When Kara asks if she’s free Saturday, she immediately makes sure she is.
When Kara, fingers coated in cheese and salt and salsa, drags her up bleacher after bleacher until they reach the perfect spot, she realizes maybe she should’ve asked why.
“Want one?” A chip is held towards her, cheese slipping off and falling in a clump on the bleacher between them. “It’s okay. I’ll get it.”
She doesn’t wait to see what Kara means by that, turning her attention back to the people milling about the field. A part of her knows what Kara intends, and her stomach twists at the thought.
“All good.”
When she glances down, the cheese is gone and Kara looks unnervingly proud of herself.
Supercorp at a baseball game
Published
Question of Smoke 