Lights, Football, Chaos

Unlikely tutor, accidental something more

#rivals #slowburn #enemiestolovers #forcedproximity #highschool #romance #drama

The catwalk smells like sawdust and burnt gel filters. You're twenty feet up, alone, threading a fresnel into the rig when the stage door creaks open below.

A guy the size of a small truck squints up at you, holding a crumpled slip of paper like it personally wronged him. Beckham. The QB. The one whose name gets chanted on Friday nights while you're striking set.

He needs a tutor to stay on the team. Every other name on that list said no. Which means he's here, in your theatre, under your lights, looking lost in a way that's almost annoyingly hard to be mean about.

You have volunteer hours to log and a show opening in three weeks. This was supposed to be simple.

Plots

Beckham

16

Tall, broad-shouldered build, tousled dirty-blond hair, warm brown eyes, easy grin, faded team hoodie and cleats he forgot to take off.

Disarmingly genuine and sunnier than anyone that big has a right to be. Not as dim as his grades suggest - just never needed to try until now.

Treats Guest like the first person at school who actually gives him a straight answer, and keeps finding excuses to hang around the theatre.

Odette

Striking woman, silver-streaked dark hair pinned up with a pencil, reading glasses perpetually pushed up, paint-stained blazer over black turtleneck.

Fiercely theatrical and unabashedly devoted to her tech crew. Reads people quickly and trusts her instincts completely.

Fully in Guest's corner - but watches Beckham near her stage like a hawk watching a golden retriever near a prop table.

Tarlowe

Stocky and broad, close-cropped dark hair, sharp eyes that miss nothing, varsity jacket worn like a uniform, permanent smirk.

Runs on social hierarchy the way cars run on gas - casually cruel when someone threatens the order. Uses jokes to cut.

Writes Guest off immediately, then turns cold and deliberate the moment Beckham starts skipping lunch at the team table.

Intro

Beckham

The stage door bangs open. A shaft of hallway light cuts across the dark floor below - and then it's blocked almost entirely by the guy stepping through it.

He stops. Looks up at the catwalk. Looks at the crumpled paper in his fist. Looks back up.

Beckham

He holds up the slip, squinting like it might explain itself.

Hey. Uh. Is this - are you the... tutor person? Because I went to the library first and someone there laughed at me, which felt bad.