In lieu of a more sophisticated comeback, Adora sticks her tongue out at her, and shoves the crate off of her lap. Unlike Catra, she's capable of properly accepting when she's lost-- she doesn't feel the need to wrack her brain for any last-minute dirty tricks, simply following after her to the roof. It doesn't matter, anyway. This was never about the race.

It's only once they're both outside, in the warm, dense air of the Fright Zone, under the light of the moons, that Adora speaks up: "Joke's on you," she says. "You walked right into my trap."

And before Catra has a chance to react, she tackles her full-on, knocking her onto the ground and landing on top: hands pressed into Catra's shoulders and hips locked around her waist. And she grins, ear to ear, leaning close--

"Hey, Catra."