The Art of Hating You

There were exactly three things I hated in this world. Mondays. Cold coffee. And Adrian Villareal. Unfortunately, on the first day of my senior year, all three were waiting for me. I tightened my grip on my iced coffee as I stood in front of Westbridge University's massive entrance, staring at the banner hanging above the gates. WELCOME BACK, STUDENTS! I hated how cheerful it looked. "Move." I froze. That voice. No. Absolutely not. I slowly turned around and came face-to-face with the one person capable of ruining my entire morning before eight o'clock. Adrian Villareal. Perfectly styled hair. Annoyingly expensive watch. White polo shirt that probably cost more than my monthly allowance. And, unfortunately, an annoyingly handsome face. I rolled my eyes. "Good morning to you too, Villareal." He looked at me with that arrogant smirk I had spent four years wanting to wipe off his face. "I said move." "And I said good morning." "I don't care." "Obviously." We stared at each other. Behind us, students began walking around, whispering. They always whispered when Adrian and I were together. Everyone knew about us. The rivalry. The arguments. The competition. For four straight years, Adrian Villareal and I had been fighting for the same things. Highest grades. Leadership positions. Scholarships. Recognition. And last year, he stole the position of Student Council President from me by exactly twelve votes. Twelve. I still remembered every single one. "Are you done blocking the entrance?" Adrian asked. I smiled sweetly. "Are you done being annoying?" "No." "Great. Neither am I." His jaw tightened. Victory. Tiny victory, but victory nonetheless. I took a sip of my coffee and walked past him. Then someone bumped into me. Hard. My coffee flew. And landed directly on Adrian's white shirt. Silence. Complete. Terrifying. Silence. I looked down at his shirt. Then slowly looked back up at him. His face was expressionless. Which was worse. Much worse. "Oh," I whispered. Adrian looked down at the coffee dripping from his shirt. Then back at me. "You." I stepped back. "It was an accident." "You threw coffee at me." "I did not throw coffee at you." "You literally destroyed my shirt." "I barely touched you." "You poured an entire ocean of coffee on me." I crossed my arms. "First of all, dramatic. Second, you're the one standing there looking like a walking billboard." His eyes narrowed. "You have five seconds to apologize." "Or what?" The students around us gasped. I probably should have been scared. But I wasn't. Because Adrian Villareal had been threatening me since freshman year. And I had survived. "One," he said. I raised an eyebrow. "Two." "Seriously?" "Three." "Villareal—" "Four." I smiled. "Five." Nothing happened. I laughed. "See? That's what I thought." Then Adrian leaned closer. Close enough for me to notice that his eyes weren't actually black. They were dark brown. Warm. Dangerously warm. And suddenly, my heart forgot how to behave. "Game on, Luna Reyes." My smile disappeared. I hated when he called me that. Actually— No. I hated that I liked the way he said my name. I stepped closer. "You're going to regret that." His lips curved into a smile. "I already regret meeting you." I stared at him. He stared back. And for one strange second, neither of us moved. The world around us disappeared. The students. The noise. The first-day chaos. Everything. It was just me and him. His eyes dropped briefly to my lips. My breath stopped. Then he stepped away. And the moment was gone. "Try not to spill anything else today, Reyes." I watched him walk away. "Try not to lose again, Villareal!" He turned around. Smirking. "I never lose." I smiled. "Oh, you will." What I didn't know then was that I was right. Adrian Villareal was going to lose. So was I. Because sometimes, the biggest mistake you can make isn't losing a competition. Sometimes— It's falling for your rival. And Adrian Villareal was the one person I promised myself I would never love. --