Love beyond rivalry

chapter 4

AMBER'S POV:

I told myself I was doing the right thing.

Every time Jason Rivers walked into a room, I kept my eyes forward. Every time he passed me in the hallway, I looked at my phone. Every time we sat in the same classroom, I focused on the board like my life depended on it.

It was easier that way.

Safer.

If I didn’t look at him, I wouldn’t have to acknowledge the strange pull I felt whenever he was near. I wouldn’t have to remember the way his deep brown eyes had studied me during that first tour, or how his voice had sounded when he asked if I only agreed to show him around because the teacher asked. I wouldn’t have to admit that part of me still thought about the quiet way he had walked beside me, matching my pace without trying too hard.

I wouldn’t have to admit that I noticed him more than I wanted to.

Sandra, of course, noticed everything.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said during lunch on Thursday, poking my arm with her fork.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend Jason Rivers doesn’t exist.”

I took a slow sip of my water and kept my expression neutral. “I’m not pretending anything. We just don’t talk.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice so the people at the next table wouldn’t hear. “You know half the school is already calling him the golden boy, right? The basketball team is obsessed with him. The girls won’t stop staring. And you—” she pointed her fork at me, “—act like he’s invisible.”

“That’s because he should be,” I said quietly. “To me, at least.”

Sandra sighed and sat back. “Amber. Your dad isn’t here. Your brothers aren’t here. You’re allowed to look at a boy.”

I didn’t answer.

Because she was wrong.

My father didn’t need to be physically present for me to feel his rules. Andrew Anderson had made his position very clear the moment he found out Henry Rivers’ son had transferred to Crescent High.

Stay away from him, Amber. I mean it.

The way he had said it left no room for argument. Kelvin and Alvin had repeated the warning at dinner two nights later, both of them wearing the same serious expression they used whenever they discussed the family business. Kelvin had even gone as far as telling me that if Jason ever tried to speak to me, I should walk away immediately.

So I stayed away.

I didn’t look.

I didn’t speak.

I acted like Jason Rivers was just another student I had no reason to notice.

The problem was that everyone else noticed him.

It was impossible not to.

He was six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a quiet confidence that made people turn their heads without even realizing they were doing it. His dark hair always looked slightly messy in a way that somehow still looked intentional. And those brown eyes of his… I had only met them once, really met them, but I still remembered the intensity behind them. The way they had held mine for a second longer than necessary.

Now girls whispered about him in the bathrooms between classes. Guys wanted to be on his team. Teachers already treated him like he had always belonged at Crescent High. I overheard two girls in the hallway describing the way he smiled during practice, and I walked past them faster than I needed to.

I kept my gaze carefully elsewhere.

On Friday afternoon, I was walking toward the parking lot when I saw him.

He was standing near the basketball courts with Ryan and a few other guys from the team, laughing at something someone said. The late sunlight caught the sharp line of his jaw and the way his practice jersey stretched across his shoulders. One of the girls from my English class was hovering nearby, clearly trying to get his attention. She said something that made the group laugh, and Jason smiled—small, almost reluctant, but still enough to make her beam.

I looked away immediately.

My heart still did that stupid little skip anyway.

I walked faster, keys already in my hand, wanting nothing more than to get into my car and leave before anyone noticed I had slowed down even for a second.

“Amber.”

I froze.

For one dangerous moment I thought it was him.

But when I turned, it was only Sandra jogging to catch up, slightly out of breath, her bag bouncing against her hip.

“You left your notebook in class,” she said, holding it out.

“Thanks.” I took it from her, forcing a small smile.

She studied my face carefully. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been weird all week.”

“I’m just tired.”

Sandra didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push this time. She linked her arm through mine as we walked the rest of the way to the parking lot, chatting about an assignment due next week. I nodded in the right places and even managed a laugh when she made a joke about our history teacher.

I didn’t look back toward the courts.

Not even once.

That night at home, I sat on my bed with my laptop open, trying to focus on an English essay. My phone buzzed every few minutes with messages from Sandra sending memes and complaining about her group project. Downstairs, my brothers were arguing about some business deal involving a new property. My father’s voice occasionally rose above theirs, sharp and controlled, the same tone he used when he was disappointed.

I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen and wondered, just for a moment, what Jason was doing right now.

Was he with his new friends?

Was he still at practice?

Did he ever think about that first day the way I sometimes did?

The questions came too easily.

I closed the thought down as quickly as it arrived, shutting my laptop with a soft click.

Looking at him was dangerous.

Wanting to look at him was worse.

So I kept my eyes away.

Even when everything in me wanted to do the opposite.

Even when I caught myself listening for his name in conversations I wasn’t part of.

Even when I walked into class the following Monday and felt the exact second he entered the room behind me—without ever turning my head to confirm it.

I was good at pretending.

I had spent years practicing.

But for the first time, I wasn’t sure how long I could keep it up.