Ever since Halloween, Alex and Marco had fallen into a rhythm of near-daily communication—texting, calling, and occasionally Marco sending her absurd memes at 3 AM. Haley and Claire had taken notice, of course, with Haley smirking every time Alex's phone buzzed and Claire "casually" asking, "So… how's Marco?" every other dinner.
Alex buckled into Marco's passenger seat, fully expecting their usual coffee run. But when he blew right past the Starbucks without slowing down, she didn't even flinch.
"Okay," she sighed, side-eyeing him. "What are you planning?"
Marco smirked, drumming his fingers on the wheel. "You'll see."
"That's never a good sign."
Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a nondescript building with a sign reading "Golden Arrow Archery Range."
Alex blinked. "…Archery?"
Marco killed the engine. "Yep."
"Have you ever done archery before?"
"Nope."
"Then why—?"
"Saw it in a movie. Then Googled 'weird sports near me.' Then found a Groupon." He shrugged. "Also, YouTube algorithm thinks I'm into medieval weapons now. Not my fault."
Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're impossible."
"And yet, here you are."
Inside, the range was quiet—just an elderly employee who looked like he'd seen everything and didn't care anymore. He handed them bows, arrows, and a quick safety speech that Marco immediately ignored.
"Alright, mami," Marco said, squinting down the range. "Time to unleash your inner Katniss."
"You know I've never done this either, right?"
"Even better."
Round 1:
Marco drew the bow like he was in Braveheart, yelling "FREEDOM!" before releasing.
The arrow plopped three feet in front of them.
The employee sighed audibly.
Round 2:
Alex, ever the perfectionist, studied the stance diagrams on the wall.
She fired—and missed the target entirely.
Marco clutched his chest. "Mami… I'm so disappointed."
Round 3:
Marco tried running while shooting, claiming it was "zombie apocalypse training."
The employee threatened to revoke their Groupon.
Round 4:
Alex, now determined, landed a shot on the target (barely).
Marco celebrated like she'd won the Olympics.
"SEE?! I knew you'd be good at this!"
Round 5:
Marco, inspired, attempted a trick shot—backwards, over his shoulder.
The arrow ricocheted off the ceiling beam.
The employee took their bows away.
Kicked out (but still laughing), they sat in Marco's car, nursing smoothies he'd "forgotten" to pay for.
"So," Alex said, sipping her mango blend. "Was there a point to this?"
Marco grinned. "Yeah. Fun."
Alex rolled her eyes—but she was smiling. "Next time, coffee."
"Next time, axe throwing."
"MARCO."
******
The Dunphy dinner table was its usual chaotic self.
Phil was enthusiastically explaining his latest "magic trick" involving a napkin and a disappearing salt shaker (the salt shaker was in his lap).
Luke was inhaling mashed potatoes like he'd never seen food before.
Haley, mid-bite of salad, suddenly gasped. "Oh my God, you guys. I just realized something crazy."
Everyone paused.
"What?" Claire asked, already bracing herself.
"If you think about it," Haley said, gesturing with her fork, "like… technically, we're all, like, related to dinosaurs."
Silence.
Then—
Alex, without looking up from her plate, deadpanned:
"Damn, hermana, did you just figure that out? What's next, you gonna tell us water's wet?"
The tone. The slang. The attitude.
The table froze.
Haley's fork clattered onto her plate. "…What the hell was that?"
Claire's eyes widened. "Alex. Did you just—?"
Phil's face lit up. "Whoa. That was Marco-level sarcasm. I'm kinda proud?"
Luke nodded approvingly. "Nailed it."
Alex, meanwhile, had gone completely blank. Her face was a statue. Inside her mind, there was only one screaming thought:
…Marco has infected me.
Haley pointed at her. "Oh my God. He's rubbing off on you."
Alex's eye twitched.
Claire put her head in her hands. "We've lost her."
******
Alex's phone buzzed with a text from Marco:
Marco: yo. trampoline park. 2pm. wear socks.
She stared at the message. Last time he'd given her this little notice, she'd ended up nearly getting arrested for pumpkin terrorism.
Alex: Why.
Marco: bc ur boring and i'm fun. also i have a coupon
Alex: That's not a reason.
Marco: it's THE reason. see u in 20
Alex groaned but grabbed her sneakers.
Marco picked her up, music already blasting, windows down.
"You excited?" he yelled over the bass.
"I'm suspicious," Alex shot back, buckling in.
"Same thing!"
He drove like a man who thought stop signs were optional, swerving into the parking lot of "Sky High Trampoline Zone" with a screech.
Alex eyed the building. "This place looks like it's one lawsuit away from closing."
Marco grinned. "That's the best kind."
Inside, the park was a neon-lit maze of trampolines, foam pits, and screaming children. Alex stood awkwardly near the check-in while Marco practically vibrated with energy.
"Alright, rules!" the bored employee said, handing them grip socks. "No double bouncing, no flips near the edges, and please don't vomit in the foam pit again."
"…Again?" Alex whispered.
Marco nodded solemnly. "It was a dark day."
At first, Alex stuck to basic, dignified bouncing. Meanwhile, Marco:
Attempted a backflip, ate mat, and popped up like nothing happened.
Challenged a 10-year-old to a "dodge-jump" duel (and lost).
Yelled "I'M THE KING OF THE MOON!" while cannonballing into the foam pit.
Alex facepalmed—until Marco grabbed her wrist.
"Your turn, princesa."
"No way—AHH!"
He yanked her onto the main trampoline grid, where the sheer force of his chaos forced her to match his energy. Within minutes:
Alex was actually laughing as she tried (and failed) to do a somersault.
Marco "accidentally" bounced her extra high, cackling when she shrieked.
Both got scolded for attempting a double trampoline race across the entire park.
Then came the foam pit—a sea of colorful cubes that Marco treated like a battlefield.
"Alright, mami," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Only one way to do this."
"Wait, what are you—"
He sprinted off the trampoline and dove in, disappearing under the foam. Alex hesitated—then, with a rare burst of spontaneity, followed.
The second she landed, Marco popped up like a gremlin, foam cubes stuck in his hair. "AMBUSH!"
What followed was a full-on foam war:
Alex pelting him with cubes.
Marco retaliating by burrowing under the foam and grabbing her ankle.
Both getting kicked out after Marco accidentally took out a toddler (he was fine).
Back in the car, sweaty and still picking foam out of their clothes, Marco grinned.
"Admit it. You had fun."
Alex sighed. "…It wasn't terrible."
"That's basically a love confession from you."
She threw a foam cube at his face.