Chapter Two: Team Blue & Tater Tots Payback
1288 Words
Okay. So. Let’s rewind for a second.
One day into Crescent Hill, and I was already on the most chaotic Dorm Wars team ever, got hit in the foot with cafeteria mac and cheese, and made accidental eye contact with the possibly taken hottest guy at school. My goal was to lay low—not get glitter-bombed into social suicide.
Clearly, the universe had other plans.
“Wake up, Ava!” Riley yelled the next morning, chucking a sock at my face. “It’s Dorm Wars Day One and I already smell sabotage!”
“Five more minutes,” I mumbled into my pillow.
“Nope. Rise and slay, roomie. Today’s challenge is Cafeteria Takeover—and I heard the Glams are wearing matching aprons.”
“Why does that sound threatening?”
“Because it is,” Riley said dramatically, throwing open our closet. “Now put something on that says I’m hot but I’ll still key your car.”
I blinked. “What happened to laying low?”
“That was before we got teamed with Chase Freaking Ryder.”
Oh, right. That little plot twist.
Team Blue—aka me, Riley, Chase, Ty, Zara, and some guy named Logan—was apparently the wildcard team.
At breakfast, the chaos was already sizzling.
A handwritten sign was taped above the cafeteria entrance:
“Cafeteria Takeover Challenge: Teams Run the Kitchen. Best Meal Wins. Losers Clean Toilets.”
Riley gasped. “They’re really out here turning high school into Fear Factor.”
We walked inside to find Chase leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, already flipping pancakes like some breakfast god. Ty was dancing with a spatula. Zara? Sitting on a counter with iced coffee, not lifting a finger.
“Team Blue’s here,” Chase said when he saw us, flashing a grin that was way too confident for 8:12 AM.
“You cook?” I asked, trying not to sound impressed.
He shrugged. “A little.”
A little? He flipped a pancake mid-air and caught it behind his back.
Okay, relax Gordon Ramsay.
I slipped into the kitchen and started organizing toppings. Riley was already throwing blueberries like they were confetti. Ty put on a playlist and started twerking with the waffle iron.
Our competition? The Glams. Dressed in designer hoodies, lip gloss perfectly in place, and zero chill. Brielle was managing them like it was a five-star restaurant.
“Everything from scratch, ladies,” she barked. “No frozen carbs.”
When she spotted me mixing batter, she made a face like I was stirring mud.
“Oh look,” Brielle said loud enough for everyone to hear. “The thrift store is trying to make pancakes.”
Riley froze. I gave her the look. Do not start.
But Riley smiled sweetly. “Relax, Brielle. Not everyone needs their eggs flown in from Paris.”
That got a solid laugh from Ty, who immediately high-fived Riley.
By 9:30, we had a full spread: chocolate chip pancakes, cinnamon French toast, fruit kabobs, and a literal waffle tower. Zara even made matcha smoothies because “aesthetic matters.” Chase wiped syrup off my hand at one point, and I swear to God I forgot how to speak English.
“Five minutes left!” yelled Coach Dennings, the ancient PE teacher who was somehow in charge of Dorm Wars.
The Glams were still plating avocado toast with edible flowers and gold flakes. Real subtle.
Final moment: each team had to present their dish to a panel of three judges—Coach Dennings, Principal Martin, and, for some reason, the janitor.
“Team Blue,” Dennings called.
We brought our tray up. Chase winked at the judges. Riley did a little bow. Ty dabbed.
The judges took a bite.
“Oh my god,” said the judge. “This slaps.”
Coach Dennings nodded. “Fluffy, golden, and no glitter in sight.”
Then came the Glams. Brielle practically floated to the front, presenting their food like it was a Michelin-star meal. “We call this the Crescent Sunrise: artisanal toast, hand-muddled guac, lemon-drizzled strawberries—”
She stopped.
Because right there, in the center of their tray, was a single ketchup packet.
Riley gasped. “OH MY GOD.
Brielle’s eyes went nuclear. “WHO PUT THAT THERE?!”
She turned around, and her gaze zeroed in on me.
“I didn’t do anything!” I said, hands up.
But she was already storming over. “You think this is funny? Sabotaging our tray?”
“Dude, I was literally over there the whole time.”
“I wouldn’t need to sabotage you,” Riley added. “You sabotaged yourself by making toast.”
That one hit hard. Maya winced. Zara actually snorted.
Coach Dennings cleared his throat. “Team Blue wins. Glams—start scrubbing.”
The cafeteria exploded with cheers.
Riley tackled me into a hug. Ty tried to pick up Chase and failed. Zara just sipped her matcha like a queen.
And Brielle?
She glared at me like I’d just stolen her boyfriend.
Which was ridiculous.
--
Later that afternoon, I was sitting on the quad scrolling through the Crescent Hill meme account (@DormTrolls) when I saw it:
New Post
> “BREAKING: Ava ‘Thrift Fit’ Sinclair caught smiling at Chase Ryder. Brielle’s rage meter: 110%.”
(Insert blurry pic of me and Chase laughing over pancakes)
“Oh no,” I whispered.
“You’re trending,” Zara said from behind me, sliding onto the bench. “Congrats. That’s rare without a scandal.”
“I literally just cooked breakfast.”
“Exactly. You dared to look happy near a man who’s allegedly attached to Queen Brielle’s tiara.”
“I’m not trying to start drama.”
“Too late, babe. You’re already in it.”
I sighed. “Do you think I should talk to her?”
Zara raised an eyebrow. “Unless you enjoy being publicly humiliated via glitter bombs and i********: stories, I’d say… maybe not.”
She stood up, adjusting her sunglasses. “But hey—at least you’re interesting.”
Wow. That was the closest thing to a compliment I’d ever get from her, huh?
---
By evening, things only got weirder.
Team Blue was called to the common room for an “official Dorm Wars debrief,”
“I think we’re iconic,” Riley said, flopping down next to me. “This team is pure chaos and I love it.”
Logan, the quiet artsy guy who hadn’t said two words all day, suddenly looked up. “We should do matching shirts.”
Everyone stared at him.
“…What?” he muttered.
“No, I love that,” Riley said. “Let’s print shirts that say Blue is the New Queen.”
“You just wanna start beef,” Chase laughed.
“Exactly.”
Ty was scrolling on his phone. “Oh crap. Brielle just posted something.”
We all grabbed our phones.
It was a video. Edited to perfection. Brielle standing in front of her glitter-covered locker, perfectly pouty, with a caption:
“Some girls need teams to win. I just need one lipstick. #RealQueenEnergy #TryHardMuch”
Riley burst out laughing. “She’s already spiraling.”
Chase looked at me.
“Welcome to Crescent Hill,” he said, leaning a little closer.
He smelled like cologne and sugar. My brain fully short-circuited.
And then—of course—Brielle walked in.
She made eye contact with Chase, then me. Her lips curled into that I’m gonna destroy you smile.
“Hey Ava,” she said, voice like sweet poison. “Hope you’re ready. Tomorrow’s challenge is physical.”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
- Writer
