Love beyond rivalry

chapter 3

Jason's pov

By the end of the first week, people had already decided who I was.

Jason Rivers.

New transfer.

Son of Henry Rivers.

Six-foot-two, dark-haired, sharp jawline, and deep brown eyes that—according to half the girls at Crescent High—were unfairly good-looking.

I didn’t ask for any of it. It just happened.

It started in gym class on my second day. Years of private training with coaches my father hired had made me faster and stronger than most of the guys here. When Coach Harris made us run suicides, I finished first without even breathing hard. A few of the basketball players exchanged looks. By the end of the period, the coach pulled me aside and asked if I’d ever played competitively. I told him I had. The next day he handed me a practice jersey.

That was all it took.

Suddenly I wasn’t just the new kid with the famous last name. I was the new kid who could actually play. The one the guys wanted on their team. The one the girls watched a little too long when I walked down the hallway with my bag slung over one shoulder, my height making it easy for them to notice me from across the room.

Someone called me the “golden boy” as a joke during lunch on Thursday.

It stuck by Friday.

I didn’t hate it.

Having people like me made everything easier. The first two days I had eaten alone, scrolling through my phone and pretending I didn’t notice the stares. By Wednesday a group had formed around me—Ryan from the basketball team, two guys from my math class named Chris and Malik, and a few others who seemed more interested in my father’s company than in me. Still, it was better than silence. They laughed at my dry comments. They saved me a seat. They treated me like I already belonged.

I let them.

It was easier than explaining that I still felt like an outsider.

Amber and I hadn’t spoken since the day she showed me around campus.

Not once.

At first I thought she was just being careful. Our families had been at each other’s throats for years. Andrew Anderson and Henry Rivers weren’t just business rivals—they actively tried to destroy each other. Getting close to his daughter would have been stupid. Keeping distance made sense.

But after a few days, I noticed something else.

She never looked at me.

Not in the hallways.

Not in the two classes we shared.

Not even when we passed each other close enough that our shoulders almost brushed.

I would glance in her direction, and her eyes stayed fixed straight ahead, or on her phone, or on Sandra. Like I didn’t exist. Like the hour we spent walking around campus together had never happened.

It shouldn’t have bothered me.

I told myself it was better this way. Safer. Smarter. The less contact we had, the less chance either of our fathers found out and made our lives hell.

So I stopped trying to catch her attention. I laughed louder with my new friends. Showed up early to practice. Let everyone believe the version of me that was easy to accept—the confident, athletic golden boy who didn’t cause problems and didn’t care about old family drama.

But my eyes still searched for her.

Every single day.

In the courtyard during break.

Outside the cafeteria when the lunch bell rang.

Across the classroom when the teacher turned to write on the board.

I kept looking, even though I already knew what I would find.

Nothing.

She never looked back.

One afternoon during lunch, Ryan elbowed me hard in the ribs.

“You’ve been staring at Anderson again.”

I kept my face blank and took a bite of my sandwich. “No, I haven’t.”

He smirked like he didn’t believe me for a second. “Dude. Everyone knows the Rivers and Andersons can’t stand each other. Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making anything weird.”

“Good. Because her brothers are actually terrifying, and your dad would probably lose his mind if he found out you were even thinking about her.”

Chris leaned in from the other side of the table. “I heard Kelvin Anderson almost got a guy expelled last year just for talking to her too long.”

I forced a short laugh and changed the subject to the upcoming game. The conversation moved on. I pretended to listen.

Later that same day, I walked past the library on my way to the parking lot. Through the wide glass windows I saw Amber sitting alone at a table near the back, head bent over an open book, one hand absently twisting a strand of her dark hair. The afternoon light hit her caramel skin and made her blue eyes look even brighter—even though they never lifted from the page.

I slowed down without meaning to.

I waited.

Just for a second.

Maybe two.

She never looked up.

I kept walking.

That night I lay in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling of my new bedroom, trying to convince myself that her complete indifference was a good thing. That staying away was the only option that made sense. That I should be grateful she was making it easy for both of us.

Our last names were enough of a reason.

Still, the fact that she wouldn’t even glance in my direction stayed under my skin in a way I didn’t like. It was one thing to avoid talking because of our families. It was another thing entirely to act like I was invisible.

I hated how much I noticed her absence.

I hated how my eyes—dark brown and apparently “distracting,” according to more than one girl this week—kept drifting toward her in every room, searching for a pair of blue ones that refused to meet mine.

And more than anything, I hated the quiet, stubborn part of me that already knew this wasn’t going to last forever.

No matter how many times I told myself to stop looking…

I never did.