three point chemistry

Ava's sports side

ACT I, SCENE III

Setting:

The school gymnasium, Thursday evening. The bleachers are about a third full—mostly parents, a few younger students, and scattered teachers. The girls’ basketball team warms up on the court. Squeaks of sneakers on polished wood, the rhythmic thud of basketballs being dribbled, and the distant echo of the scoreboard buzzer fill the air.

At Rise:

AVA stands near the free throw line, tossing up shots with robotic precision. She's in uniform now—navy blue with white trim, #12 on her back. Her hair is tied back, face flushed from the warmup. She’s focused, almost too focused. Her teammates chat and joke around her, but she stays in her zone.

COACH MELISSA, mid-30s, energetic and stern, walks up behind her with a clipboard.

COACH MELISSA:

You miss another practice for chemistry club, Ava?

AVA (shooting):

We had a project deadline. It's done.

COACH MELISSA:

Just make sure you bring that focus here. We need your perimeter shooting tonight.

AVA (nods):

I’m ready, Coach.

(COACH MELISSA walks off. AVA turns back to the hoop. She dribbles, sets, and fires—nothing but net. Just then, a voice echoes from the far side of the gym.)

TYLER (from the stands):

Buckets! That’s three in a row!

(AVA pauses mid-dribble. She turns slightly, eyes scanning the bleachers. Sure enough, TYLER is slouched halfway up, wearing his North Ridge hoodie and basketball sweats. He holds a soda and a giant popcorn like it’s movie night.)

TYLER (grinning):

Told you I’d show up!

(AVA doesn’t smile. Instead, she looks annoyed—embarrassed, even. Her teammate JAYLA, tall and athletic, jogs over.)

JAYLA (teasing):

Was that Tyler McCall cheering for you?

AVA (quiet):

He’s just being loud.

JAYLA:

Could be worse. Could’ve brought a marching band.

AVA:

Maybe he should’ve stayed in the library.

JAYLA (laughs):

That’d be a first.

(The buzzer sounds. Both teams jog to their benches. The game begins. AVA plays shooting guard, quick and focused. As the first quarter unfolds, she lands two clean three-pointers, but every time she does, TYLER yells loud enough for the gym to echo.)

TYLER (after another shot):

That’s my lab partner! Chemistry AND fire from deep!

(AVA glances up at him briefly—not pleased. She gets back on defense. The crowd murmurs.)

PARENT IN STANDS:

Who’s the kid yelling?

TEACHER:

Tyler McCall. Boys’ team. Think they’ve got some project together.

(Back on the court, AVA claps for the ball at the top of the key. She takes a pass, drives right, dishes off for an assist. The crowd claps politely—TYLER claps louder than anyone.)

TYLER (calling out):

That’s what I’m talking about! Vision! Ice cold!

(AVA’s face flashes irritation. At halftime, the score is tied. The girls jog to the locker room.)

CUT TO: Girls’ Locker Room

(AVA sits on the bench, sipping water. Her teammates chatter around her.)

JAYLA (smirking):

You good? You’re landing threes like you got something to prove.

AVA (wiping her face with a towel):

I’m fine.

JAYLA:

He’s just cheering, Ava.

AVA:

He’s making it about him. Like I’m some side show.

JAYLA:

Or maybe… he’s just proud. And loud.

COACH MELISSA (enters):

Alright, ladies. Game’s tied, but we’ve got momentum. Keep your spacing tight, and Ava—stay hot. They’re gonna double you. Be ready to dish if you need to.

AVA (nods, clipped):

Got it, Coach.

CUT TO: The gym, second half.

(The game picks up speed. AVA hits another three. This time, she doesn’t even glance toward the bleachers. TYLER cheers again, but it’s more muted. He notices her not reacting.)

TYLER (to himself):

Okay… maybe tone it down?

(Late in the fourth quarter, AVA drives to the basket. She’s fouled hard—she hits the ground. The gym gasps. TYLER stands instinctively.)

TYLER (alarmed):

Ava!

(AVA gets up slowly, waves off the trainer. She heads to the free-throw line. The gym goes silent.)

TYLER (softly):

You got this.

(She hears it, but doesn’t look. Swish. Then again. Swish.)

BUZZER. North Ridge wins by three. The team rushes the court, celebrating. TYLER stays seated, unsure whether to come down or wait. After a few moments, AVA breaks away from her teammates and walks toward the bleachers. She meets TYLER halfway, still sweating, still catching her breath.)

AVA (flatly):

Why were you yelling like that?

TYLER (caught off guard):

I was… supporting you?

AVA:

It didn’t feel like support. It felt like a distraction.

TYLER (defensive):

Sorry. I thought you’d be into it. Like… hype, you know?

AVA (quiet):

This game wasn’t about you. It was my moment.

(A beat. TYLER processes it. He lowers his soda cup.)

TYLER:

You’re right. I messed that up.

(AVA studies him. She sees the sincerity. Her shoulders relax slightly.)

AVA:

You really came just to watch?

TYLER:

Swear. Not for the popcorn. Not for Patel. For you.

(A pause. She softens—just a little.)

AVA:

Next time, just… watch quieter.

TYLER (smiles):

I can try. No promises.

(They stand there for a second, on the edge of something unspoken.)

AVA:

I should go. Team’s waiting.

TYLER:

Yeah. And hey—congrats. You were on fire.

AVA (with a small smirk):

Buckets, right?

TYLER (grinning):

Buckets.

(She walks away. TYLER watches her go, then turns and heads for the exit, quieter this time. The gym buzzes with celebration, but their exchange lingers in the air.)