By the end of the week, everyone in the basketball department knew one thing for sure:
Raye wasn't just avoiding Kyle — she was practically training for it.
It had been a full seven days since the rain-drenched night at his house — seven days of anxiety, skipped eye contact, and near acrobatics every time Kyle entered a room.
Jane had officially started calling it The Great Avoidance Arc.
Day Five.
Raye thought she was doing great. She timed her routes, studied Kyle's class schedule like it was an exam, and even swapped lunch hours once.
She'd just stepped into the library to return her notebook when she heard his voice.
Deep, calm, unmistakable.
Panic hit instantly.
She froze, eyes wide, then did a 180 turn so fast she smacked her shoulder against the shelf.
The librarian glared, and Jane — who was beside her — nearly choked holding in laughter.
"Are you for real right now?" Jane whispered.
"He's here!" Raye hissed back.
"You say that like he's a ghost haunting you."
"He is haunting me!"
Jane grinned. "Girl, you're dramatic."
But when Kyle appeared between the aisles, Raye ducked low behind the history section like she was reenacting a war movie.
Kyle paused, brow raised, eyes scanning.
He clearly noticed someone scuttling between shelves, but when he looked properly, Raye was already half-crawling toward the exit.
Jane lost it.
She was doubled over, whisper-laughing, "This is so embarrassing for you."
"I'm saving myself from emotional trauma!" Raye shot back.
Day Six.
Basketball practice.
There was no escaping him here.
Raye walked into the gym holding her ball, praying silently he'd skip today.
No such luck.
That boy was born with a basketball in his hands !!!!
Kyle was already there, tossing his own ball lazily, looking like he owned the court.
She immediately regretted every life choice that led her here.
Coach blew the whistle. "Partner up!"
Raye's stomach dropped.
Kyle smirked from across the court, spinning the basketball in his palm. Their eyes met for half a second — just long enough for him to notice her panic before she darted behind another player.
"Oh no you don't," Jane muttered from the benches, smirking. "You're not about to hide behind freshman Tim again."
"I am," Raye hissed. "Tim is tall. He's protection."
Coach's voice echoed. "Raye! You're with Kyle."
Raye froze like she'd been shot with a freeze ray. "What?"
Kyle raised his brows, clearly amused.
Tim shrugged turning back to face Raye as he said . "Guess it's destiny "
Jane shouted from the bench, "Or karma!"
Raye shot her a glare and also Tim huffing ,but reluctantly walked to the center. Kyle was already spinning the ball, that infuriating smirk in place.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No."
He didn't wait for an answer — tossed the ball toward her with perfect aim.
Raye ducked. The ball flew past her and hit the bleachers with a loud thud.
"Seriously?" Kyle muttered. "It wasn't even that fast."
"Didn't look safe!" she snapped.
"It's a basketball, not a grenade."
"I don't care!"
The coach sighed loudly. "Raye, it's practice! You can't dodge everything!"
"Oh, but she can," Jane muttered, munching on chips like she was watching a drama.
Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're unbelievable."
"Thank you," Raye said flatly, snatching the ball and tossing it back — a little too hard.
He caught it with one hand, smirking again. "You mad or just scared to face me?"
Raye glared with red face . It was hard to tell if she was angry or flustered. "In your dreams."
"You've been running from me all week," he said, voice low enough that only she heard.
"I haven't," she lied, looking anywhere but his eyes.
He tilted his head slightly. "Then look at me."
She hesitated. For a second, her breath hitched. She almost looked up — then quickly shot her gaze toward the ceiling. "The lights are nice today."
Kyle stared at her in disbelief, fighting a laugh. "You're hopeless."
"Thank you," she muttered again and sprinted off before he could respond.
He tossed another ball at her back. She dodged again — expertly this time.
Coach blew the whistle. "Raye, this is basketball practice, not dodgeball!"
Jane was laughing so hard from the sidelines she nearly fell off the bench.
Kyle exhaled, watching Raye practically flee across the gym like she'd seen a ghost.
He didn't chase her — but that unreadable look crossed his face again. Something between frustration and amusement.
When Raye glanced back just once, their eyes met — and her stomach flipped. She looked away immediately, cheeks burning, muttering,
"I hate him."
Jane called from the bleachers, "You love him!"
"SHUT UP, JANE!"
Day Seven.
Avoidance was now a sport, and Raye was winning.
Every hallway, every lecture, every cafeteria line — she mastered the art of turning corners and slipping into crowds at the right second.
But the truth was, it was exhausting.
Even Jane noticed the quiet moments between their laughter, when Raye's eyes drifted toward the door like she was expecting him.
Maybe it wasn't about running anymore. Maybe she was scared of what would happen if she stopped.