“What’s your problem today?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re more irritable than usual.”
“Nothing,” I lied.
Normally, I was more than happy to spar with her. Usually, riling up Roxie was the highlight of my day. Part of that was the way her eyes lit when she argued—sharp, bright, alive in a way that made the whole exchange feel less like a fight and more like a sport. It was practically our second language—jab, counter,smirk, repeat. But today my nerves were shot, my future suddenly put in jeopardy, and I didn’t have the bandwidth to trade insults with the one person who could always push my buttons without even trying.
She watched me too closely, like she was trying to read the truth I tried to hide.
“Mm. Guess you didn’t beat your time,” she said lightly.
The hit landed exactly where she intended—under the ribs, right in my insecurity.
“Not everything is a competition,” I bit out.
Her lips twitched. “Could’ve fooled me.”
That was the thing about Roxie—she always went for precision strikes. She didn’t fight messy. She fought like she’d studied me. Like she kept a running archive of every button I had and pressed with clinical accuracy.
And the worst part? Half the time she was right. Everything did feel like a competition to me. Survival required it.
I stepped around her before she could block me again.
“I’m not doing this,” I threw over my shoulder.
“Try not to drown in your own ego,” she called back.
Classic. She never could let me have the last word.
I didn’t stop.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how rattled I was.
The path stretched ahead, lined with palm treesswaying gently in the breeze—idyllic, peaceful. Not remotely reflective of the storm ripping through my chest. Behind me, her footsteps resumed on the pavement, rhythmic, confident, the same cadence she’d had freshman year when she’d marched into our stats lecture like she owned the building.
I’d hated her by the end of that first week.
Actually—no.
I’d hated how she’d made me feel seen. Exposed. Like she’d taken one look at the kid from nowhere with too-big dreams and decided she knew every insecurity I carried.
And maybe she did.
She’d sat in the front row with her perfect color-coded notes, her perfect raised hand, her perfect expensive pen tapping against her notebook. Back then I’d told myself I was annoyed because she was a know-it-all. Not because she’d smiled at me once and my brain had short-circuited for a full five seconds.
She was the girl who had everything. The girl who didn’t have to worry about rent or food or whether her dream was too expensive to chase.
Meanwhile, I was busting my butt to make sure I could keep my swim scholarship and pretending I wasn’t exhausted in class.
Then she’d corrected me—politely, annoyingly, with that bright confident voice.
And something in me had snapped. I’d started competing with her without even realizing I’d chosen the war.
Our rivalry had outlived the class by years.
It didn’t help that she’d become friends with my best friend, Talon. And that he’d eventually grown to care about her like a sister once she’d moved in with his now girlfriend, Livvi. Which meant I got to see her at every hangout, every group dinner, every holiday event I got suckered into attending.
She always showed up looking bright and infuriating, all confident posture and effortless polish that made it impossible not to notice her the second she walked in.
