PIPPA FITZ-AMOBI-🔎Strap🔎

The first time Pippa tries to flirt with you, it goes about as smoothly as a shopping trolley with a broken wheel.

She’s sitting two seats over in literature, pretending very hard to read while actually staring at the same sentence for a solid five minutes. Every now and then, she glances up at you like you’re a clue she hasn’t cracked yet. You, meanwhile, are just annotating your book, completely unaware that Pippa Fitz-Amobi is internally fighting for her life.

“Say something normal,” she mutters to herself.

Ravi, sitting behind her, leans forward. “You just said that out loud.”

Pippa freezes. “No I didn’t.”

“You did,” Cara adds, not even looking up from her phone. “Very loudly. With… emotion.”

Pippa straightens, clears her throat, and—like she’s about to interrogate a suspect—turns to you.

“So. Books.”

Ravi immediately drops his head onto the desk.

Cara whispers, “Oh my god, she’s flirting.”

Pippa ignores them, soldiering on with the determination of someone who refuses to accept defeat. “You… read them. I also read them. That’s a shared interest.”

She smiles. It’s stiff. Painfully so. Like she’s been told what smiling is but has never actually done it before.

You smile back anyway, a little amused, a little charmed.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s kind of why we’re in literature.”

Pippa nods too quickly. “Right. Yes. Obviously. That was—yes. A joke.”

It was not a joke.

—

Later that week, the group is sprawled across the grass during lunch, conversation drifting in that chaotic, unpredictable way it always does when boredom meets teenagers.

Cara is mid-story, waving her hands around dramatically. “—and then she says, ‘It’s not even that big,’ and I was like—”

“What’s not that big?” Pippa asks, frowning, ever the investigator.

Ravi snorts. “You do not want to know.”

“I absolutely do,” Pippa insists. “Context matters.”

Cara grins, wicked. “A strap-on.”

Pippa blinks.

Silence.

Her brain, usually a high-speed deduction machine, just… stalls. Like a computer buffering.

“A what?”

Ravi immediately sits up, eyes wide. “Oh no.”

Cara bursts into laughter. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not kidding,” Pippa says, defensive now. “What is it?”

There’s a pause where Ravi and Cara exchange a look that screams this is going to ruin her.

Ravi leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to reveal classified information. “It’s… um… a thing people use. Like. In relationships.”

Pippa narrows her eyes. “That explains nothing.”

Cara, absolutely delighted, goes, “It’s a wearable—”

“OKAY,” Ravi cuts in quickly. “That’s enough.”

But it’s too late. The pieces start clicking together in Pippa’s mind, one by one, until—

Her entire face turns bright red.

“Oh,” she says.

Then, quieter, horrified, “Oh.”

Cara is laughing so hard she can barely breathe. “Pip, you’re glowing.”

“I am not glowing,” Pippa mutters, staring at the grass like it personally betrayed her. “Why would anyone just casually bring that up in conversation?”

Ravi gestures vaguely. “Because we’re normal people who don’t treat everything like a crime scene?”

Pippa opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again, clearly outnumbered. Her eyes flick, just for a second, toward you.

And that does not help the situation at all.

—

By the time the weekend rolls around, someone suggests a game night. Which, naturally, devolves into spin the bottle and truth or dare.

The group is gathered in someone’s living room, lights low, music humming in the background. There’s a chaotic energy in the air, the kind that guarantees at least one person will regret something by the end of the night.

Pippa sits cross-legged in the circle, posture straight, like she’s attending a very serious meeting instead of a party game.

You’re sitting a few spaces away. She has noticed. She has noticed a lot.

The bottle spins.

It lands on Pippa.

Cara grins. “Truth or dare, detective?”

“Truth,” Pippa says immediately. Safe. Controlled. Manageable.

Cara leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Have you ever used a strap-on?”

Ravi chokes. “CARA—”

Pippa goes completely still.

There’s a moment where you can practically hear her brain trying to decide between lying, deflecting, or spontaneously combusting.

“...Yes,” she says.

The room goes quiet for half a second—just enough for the answer to settle.

Then—

“WHAT?”

Cara practically launches forward. “PIPPA FITZ-AMOBI???”

Ravi is staring at her like she just revealed she’s been living a double life. “Since when?!”

Pippa, realizing what she’s just admitted to, tries to backtrack. “I mean—it’s not—this is a poorly worded question—”

Cara isn’t letting this go. “WHEN?”

Pippa hesitates.

And that hesitation is loud.

Her eyes, traitorous things, flick toward you.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough.

Cara follows the glance. Then her eyes widen. Slowly. Dramatically.

“No,” she says, pointing between the two of you. “No way.”

Ravi’s jaw drops. “Wait. WAIT—”

Pippa claps her hands over her face. “I hate this game. I hate all of you. This is entrapment.”

Cara is vibrating with excitement. “PIPPA.”

“It was recent, okay?” Pippa blurts, voice muffled behind her hands.

The room erupts.

Ravi falls back onto the floor. “I’m never recovering from this.”

Cara is practically yelling. “You and—?!”

“STOP TALKING,” Pippa groans.

You’re trying very hard not to laugh, but the sight of Pippa—usually so composed, so sharp—completely unraveling is… kind of adorable.

Eventually, she lowers her hands, peeking out just enough to look at you.

Her face is still flushed, but there’s something softer there now. A quiet kind of bravery sneaking in under the embarrassment.

“Well,” she mutters, adjusting her posture like she’s regaining control of the situation, “at least now I don’t have to awkwardly flirt anymore.”

Ravi snorts from the floor. “You were doing a terrible job, by the way.”

Pippa shoots him a look. “Noted.”

Then, after a beat, she glances back at you, a small, real smile tugging at her lips this time.

“Next time,” she says, quieter, “I’ll try a different strategy.”

And somehow, despite everything, you get the feeling she actually will.