Rivals and Roses

Chapter 3 — Rival Material

If there’s one thing Lockwood Academy loves more than money, it’s group projects—because apparently, teamwork builds “leadership character.” What it really builds is stress and silent judgment.

By second period, I was already regretting showing up early. The classroom smelled like new textbooks and designer perfume. Everyone sat in pairs, pretending to read while secretly ranking each other’s sneakers.

“Alright, class,” said Mr. Carrington, our history teacher. “New term, new seating. You’ll work in pairs for this week’s project—presentation due Friday.”

Instant chaos. People scrambled to sit with their friends. Lila was already waving at me. Madison mouthed, “You owe me!” from across the room as he grabbed the best seat near the window.

Before I could move, Mr. Carrington’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Hale, you’re with Rossi.”

Silence. Like, pin-drop silence.

Even the air conditioning seemed to pause in shock.

I turned slowly to my right. There she was—Ava Rossi—sitting near the back, perfectly calm, like she’d expected it. Her long dark hair was tied loosely, a few strands falling into her eyes. She wasn’t even pretending to be interested in anyone. Just flipping her pen between her fingers, effortlessly.

Our eyes met.

And I swear she gave me the tiniest smirk.

Of course she did.

“Problem, Mr. Hale?” Mr. Carrington asked.

“Nope,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… thrilled.”

The class snickered.

Ava turned one page in her notebook. “You talk a lot for someone who’s ‘thrilled,’” she murmured.

Touché.

We spent the next ten minutes deciding who would do what for the project. Actually, I was deciding. She was mostly sipping her water like she was at a five-star spa.

“Okay,” I said, looking at the topic sheet. “Industrial Revolutions—causes, effects, and modern relevance. Easy enough. I’ll handle the research; you can—”

“Present,” she said.

I blinked. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Her tone wasn’t rude—just factual. Confident. Like she’d already decided how the project would go, and I was lucky to be in it.

“Right,” I muttered, jotting notes. “You seem used to giving orders.”

She glanced up. “You seem used to following them.”

Madison, from two tables away, was trying not to laugh.

“Everything okay back there?” Mr. Carrington asked without looking up.

“Yes, sir,” Ava and I said at the same time.

Great. We were already in sync.

After class, we walked out together, mostly because everyone was staring and whispering.

“So,” I said casually, “I hear your family’s—”

“Don’t.”

I raised my hands. “Noted.”

She gave me a small smile then, the kind that wasn’t really a smile but still felt like a victory.

Outside the building, the school courtyard shimmered under the sun. Students lounged by the fountains, laughing, eating, pretending they weren’t watching us walk by.

“Do people always stare this much around here?” she asked.

“Only when you’re new,” I said. “Or when you get paired with me.”

She gave me a sideways look. “Are you always this full of yourself?”

“Depends on the audience.”

She laughed softly—barely—but I caught it.

The next few days, we met during breaks to plan our project. By “plan,” I mean I worked while she quietly drew mind maps that looked like art. She was focused, organized, and annoyingly calm.

I tried to test her a few times.

“So,” I said on Wednesday, “do you ever lose arguments?”

“Only when I’m bored.”

“And now?”

She looked up. “You tell me.”

It was infuriating—and impressive.

By Thursday, the rumors were everywhere. “Rossi and Hale working together!” “The Hale boy’s smiling more.” “Are they fighting or flirting?”

Neither. Maybe both.

Friday came fast. Presentation day. We stood at the front of the class while everyone whispered. I went first, explaining the statistics and history, while Ava handled the conclusion.

Her voice was steady, confident—like she owned every word. Even Mr. Carrington nodded, which was a miracle.

When it was over, the class clapped.

“Good work, Hale and Rossi,” the teacher said. “Excellent collaboration.”

I grinned. “Thanks. She did most of the talking, though.”

Ava shot me a look. “You mean the smart part of the talking.”

The room laughed. Even I couldn’t help but smile.

As we sat down, she leaned slightly toward me. “Not bad,” she said quietly.

“You too,” I replied. “Didn’t know you could be nice.”

She smiled without looking at me. “Don’t get used to it.”

That day, Lockwood felt different. Not just another Friday. Something had shifted—a rivalry, maybe. Or curiosity.

And for the first time in a long while, I actually looked forward to Monday. Not because of the classes, or the cafeteria food that tasted like punishment, or even the endless announcements about “excellence and integrity.” No. It was because for the first time, someone at Lockwood didn’t just see me as the “Hale boy” with a famous father.

Ava Rossi didn’t care who I was—at least not in the way everyone else did. She talked to me like an equal, challenged me like an opponent, and made me laugh when she wasn’t even trying.

That weekend, as I packed my bag for Monday, I caught myself smiling.

Maybe surviving this place wouldn’t be about avoiding drama after all.

Maybe it’d be about meeting it halfway—with a smirk.