Theater Girl Freen and Football Captain Becky! 🏈🎭

The auditorium buzzed with activity as students moved around, setting up props and adjusting the lighting. At center stage, Freen stood with her script in hand, her sharp eyes scanning the lines. She was focused, meticulous, and every bit the perfectionist when it came to acting. This role was important, and she intended to give it her all.

Becky, however, was the opposite.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s run the scene,” Emma called out, clearly enjoying the chaos she had orchestrated. She had been the one to volunteer Becky for the lead role after the original actor dropped out, knowing full well the kind of tension it would create.

Becky leaned against the edge of the stage, twirling the script in her hands. “So, let me get this straight—I’m supposed to look at Freen like she’s my entire world?” A smirk tugged at her lips as she turned toward her girlfriend. “Easy.”

Freen exhaled sharply, refusing to acknowledge the warmth creeping up her neck. “Please take it seriously, Bac.”

“I am serious, babe,” Becky grinned, stepping closer, her voice dropping into a softer, more intentional tone. “After all, how could I not be when my character is madly in love with you?”

Freen’s fingers tightened around her script.

Emma and the other cast members exchanged looks. It was happening again.

“Alright, let’s go from the part where Freen’s character is supposed to push Becky away,” Emma directed, clearly biting back a smirk.

They took their positions. Freen inhaled deeply, centering herself in the role. Becky’s character was supposed to confess her feelings, and Freen’s character—conflicted, scared—was meant to resist.

Becky, however, had other plans.

Instead of delivering the scripted line, she ad-libbed with a soft, teasing murmur, “You can push me away all you want, but we both know you don’t want to.”

The tension snapped into place.

Freen stiffened, her eyes flickering up to meet Becky’s—a mistake. Becky’s gaze was intense, steady, too real.

A beat of silence.

Emma slapped her script against her thigh. “Oh, come on, Freen, you’re supposed to push her, not just stand there blushing!”

“I’m not—” Freen started, only to clamp her mouth shut when Becky raised an eyebrow.

“I can do the line again, if you want.” Becky’s grin was entirely too smug.

Freen cleared her throat and turned away, gripping her script harder. This was going to be a longrehearsal.

From the first row of seats, Freen’s theater friends—Nam, Heng, Title, and Tor—were thoroughly invested in the disaster unfolding on stage.

Nam leaned forward, barely containing her laughter. “Becky, do you even know your lines, or are you just here to make your girlfriend malfunction?”

“Definitely the latter,” Heng said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “We should start charging people to watch rehearsals. This is quality entertainment.”

Tor folded his arms, watching Freen’s reaction with amusement. “You two are already dating. Why does this feel like an enemies-to-lovers trope in real life?”

Title, nodding in agreement, added, “It’s the slow burn.”

Freen shot them a glare, but the deep blush on her face betrayed her.

Becky, meanwhile, sent a wink toward the audience section. “You guys are just mad because I have range.”

Nam groaned. “It’s not range—it’s straight-up flirting disguised as acting!”

“Hey, if it makes the play more realistic, I’m just doing my job,” Becky said, casually slinging an arm around Freen’s shoulders.

Freen immediately shrugged it off, stepping away. “We’re here to rehearse, not to—”

“—have insane chemistry that makes everyone in the room question reality?” Tor finished for her, grinning.

Freen groaned, pressing the script to her face. “I hate all of you.”

Becky just laughed, whispering, “You love me.”

Freen didn’t reply.

The truth was… she did.

___

Just when things couldn’t get more chaotic, Ms. Emily—the no-nonsense, iron-willed drama teacher—walked onto the stage, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

She took one look at Becky and let out a slow, deliberate sigh. “Football and theater require different disciplines, Miss Becky.”

Becky, ever the troublemaker, flashed her most charming smile. “Good thing I’m multi-talented.”

Freen internally screamed. “Oh my god,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

Ms. Emily did not look amused. “Rehearsals are not for games. I already have my doubts about letting an athlete step into a leading role. If you’re here, you will take this seriously.”

Becky, not missing a beat, said, “I take my work very seriously, Miss Emily.”

Emma snickered from the side. Heng and Nam exchanged glances, clearly holding back their laughter.

Ms. Emily’s eyes narrowed. “I mean it, Miss Becky. No last-minute changes. No jokes. And definitely—NO distractions.”

Becky was absolutely going to ignore all of that.

The rehearsal had been chaotic enough, but nothing compared to what was coming next.

The final scene of the play was an emotional confession—filled with longing, heartbreak, and, of course, a dramatic kiss.

Technically, it was supposed to be a fake stage kiss, carefully angled so it only looked real to the audience. But the problem was...

Freen had practiced every part of the script. The pacing, the emotions, even the way she was supposed to pull away just before the kiss to heighten the tension.

But she had avoided this part.

She wasn’t worried about getting the angles right. She wasn’t even worried about making it look convincing.

She was worried about Becky.

And Becky, predictably, was far too smug about it.

“Alright,” Emma clapped her hands, barely able to contain her amusement. “Let’s run the final scene.”

Freen inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the nerves twisting in her stomach.

Becky, however, was the picture of confidence—leaning against the set piece with that damn smirk.

“So,” Becky said casually, stepping closer, her voice low enough for only Freen to hear. “We could always… you know, practice.”

Freen narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Becky placed a hand dramatically over her heart. “Babe, it’s for accuracy.”

Freen's face burned. “Absolutely not.”

Becky grinned, leaning in slightly. “You sure? I mean, we wouldn’t want to mess up on the actual—”

Freen shoved her script between them like a shield. “Becky.”

Becky just laughed, completely unbothered.

From the side of the stage, their so-called friends were having the time of their lives.

Emma, Alice, Jamie, and Ted had formed a makeshift betting pool at the front of the stage.

Emma, barely containing her grin, whispered, “I bet 500 bucks Becky makes it real.”

Alice scoffed. “No way. She wouldn’t dare. Freen would actually kill her.”

Jamie frowned. “Are we seriously betting on this?”

Ted, deadpan, nodded. “Of course we are.”

Heng, from the other side of the room, whistled loudly. “Hey, Freen! Just make sure Becky doesn’t steal the show with that method acting!”

Freen groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was a disaster.

Becky? Grinning.

Just when things couldn’t get worse, Ms. Emily—their no-nonsense, absolutely terrifying drama teacher—walked onto the stage with the exact expression of someone who had seen far too much nonsense today.

She took one look at Freen, one look at Becky, and let out a slow, deliberate sigh.

“This scene,” Ms. Emily said, voice razor-sharp, “is about deep emotion. NOT your personal love life.”

Becky? Still grinning.

Freen? Dying inside.

Ms. Emily crossed her arms. “If you two insist on treating this as some kind of joke, I will replace you.”

That got Becky to stand up straight.

“Woah, woah, woah—no need for drastic measures.” She put a hand over her heart, her tone suddenly serious. “I promise I will be nothing but professional.”

Ms. Emily wasn’t convinced.

“Good.” She turned to Freen. “And you—stop freezing up every time she looks at you.”

Freen sputtered. “I—I don’t—”

Ms. Emily simply raised an eyebrow.

The room fell silent.

Then, from the audience section—

“She does freeze up a lot,” Heng whispered.

“I HEARD THAT.”

With Ms. Emily watching like a hawk, the final rehearsal began.

The confession scene unfolded perfectly. Becky’s character poured her heart out—passionate, vulnerable, convincing.

Then came the moment.

The kiss.

Becky stepped forward.

Freen stepped back.

Becky followed.

Freen’s pulse hammered in her ears. Becky’s gaze was locked onto hers, the air too thick between them.

The stage lights burned hot above them.

This was it.

And then—

Becky smirked.

And whispered—

“Don’t panic, babe.”

Freen panicked.

The auditorium was silent.

Every pair of eyes in the room was glued to the stage, breaths held in anticipation.

Freen’s heart pounded as Becky took a step closer, closing the last few inches between them.

It was the final moment.

The big kiss.

Technically, it was supposed to be a fake stage kiss—angled just right so it only looked real.

But Becky was dangerously good at selling it.

Her hand came up, brushing against Freen’s cheek. Soft. Gentle.

And then, that smirk.

“Don’t panic, babe.”

Freen panicked.

Her brain short-circuited. Her entire body locked up.

Becky leaned in—too close.

Freen could see every detail of her face—the teasing glint in her eyes, the slight curve of her lips.

Her mind screamed: MOVE, FREEN. NOW.

But her feet? Cemented to the ground.

Their noses brushed.

Freen felt her breath catch.

Becky tilted her head at the perfect angle—too perfect.

Oh god, oh god, oh god—

And then—

BAM.

Freen jerked back so fast she tripped over her own foot.

Cue complete and utter disaster.

Becky reached out to catch her, but instead—

CRASH.

They toppled.

Right onto the stage.

Freen landed flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling in pure humiliation.

Becky? On top of her.

Dead silence.

Then—

“OH MY GOD,” Emma shrieked, hysterical laughter already starting.

Alice’s jaw dropped.

Ted fist-pumped the air. “CALLED IT!”

Jamie covered their face. “I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

Heng? On the floor wheezing.

Freen, face on fire, tried to push Becky off. “GET. OFF. ME.”

Becky? Grinning like a maniac.

“Well,” she murmured, amused and unbothered, “that’s one way to make an impression.”

A sharp clap rang through the auditorium.

“ENOUGH.”

Everyone froze.

Ms. Emily stood at the front, arms crossed, her glare lethal.

“I have been in theater for twenty years,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “And never—not once—have I witnessed such absolute chaos.”

Becky slowly sat up.

Freen just lay there, praying for the earth to swallow her whole.

Ms. Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. “If you two do not get this right by tomorrow, I will personally rewrite the scene to remove the kiss.”

The entire room gasped.

Becky immediately shot to her feet. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, no need for that.”

Ms. Emily eyed her. “Then get it together.”

Becky saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Freen groaned.

Later that evening, Freen sat in the empty theater, replaying the disaster over and over in her head.

She was never going to live this down.

The worst part?

Becky hadn’t stopped smirking at her all day.

Freen jumped when Becky plopped down beside her.

“So,” Becky said, nudging her shoulder. “Wanna practice now?”

Freen glared.

Becky just grinned.

And this time, Freen wasn’t sure if she was panicking…

…or considering it.

___

The day of the play.

The stage was bathed in a golden glow, the air thick with tension as the final scene unfolded.

The play had gone flawlessly—every line delivered with precision, every movement fluid and rehearsed. But this moment?

This moment was different.

Freen could feel it before it even happened.

Her pulse hammered against her ribs as Becky stepped closer, her character’s final words hanging in the charged silence between them.

Then—Becky’s hand lifted.

Freen swore she felt the touch before it even landed.

Fingertips, light as a whisper, brushed against her jaw. A slow caress upward, tracing the curve of her cheek.

Freen's breath hitched.

This was part of the scene.

This was just acting.

But Becky’s thumb grazing her cheekbone like she was memorizing it? That wasn’t in the script.

Her gaze, steady and burning, locked onto Freen’s.

Then—a step closer.

Freen could feel the warmth of her body now, the faint scent of her perfume—something floral, something intoxicating.

The world outside the stage disappeared.

No audience. No crew. No lights. No sound.

Just Becky.

And then—Becky tilted her head, nose brushing against Freen’s, the ghost of a breath fanning against her lips.

Freen wasn’t breathing. She physically couldn’t.

Her chest felt tight, like the air had been stolen from her lungs and she wasn’t sure she even wanted it back.

And then—

Becky kissed her.

Soft. Slow. Lingering.

Not just for show.

Not angled away.

Not fake.

Just—real.

The press of lips was light at first, teasing, hesitant. But it didn’t break. Becky lingered, her thumb tracing a slow, aching pattern against Freen’s skin.

Freen should have pulled back. She should have stuck to the script.

But Becky… Becky wasn’t moving away.

And Freen?

She didn’t want her to.

A slow, unbearable heartbeat passed.

Then—a second.

The warmth of Becky’s lips, the way she held Freen’s face so carefully—like she was something fragile, something precious—it was dizzying.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to hold onto something, anything.

The silence was deafening.

Freen wasn’t sure if it had lasted a second or an eternity when suddenly—

The lights cut.

The scene was over.

The illusion shattered.

The audience ERUPTED.

The moment they stepped backstage, all hell broke loose.

Nam let out a scream so loud, the tech crew turned their heads.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

Heng had both hands in his hair, looking like he had just witnessed an act of war.

“DID YOU SEE THAT? DID SHE JUST—"

“BECKY JUST BROKE THE FAKE KISS RULE,” Tor wheezed, grabbing onto the nearest chair for support.

Title looked at Freen with pure, unfiltered disbelief. “Blink twice if you need medical assistance.”

Freen?

Still standing there, staring at nothing, completely malfunctioning. Completely frozen.

Her face felt hotter than the goddamn stage lights. Her hands were clammy.

Still feeling the warmth of Becky’s hands on her skin.

Still tasting the ghost of the kiss on her lips.

Still trying to process the fact that Becky actually—

Then—a slow clap.

Becky. Oh, Becky.

She was the definition of smug.

Sauntering backstage like she hadn’t just obliterated Freen’s entire sense of reality.

Standing a few feet away, grinning like she had just won an Olympic medal.

Her expression? Unapologetic. Infuriatingly smug.

She reached for a bottle of water, took a slow sip, and then—**without a shred of shame—**turned to Freen.

"Great show, babe.”

Nam screeched. Heng collapsed against the wall. Tor had to walk away to process life.

And Freen?

Absolutely. Dead. Inside.

___

The moment the chaos settled—well, as much as it could after THAT kiss—a voice cut through the madness.

“MISS BECKY.”

Every single cast member froze.

Like children caught stealing candy, they whipped around to see Ms. Emily marching towards them. Arms crossed, lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

Becky, who had just been basking in her moment of post-kiss glory, barely had time to react before Ms. Emily was standing right in front of her.

“Care to explain,” Ms. Emily said, voice dripping with restraint, “why you completely IGNORED the rehearsal plan?”

Becky, still absolutely unrepentant, rocked back on her heels and gave a casual shrug.

“Uh… creative choice?”

The entire backstage inhaled sharply.

Freen, whose face was still burning hotter than the stage lights, snapped her head toward Becky.

If looks could kill, Becky would be a pile of dust.

“CREATIVE CHOICE?” Freen hissed under her breath, fists clenched at her sides. “Are you SERIOUS?”

Becky turned to her with a completely innocent look, eyes wide.

“Oh, c’mon, babe. We had to sell the moment, right?”

Freen had to physically restrain herself from facepalming herself.

Meanwhile, Ms. Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked like she was debating whether or not it was worth committing a crime.

Finally, after a long exhale, she gave Becky a deadpan look.

“Lucky for you, the audience LOVED it.”

Heng gasped. Title’s jaw dropped.

Ms. Emily was admitting defeat.

Becky? Oh, she lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh wow, Ms. Emily,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know you were such a fan of my work.”

Ms. Emily snapped her fingers in Becky’s face.

“Don’t push it.”

Becky, raising her hands in mock surrender, tilted her head. “So, what’s my punishment?”

Ms. Emily glared.

“If you EVER pull that again—”

Becky held up a finger. “Oh! I know. I’ll save it for off-stage?”

A collective laugh erupted from the cast and crew.

Tor fell to the ground. Nam choked on air. Heng smacked Becky’s arm so hard, she actually winced.

Freen?

Done. Absolutely done.

Ms. Emily, not even sparing another second, pointed aggressively toward the door.

“GET. OUT.”

And with that, Becky saluted like a soldier and strolled out, still grinning like the devil.

Freen had never wanted the ground to swallow her whole more than in that moment.

The second they stepped off the backstage, Freen didn’t even give Becky a chance to revel in her victory.

With one swift motion, she grabbed Becky’s wrist and dragged her into a quieter corner of the backstage hallway.

Becky stumbled slightly, laughing. “Whoa, aggressive much?”

Freen spun around. Arms crossed. Face still flushed.

“That… was NOT a stage kiss.”

Her voice was low, not quite mad, but so, so flustered.

Becky, Unbothered. Smug as hell.

She leaned against the wall, arms casually folded, lips curling up into a slow, knowing smirk.

“You weren’t complaining.”

Freen choked on air.

Before she could respond—or maybe kiss Becky right then and there—Emma, Alice, Jamie, and Ted stormed in from backstage, laughing.

Emma, waving a hand wildly: “I KNEW IT. PAY UP, ALICE.”

Alice, groaning, fished into her pocket and handed over a crumpled bill.

Jamie, still in shock: “That was the most iconic thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ted, shaking his head: “History was made tonight.”

Freen was absolutely mortified.

But Becky was thriving.

She leaned in just enough so her voice was just for Freen.

“Told you we should’ve practiced.”

Freen’s eyes widened.

And then—SMACK.

She hit Becky’s arm, but she was definitely smiling.

And Becky just grinned even harder.

___

By the next morning, the entire school was talking about it.

Every hallway, every group chat, every corner of the cafeteria—the kiss was all anyone could discuss.

Someone had, of course, recorded it.

And now, there were multiple angles of Becky not pulling away, circulating like absolute wildfire.

"DID Y’ALL SEE BECKY BREAK CHARACTER??"

"Was it even breaking character or just… y’know?"

"I’M REWATCHING THIS UNTIL I DIE."

And Becky was absolutely loving it.

Unbothered. Thriving. Proud.

She strutted through thehalls like she owned the school, smirking at the whispers, basking in the attention.

While Freen was still a blushing mess. Still horrifically flustered.

And yet, there was this tiny, secret smile that she kept trying—and failing—to hide.

Then, Riley appeared.

The infamous flirty teammate, the one who always found an excuse to tease Becky and get on Freen’s nerves.

With a knowing grin, she strolled up, arms crossed. “So, Becky… was that kiss really rea—”

Before she could even finish, Becky, smug as ever, grabbed Freen by the waist, pulled her in, and planted a very obvious kiss on her cheek.

The entire hallway went feral. Witnessing the school’s power couple.

Gasps. Screaming. Someone definitely dropped their books.

“Just in case anyone still doesn’t get the memo,” Becky said loudly, smirking.

Freen sighed softly, but then… she just melted into Becky’s hold.

Because, let’s be honest—she was also just a simp.

Emma: “So, Becky, when’s the wedding?”

Alice: “I’m still mad I lost the bet.”

Jamie: “This is the best thing that’s ever happened in this boring school.”

Nam, shaking her head in awe: “Freen, your life is literally a rom-com.”

Freen groaned, hiding her face in Becky’s arms, but her smile betrayed her.

Becky just pulled her closer, looking as smug as ever.

Because at the end of the day… being the star player…

She always wins.

_