"Okay," Mira said, tossing him a ball. "Show me how you serve."
Jomar took a deep breath. He bounced the ball once, twice, tried to look serious, and swung like he was launching it into orbit.
The ball soared up—high, majestic, and completely wrong—cleared the court, the fence, and smacked the tin roof of the janitor's shed with a loud clang!
From somewhere inside came a shout. "Ay, gago!"
Jomar winced. "That was... not tennis."
"Nope," Mira deadpanned. "That was baseball. But with extra crimes."
She walked over, picked up another ball, and motioned him to stand beside her. "Watch. Ball toss straight up. Racket meets ball at the peak. Don't murder it, just… guide it. Like this."
She tossed, swung, and the ball cracked across the court with a clean, satisfying thwip.
Jomar blinked. "That was beautiful. Like poetry."
"It's muscle memory. You'll get there. Eventually. Maybe."
"Thanks for the faith."
They were alone on the court—well, mostly. The rest of the team lounged nearby, pretending very hard not to watch.
Tara peeked over the edge of her book.
Fonz lowered his sunglasses to whisper to the twins.
Dom grinned. "Is it just me or…"
Derek finished, "...are those two giving shoujo manga energy?"
"Shut up," Tara muttered. "Let them suffer in peace."
Coach Tonton, sipping calamansi juice from a giant thermos, suddenly declared, "Ahh. It begins. The forbidden romance of a teacher and student."
Everyone stared.
"They're the same age," Tara said.
"That's what makes it forbidden," Coach replied solemnly.
Meanwhile, Mira grabbed Jomar's hand.
"Your grip is all wrong. Relax your wrist."
He stiffened immediately. "Relaxing is hard when someone's holding your hand."
She didn't let go. "That's because you're thinking weird things again."
"I'm not—!"
"Breathe. Think of the ball."
"I'm trying to think of anything but your hand right now."
Her grip tightened slightly. "That's not helping."
"Okay, okay, tennis thoughts. Serve, ball, net—definitely not how nice your perfume smells."
She blinked.
"You noticed that?" she said, softly.
He gulped. "It's coconut... right?"
"Nope. Mango. But... close."
For a second, the court fell quiet. Even the wind held its breath.
Then—
WHACK!
A tennis ball hit Jomar square in the back.
"OW!"
Tara lowered her racket from across the court. "Oops. Thought I saw a spider."
Coach clapped. "See? That's what happens when romance blooms before Regionals!"
They resumed the lesson. Mira kept coaching: footwork drills, serve placement, racket angles. But everything felt ten times more intense now. The way she circled behind him to adjust his stance. The way their eyes met after each rally. The way her laugh sounded louder today—like maybe she was having fun too.
"You're not bad," she said after he finally hit a decent backhand. "You just think too much."
"That's because you're standing like... there."
She blinked. "What?"
"You're distracting."
Her ears turned pink. "Shut up and serve again."
He smiled.
She smiled back—but only for a split second.
Then the twins yelled from the bleachers.
"JUST KISS ALREADY!"
Jomar choked on air. Mira threw a racket at them. They ducked.
Coach Tonton, ever the conductor of chaos, raised his arms like he was directing an orchestra.
"Love is in the air! But footwork is on the ground!" he boomed. "Back to drills before you two get married at midcourt!"
Practice ended with Jomar collapsing dramatically onto the court.
"I can't feel my legs."
"Good," Mira said, sitting beside him. "That means they worked."
"Do you always torture your mixed doubles partners like this?"
"Only the ones who swing like they're swatting giant flies."
He groaned. "Is this what 'just friends' feels like? Because I think I need emotional compensation."
"Friends don't pay," she replied with a smirk. "We bully for free."
Jomar looked up at the sky.
"You're kind of scary, you know that?"
"And you're kind of weird. So it works."
As they packed up, Mira hesitated beside him.
"Hey," she said. "You really planning to stick with this team?"
He looked around—the chaos, the laughter, Coach Tonton loudly debating with Fonz about who would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse, Tara serving balls at a fence post for "revenge," the twins miming heart signs at them from the bench.
Then back at Mira.
"Yeah," he said. "I think I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
She nodded.
"Cool," she said, too casually. "Because... you're not bad. For a newbie."
"And you're not bad. For a mango."
"What?"
He grinned. "Inside joke. With myself."
Mira laughed, actually laughed, and Jomar felt a tiny, stupid thrill bloom somewhere in his ribs.
Later, as they left the court together, the sun dipped low again. Mira was walking just a little closer than usual. Not touching—but not not either.
And behind them, the team watched like hawks.
Tara: "They're doomed."
Fonz: "They're adorable."
Coach Tonton: "I give it three more practices before they accidentally hold hands and combust."
Dom: "We should make a love bracket."
Derek: "I already did. They're final match candidates."
Coach clapped again. "This is it, my children. The drama arc begins."
And far ahead, Mira and Jomar paused at the school gate—unaware of the declarations behind them.
Or maybe not unaware.
Because Mira said quietly, "Still just friends?"
Jomar shrugged, nervous. "Probably."
Mira smiled.
"Yeah," she said. "Probably."