Chapter 6: Fault Lines
1014 Words
The first thing Amara noticed was that Ethan had stopped trying to beat her.
Not completely.
Just enough to make her suspicious.
For three years, their rivalry had been predictable. Every test, every quiz, every competition ended with one of them barely edging out the other. The difference was usually a single mark.
One mark.
One question.
One careless mistake.
It had become their normal.
Which was why she noticed immediately when Ethan started leaving opportunities open.
A bonus question in Physics.
A class presentation.
A mathematics challenge that he normally would have dominated.
He still did well.
He just wasn't pushing as hard.
And Amara hated that she noticed.
Because noticing meant paying attention to him.
Something she absolutely did not do.
At least that was what she told herself.
"You're staring."
Amara nearly dropped her pen.
Across the library table, Ethan smirked.
"You've been looking at me for thirty seconds."
"I have not."
"You have."
"I was looking through you."
"That's creepy."
Amara rolled her eyes.
"Everything about you is annoying."
His grin widened.
"See? There she is."
"There who is?"
"My favourite enemy."
She ignored the strange flutter in her chest.
That flutter had been happening more often lately.
She didn't like it.
Didn't understand it.
And definitely wasn't going to think about it.
Especially not when Ethan looked so pleased with himself.
The library door opened.
Several students entered.
The usual noise followed.
For once, neither Amara nor Ethan paid attention.
They were supposed to be working on their science project.
Instead, Ethan was spinning a pen between his fingers while Amara pretended to read.
"You're distracted."
"I'm not."
"You've read the same page four times."
Amara glanced down.
Unfortunately, he was right.
"Mind your business."
"You are my business."
Her head snapped up.
Ethan blinked.
The words seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then he cleared his throat.
"I mean the project."
Amara looked away first.
"Right."
The project.
Obviously.
What else could he have meant?
Still...
The awkward silence lingered.
Neither seemed able to shake it off.
The tension followed her home.
Amara hated that.
Usually she could leave school at school.
The moment she stepped through her front door, Ethan ceased to exist.
Not today.
Today his voice kept replaying in her head.
You are my business.
Stupid.
Meaningless.
Yet somehow impossible to forget.
She dropped her bag beside the stairs.
Immediately she heard her father's voice.
"Amara."
Her shoulders stiffened.
The familiar knot formed in her stomach.
He was sitting in the living room.
Her mother beside him.
Neither looked happy.
Which meant trouble.
"Sit."
Amara obeyed.
Her mother folded her arms.
"Your latest assessment results."
There it was.
The reason.
Amara remained silent.
"Second place."
The words landed heavily.
Her father looked disappointed.
Her mother looked irritated.
Neither expression was new.
Yet they still hurt.
"It was one test," Amara said quietly.
"One test matters."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Her mother's voice sharpened.
"Because lately you seem distracted."
Amara clenched her jaw.
She had scored ninety-six.
Ninety-six.
Yet somehow it felt like failure.
"You used to be first."
"I'll do better."
"You always say that."
The conversation continued.
Every sentence felt heavier than the last.
By the time it ended, Amara's chest felt tight.
She escaped upstairs before they could continue.
Once inside her room, she locked the door.
Then she sat on her bed.
And stared at nothing.
Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to be enough.
Not the smartest.
Not the best.
Not perfect.
Just enough.
The thought made her laugh bitterly.
Enough wasn't a word her parents believed in.
The next day Ethan noticed immediately.
She looked exhausted.
Again.
The dark circles beneath her eyes seemed deeper.
The confidence she usually carried like armour looked thinner.
Fragile.
Like cracked glass.
And Ethan hated it.
Because he knew exactly why.
He hadn't stopped thinking about what he overheard outside her house weeks ago.
The shouting.
The criticism.
The impossible expectations.
Every time he looked at Amara now, he saw someone carrying a weight far too heavy for her age.
"Earth to Daniels."
She glanced up.
"What?"
"You forgot your calculator."
Amara blinked.
Then looked at her desk.
The calculator was indeed missing.
Something she never would have forgotten before.
"Thanks."
The word surprised both of them.
Amara rarely thanked him.
Ethan smiled.
"You're welcome."
She immediately looked annoyed.
As if she regretted saying it.
He found it ridiculously adorable.
Not that he'd ever admit that.
After school, rain began falling.
Students rushed toward buses and cars.
Within minutes the school courtyard was nearly empty.
Amara stood beneath the entrance awning.
She hadn't brought an umbrella.
Of course she hadn't.
Today apparently existed solely to make her miserable.
The rain grew heavier.
Wonderful.
"Need help?"
She turned.
Ethan stood beside her.
Holding an umbrella.
Of course he was.
"No."
"You're standing here."
"I'm waiting."
"For what?"
Amara paused.
Good question.
She wasn't actually waiting for anything.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly."
She sighed.
"Fine."
Victory flashed across his face.
"Come on."
They stepped into the rain together.
The umbrella wasn't large.
Their shoulders occasionally brushed.
Each accidental touch felt strangely noticeable.
Amara focused on the road.
The trees.
The rain.
Anything except Ethan.
"So," he said casually.
"So what?"
"You ever smile?"
She glared.
"There it is."
"What?"
"That look."
"What look?"
"The one that says you want to throw me into traffic."
Despite herself, Amara laughed.
A real laugh.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
Ethan nearly missed a step.
Because in three years of rivalry, he'd never heard that sound before.
And suddenly—
Somehow—
Winning first place seemed far less important.
The laughter faded.
Amara looked away.
But for the first time in a long time, she felt lighter.
Just a little.
Enough to notice.
Enough to miss when it disappeared.
And enough to wonder why Ethan Cole was becoming the one person who could make the weight feel smaller.
That thought scared her far more than any exam ever could.
- Writer
