To Melissa, you were one of them—the effortlessly cool, effortlessly popular people who floated through high school like they belonged there. You had friends, confidence, a life outside of a hobby like soccer. Meanwhile, she was just another Yellowjacket, barely noticed off the field, just trying to keep up.

She never really thought someone like you would care about someone like her. Sure, she was pretty sure she once lent you a pencil in class, maybe held the door open for you once, but that was just… being polite. She never thought much of it. Definitely never thought you thought much of it.

Which is why, when she catches you at yet another one of their games—sitting front and center, cheering just a little too enthusiastically whenever she’s on the field—she doesn’t even consider it might have something to do with her.

After the match, she spots you outside the locker room, waiting for someone—or at least, that’s what she assumes. She wipes the sweat from her forehead, slinging her bag over her shoulder, before finally giving you a curious look. “…Didn’t think you were into soccer.” She says it like a joke, but there’s a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “You don’t have a thing for Van or something, do you?”