no goodbyes
546 Words
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ACT III, SCENE II
Setting:
Ava’s bedroom. Mid-morning. The sun is up, casting golden light through the curtains. Her room is tidy but still shows signs of the game yesterday—her uniform draped on the chair, shoes beside her desk, a wrinkled scouting notebook half-open. Her phone lies facedown on the desk. Silence.
At Rise:
Ava sits on her bed, hugging her knees, wearing a hoodie and athletic shorts. Her hair is tied messily. She stares blankly at the wall. The sound of a plane roars softly in the background, distant and fading.
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AVA (softly, to herself):
He’s gone.
(She unfolds her legs and gets up, slowly pacing the room.)
AVA:
He left. Without even saying goodbye.
(She stops, frowns, and scoffs quietly.)
AVA:
No. That’s not fair. He tried. I slammed the door. I made it a goodbye.
(She walks to her desk and picks up her phone. Turns it over. No messages. She unlocks it. A text thread with Tyler sits there, unanswered since the night before.)
> TYLER: “Just tell me if you’ll be there tomorrow. That’s all.”
(She presses her fingers to her lips. Her thumb hovers over the screen, but she doesn’t type.)
(Buzz. A new message lights up her screen—group chat with the girls' team.)
> JAYLA: “Guess we’re better off without Ava drama this week lol”
KIM: “Hope she’s having fun sulking or whatever.”
DANI: “Maybe she and her science boy will do virtual scrimmage lol.”
(Ava stares. Her thumb trembles. She turns the phone off and throws it gently onto the bed.)
AVA (to herself):
I should have gone to the airport.
(She sits in her desk chair, turning slowly, then stops to stare at the wrinkled scouting notebook. She opens it—diagrams of plays, notes about Tyler’s shooting rhythm, and one page near the end labeled: “Team Chemistry.”)
(Beat.)
AVA:
Team Chemistry. Funny.
(She flips the page and finds an old printout of their chemistry lab report—the one they fought over, then rewrote together late one night.)
(Flashback begins: A voiceover of Tyler’s voice as she remembers.)
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TYLER (V.O.):
“You know, you’re not so bad when you’re not trying to outsmart me every five seconds.”
AVA (V.O., laughing faintly):
“Same to you—when you’re not being a ball hog.”
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(The flashback fades. Ava’s eyes glisten, and she closes the notebook.)
AVA (whispers):
You waited. I know you did.
(She moves to the window, pulls open the curtain just a little. She looks out at the blue sky, faint clouds drifting. A moment of stillness.)
AVA (louder):
I didn’t miss him when he left.
I missed him when I pushed him away.
(Her eyes trail to her suitcase—half-packed from before. She stares at it. Then grabs her phone, hesitating, then dials a number.)
(RING. RING.)
AVA:
Hi, Coach Trina? Yeah, it’s Ava.
…Can I still catch a flight out today?
(Beat.)
AVA:
To San Diego. I—I need to be with the team.
And there’s someone else I need to see.
(She hangs up. Breathes deep. Picks up the scouting notebook, smooths the pages, then grabs the suitcase.)
BLACKOUT.
- Writer
