Six

The gym smelled like freshly polished floors and warm popcorn. Foldable chairs were set up in neat rows, and kids with basketballs bigger than their heads dribbled clumsily around the court. The UCONN women's basketball team was scattered around the gym, mingling with fans, signing autographs, and—judging by the volume of laughter—turning the charity event into a full-on show.

I hovered near the sidelines with my camera, snapping pictures of the chaos. The charity event, hosted by the team, was a mix of basketball drills for kids, mini-games, and a raffle, with all proceeds going to local youth sports programs. It was wholesome, energetic, and completely overwhelming.

"Inds!" Nika called from the free-throw line, where she was surrounded by a group of middle schoolers. "You getting my good side?"

"Still looking for it," I shot back, earning laughs from the kids and a dramatic gasp from Nika.

"Rude," she said, clutching her chest like I'd mortally wounded her.

"Truth hurts," I quipped, adjusting my lens.

Paige was off to the side, helping a group of kids perfect their layups. She looked entirely in her element—kneeling to meet a little girl at eye level, her voice patient and encouraging as she demonstrated the steps.

I lifted my camera, capturing the moment.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Paige's voice drew me out of my focus.

I lowered the camera to find her standing a few feet away, a basketball tucked under her arm and a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her smile was as effortless as ever, and even in an old UCONN hoodie and joggers, she managed to look annoyingly good.

"You working hard, or hardly working?" she teased, nodding toward my camera.

"Says the one playing with kids while I'm over here capturing your heroics," I replied, adjusting my strap.

"Heroics, huh?" She smirked, stepping closer. "Is that what you call it?"

"I call it what it is," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.

Her grin widened, and for a moment, it was just the two of us in the bustling gym.

"Come on," she said, jerking her head toward the court. "You're up."

"Up for what?"

"Skills challenge. We're short a participant."

"No way," I said, taking a step back. "I'm not a basketball player, Paige."

"Doesn't matter," she said, her tone light but insistent. "It's for the kids. And I'll be your partner."

That last part caught me off guard, and before I could think of an excuse, she was already leading me toward the court.

The skills challenge was simple enough: dribbling through cones, a few passes into a net, and a final shot. Of course, when you're competing against actual basketball players—let alone Paige—it was a recipe for humiliation.

"Alright, Baby Girl," Paige said, handing me the ball. "Just follow my lead."

The whistle blew, and we were off.

The cones were a disaster. My dribbling was more like panicked bouncing, and by the time I made it to the passing station, I was already out of breath. Paige, on the other hand, moved with effortless precision, her movements smooth and controlled.

"You're doing great," she said, her voice steady as I fumbled another pass.

"Liar," I muttered, earning a laugh from the crowd.

When we finally made it to the last station—the shot—I froze.

"Go ahead," Paige said, nodding toward the hoop.

"I'm going to miss," I whispered, gripping the ball tightly.

"No, you're not," she said, her voice calm. "I've got you, Baby Girl. Just take the shot."

I exhaled and threw the ball.

It hit the rim, bounced twice, and miraculously went in.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Paige's arms shot up in mock celebration.

"That's my girl!" she yelled, pulling me into a side hug that left my cheeks burning.

By the time the event wrapped up, my camera was full of shots—kids laughing, teammates goofing off, and Paige looking entirely too smug about our skills challenge victory.

The team gathered near the center of the gym for a group photo, and as I adjusted the camera on its tripod, Paige sidled up beside me.

"You did good out there," she said, her voice low enough that only I could hear.

"I think we have different definitions of 'good,'" I replied, focusing on the camera settings.

"Come on," she said, nudging me gently. "You made the shot. That's all that matters."

I glanced at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her expression. "Thanks, Mama."

Her smirk softened into something almost shy, and for a moment, the noise of the gym faded into the background.

"Anytime, Baby Girl," she said, her voice just above a whisper.

After the photo, the team began packing up, the energy still buzzing from the event. I lingered near the bleachers, reviewing the shots on my camera.

"Hey, Inds," Azzi called as she passed by. "You and Paige make a good team."

I looked up, ready to deny it, but Azzi was already grinning.

"Just saying," she added, winking before jogging off to join the others.

I sighed, shaking my head. This team was going to be the death of me.

But later, as I sat at my desk editing the photos, I couldn't stop myself from pausing on the ones of Paige—her smile, her focus, the way she looked at the kids like they were the most important people in the room.