Rivals and Roses

Chapter 5 — Rules, Rumors, and Roses

Lockwood Academy had more rules than a royal palace.

Rule #1: No late-night wanderings after curfew.

Rule #2: No “unauthorized gatherings.”

Rule #3: Don’t annoy the prefects.

Rule #4: Pretend to care about the rules.

That last one wasn’t official, but everyone knew it. Lockwood was less about discipline and more about image. As long as you looked like you were following the rules, you were golden.

By Monday morning, whispers about our debate had already made their rounds. Apparently, people loved seeing me—Mr. Quiet Hale—stand up to Ava Rossi, Lockwood’s latest mystery girl. Some said we were rivals already. Others said we were secretly dating. Lockwood kids loved a good headline.

“Congratulations, you’re famous,” Lila said, walking beside me with her iced coffee in hand.

“I didn’t even do anything,” I replied.

“Exactly. That’s what makes it so fascinating.” She smirked.

As we entered the courtyard, I caught sight of Ava under one of the cherry trees, reading. Of course she was reading. She didn’t even glance my way, though I swear she smirked when she flipped a page.

“Just ignore her,” Madison whispered. “Girls like that thrive on reactions.”

“I’m not reacting.”

“You’re staring.”

I turned away immediately. “I was thinking.”

“Sure,” Madison said, laughing.

The rest of the day flew by in flashes of gossip, assignments, and the occasional teacher who acted like they were training us for the United Nations. Between classes, I noticed how Ava handled herself—always calm, never too loud, always aware of who was watching. She wasn’t trying to fit in, but somehow everyone orbited around her anyway.

During lunch, I sat with Lila and Madison. Across the cafeteria, Ava and her crew—Clara, Naomi, and that guy from the basketball team—sat at their usual table. They looked like a magazine cover.

“Word is,” Lila said, lowering her voice, “Ava’s dad owns some international firm. Like, next-level rich.”

“Everyone here is next-level rich,” I said. “We literally have a student parking lot that looks like a car dealership.”

“Yeah, but hers is different rich. She doesn’t flaunt it.”

I pretended not to care, but I caught myself glancing at her again. She laughed at something Naomi said, and for a split second, she didn’t look mysterious at all—just… normal.

Then our eyes met.

And she didn’t look away.

For a moment, the noise of the cafeteria faded. Then Clara whispered something in her ear, and Ava turned back to her table, calm as ever.

“Dude,” Madison said, nudging me. “Did you two just—?”

“No,” I interrupted. “Absolutely not.”

But my heartbeat said otherwise.

That evening, after prep, I walked through the empty hallway, the light from the chandeliers bouncing off the polished floors. Lockwood looked peaceful when everyone was gone—almost like a different world. I pulled out my phone and opened my dad’s last message:

Just survive school, Ethan. You don’t have to be perfect.

Survive school. Sounds easy, but it’s not. Not when you’re surrounded by people pretending to have it all together.

I walked past the notice board where next week’s club competition poster hung:

Lockwood Creative Fair — Debate, Drama, and Design.

Debate. Of course.

Under it, in neat handwriting, I saw two names written beside each other:

Ethan Hale and Ava Rossi.

I blinked. Then blinked again.

They paired us. Again.

“Perfect,” I muttered. “Absolutely perfect.”

The next morning, I met Ava in the library. She was already there—early, of course—notes spread out like she owned the place.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“Exactly.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re easily flustered,” she said, finally meeting my gaze.

She had that calm, knowing expression again—the kind that said she was two steps ahead.

“We’re supposed to collaborate,” I reminded her. “Meaning together.”

“Then start collaborating,” she replied, gesturing toward the open laptop.

I sat down beside her, and for a moment, neither of us said a word. The library smelled like old paper and lemon polish. Outside, rain tapped lightly on the glass.

“So,” I began, “our topic is ‘Money and Morality.’ Fitting, huh?”

Ava smirked. “You’re implying I’m immoral?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But it’s early.”

She laughed—a soft, surprised sound—and for some reason, that threw me off.

“Relax, Hale,” she said. “I don’t bite.”

“Yeah, that’s what sharks say before lunch.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And what did you expect?”

“Someone who hides behind his father’s name.”

I smiled faintly. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

We spent the next hour drafting arguments, arguing about the arguments, and occasionally laughing when our sarcasm collided. By the end, we’d actually made progress.

“You’re not that bad,” she said as we packed up.

“I could say the same about you.”

“You could, but you won’t.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You know me too well already.”

She looked up then, really looked at me. “Maybe I do.”

Something about the way she said it lingered. Like she wasn’t talking about school anymore.

When I left the library, the rain had stopped. Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off the glass floors. I checked my reflection and saw something new—someone actually enjoying Lockwood.

Maybe surviving wasn’t about staying invisible. Maybe it was about showing up, even when things got complicated.

And as much as I hated to admit it, Ava Rossi was part of that complication.

That night, while everyone else scrolled through socials or bragged about grades, I sat by my window, watching the rain start again.

There were things I didn’t understand about her—her calmness, her focus, the wall she built around herself. But something told me we weren’t finished clashing yet. Not even close.

Lockwood had its rules.

Ava had hers.

And somehow, both were starting to rewrite mine.