered her around the other girls a little, afraid that if she was so obviously her big, boisterous self then Taissa would surely be able to see just how weird she was with her that first time. She didn’t want Taissa to think she didn’t like her— when really it was the exact opposite— and the whole thing just had her so twisted up in knots she genuinely didn’t know how she was supposed to get through the next semester, let alone three more years .
Part of her wondered if she was really about to go full monk and take a vow of silence around Taissa, and the other part was sure with the sick inevitability that something would have to give soon.
A full month later her hunch is proven correct when Taissa corners her after practice.
It had been a scorcher all day, the last remnants of muggy summer heat still sticking around to make them feel like they were roasting alive out in the sun. She’d stayed behind to talk to Coach Martinez about dues— her mom was late again , of course— and the stress of that combined with the exhaustion of the day had her settling into somewhat of a listless bog, trying to keep her mood from plummeting even after the shitshow of a day. Her shoulder was aching from being overextended, and she hated the nasty, sticky sheen of sweat still clinging onto her skin; was practically fantasizing about taking a shower. She’s so busy trying to cram everything into her sports bag to wash later that she doesn’t even notice Taissa standing above her until she looks up after zipping everything up, nearly falling backwards on her ass from being startled so bad.
Taissa’s looking down at her, arms crossed over her chest and a nearly stoic expression on her face. There’s the barest uptick in the corner of her mouth from when Van had fallen over, but when she meets the other girls eyes there’s not so much of a trace of warmth there. Only the cool, appraising stare that’s had her sweating bullets since she saw it all those weeks ago.
Van clutches her chest, trying to get her breathing back under control. Taissa at least waits until she’s gotten ahold of herself (as much as she can, anyway) before she speaks up.
“So, what’s your damage?” she asks.
It’s a little startling to hear her voice directed, like, right at her. They haven't spoken a word since that initial disastrous meeting, and though she’s heard Taissa’s voice in passing, she’s still struck on the spot, freezing up for a second.
It’s only then that her question finally gets processed. It feels like Van’s swimming through molasses, struggling to keep up and lightyears behind. “Huh?” she finally manages to get out, nearly face-palming at how dumb she sounds.
Taissa lifts a brow, seemingly unimpressed. Van fights the urge to fidget on the spot.
“I said— ” Taissa leans forward now, right into her space. Her voice is low in the quiet of the locker room.Van’s breath catches in her chest. “What's your damage ? Do you have a problem with me, or something?”
And fuck , she immediately feels like an idiot because of course that’s what Taissa thinks, seeing as Van hasn’t given her much else to go based off of. She nearly has to shut her eyes in embarrassment.
“Fuck, I— no, I don’t,” she stutters, trying to meet the other girls eyes before dropping her own, still too afraid to really look. “I don’t have a problem with you,” she finally says lamely, wishing the Earth could just swallow her whole at that point.
Taissa regards her for a second, canny eyes narrowing slightly before combing over her face, searching for some kind of a microexpression that Van isn’t sure she has on or not. After a couple of tense seconds, where she’s holding her breath, Taissa must see something in her, because her posture relaxes marginally, uncoiling a little. There’s a new glint in her eyes, as well, nothing like the cold, defensive stare from just a couple seconds earlier. Now, it’s like she thinks she knows something, and the look makes Van shuffle from foot to foot restlessly, waiting on the verdict. The other look from earlier feels less dangerous than whatever this is.
“Okay. So, what is it then?” Taissa asks, arms still folded across her chest. She’s leaning on the lockers now; hip cocked out at an angle and legs crossed loosely at the knees. The perfect picture of calm, cool, and collected.
Meanwhile, Van feels like her brain is about to leak out of her ears. She’s still trying to cool off from the suicides Coach made them run at the end of practice, and it feels like she still hasn’t been able to catch her breath since. Though most of it probably has to do with the way Taissa is staring at her right now, still folded into her space and making Van feel like her head is full of white static. It feels like she has to work double time to come up with a normal response.
“Nothing! Nothing at all.” Stupid, stupid, stupid . She sounds like she just learned how to speak, like, yesterday.
A corner of Taissa’s mouth lifts up half of a centimeter. “It must be something . I mean… you can barely even look at me.” She inclines her head on the word “look”, meeting Van’s eyes with her own in a move that leaves her temporarily breathless.
Come on, Palmer, you’re better than this , she chides herself, wondering when she ever clammed up. “Can we chalk it up to temporary insanity and just leave it there?” she asks, desperate. It’s hard to tell if Taissa is just humored by the whole thing or if she’s laughing at Van in her face. She’s had too much experience with the latter, and it kind of makes her want to shrink back into the lockers.
But the grin that’s starting to stretch across Taissa’s mouth isn’t like any of the taunting smiles she’s seen before; something warm and teasing that exposes a sharp little eyetooth that has Van blushing again for some goddamn reason. “Mm, I don’t think that’s good enough for me.”
It feels like she’s entering the Twilight Zone, or something. Because if she didn’t know any better, she would think Taissa Turner is flirting with her. Which is impossible in, like, every way. But try telling that to her everything else, because the second that Taissa did that little hum and leaned forward it felt like all her nerve endings got set on fire—spreading a deep blush from the tips of her ears all the way down to her chest. Fuck the redhead curse of blushing at practically anything at the drop of a hat, seriously.
If she doesn’t get her head screwed on correctly any time soon she’s pretty sure Taissa is going to think that she’s a dumbass, or something, so it’s a scramble to say the next witty thing that tumbles out of her mouth. Which, in this case is—“Oh yeah? So what do you think it is then?” idiot. It’s insane that she usually has a quip for everything and then the one time it actually counts she’s coming up blank.
Taissa’s eyes flick down her face, and her mouth stays in that same small uplifted position. “Something different.”
Her throat goes dry. It feels like her heart’s about to pound out of her chest. “Like what?”
This time Taissa gives a shrug, turning so her back is reclined against the lockers now. She's still looking at Van, though, eyes still glinting with something indescribable and arms crossed against her chest. “You tell me, Casanova.”
It startles a laugh out of her. Well, that’s a bit of an understatement. It shocks a laugh out of her, and that somehow gets Taissa giggling too. All the tension leached from her body, like her strings have been cut.
“Casanova?” she asks through her giggles, unable to help herself, “Damn, Turner, I thought I was the only one with jokes on this team. You’re gonna give me a run for my money.”
“What jokes?” Taissa puts on an innocent, wide-eyed expression, only ruined by her mouth helplessly twitching in the corner, “You haven’t shown me anything funny. Just your temporary lapse in sanity, apparently.”
Her jaw drops. She can’t help it. She knew Taissa was smart— could just tell from everything— but it’s different, being thrown back to her confidently. No one ever vollies with her, and it’s so refreshing for a change.
“Well damn, Turner, guess I’ve gotta change that,” she says before she can stop herself, boldness picking up steam and blundering through like a train, “I’ll start up that one-woman comedy show. Consider me your personal jester.”
God, she’s so stupid. But the line somehow works , and Taissa lets out a snort that she hides behind her hand.
Biting her lip, she decides to vault over the next hurdle, not looking back. “Van Palmer,” she says, sticking her hand out, hoping her palm isn’t as sweaty as she thinks it is. “Since I forgot to tell you on the field.”
Taissa grips her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Taissa Turner. But you can call me Tai.”
“Tai. Cool.” She breathes, still aware of the fact that their shaking hands—although they’ve both paused in midair by now. The main thing she’s choosing to focus on, however, is the fact that she hasn’t heard any of the other girls call her Tai. There’s a traitorous, weak part of her that focuses on that fact and makes her chest feel warm and full. And then there’s the more realistic part of her that says it’s not a big deal, you freak, don’t make it into one. That’s the part that has her flexing her hand to loosen it from Taissa’s— Tai’s— grip.
But Tai doesn’t let go at first. Instead, she tightens her hand for a second, clinging tighter; Van can feel the sweat from Tai’s palm transfer to her own, and it’s another thing to lose her mind about.
They stand there for a second, hands gripping onto one another and staring each other down. There’s no animosity, or anything, but there’s definitely tension . And for once it feels like the good kind , not the kind that has her afraid of what the other girl is about to say next. For once it doesn’t feel like her instincts are all wrong, and it’s something that she allows herself to revel in, even if it is just something she’s chalked up in her head.
Eventually Tai withdraws her hand, and Van tries to memorize the warm feeling of her hand being tucked in her own. It sounds stupid, but she swears she can feel the warm, lingering impression of her fingerprints.
“See you tomorrow?” She asks, hating how hopeful and desperate and transparent she sounds.
Tai doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a quick second where it looks like she’s squashing down a smile before it can grow, but she settles for a wry twist of her mouth, eyes glinting in the fluorescent lights as she crosses her arms again.
“Sure,” she confirms, before leaning close; seemingly oblivious to the way it makes Van’s brain feel like mush. “I’ll be waiting on that one-woman comedy show, though. My personal jester, right?”
All the moisture leaves her mouth, leaving Van only able to give a shaky nod in return. Once again, Tai doesn’t seem to mind; something satisfied in her expression as she gives Van one last full body glance that feels like it scorches everything in its wake, “I’ll be waiting.”
She leaves Van standing there, wondering whether the last ten minutes were real or if it was all just some elaborate fever dream. She pinches herself in the thigh, still a little dazed, and has to bite down the near-manic grin when it leaves a sting. One thing is for sure— and it’s something she’s pretty sure she’s known this entire time— she’s definitely a little crazy for Tai Turner.