Chapter 5
1163 Words
The second Ava walked through the doors of her house, she was met with the smell of fresh coffee and burnt toast.
Her mom was standing at the stove, squinting at a frying pan like it might suddenly reveal the secret to not overcooking eggs. The café had been hectic for weeks, and the exhaustion showed in the slump of her shoulders and the dark circles under her eyes.
“You’re home late,” her mom said without turning around. “Everything okay?”
Ava dropped her bag onto the table and slumped into a chair. “Define ‘okay.’”
Her mom turned, one eyebrow raised in that classic mom look that Ava knew meant I’m not going to let you sulk without an explanation.
Ava sighed. “Ethan Blackwell is at my school now.”
The spatula clattered onto the counter. Her mom froze, her expression carefully neutral. “The Ethan Blackwell?”
Ava nodded, pulling a rubber band off her wrist to tie up her hair. “The one and only. Apparently, his dad thought it would be good PR to send him to public school after some scandal.”
Her mom pressed her lips together. “I’ve heard about the Blackwells in the news. Big money. Big egos.”
“Big headaches,” Ava muttered. “And now I’m stuck working with him on a school project.”
Her mom’s expression softened, and she sat down across from Ava. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think. People surprise you sometimes.”
“Not people like him,” Ava said, her voice sharper than she intended. She stared down at her hands, twisting the rubber band around her fingers. “Guys like Ethan have everything handed to them. They don’t care about people like us.”
Her mom was quiet for a moment, then reached over to squeeze Ava’s hand. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Ava. But don’t let your anger blind you to everything else.”
Ava didn’t reply. She couldn’t—not when she could still hear Ethan’s voice in her head from earlier that day: I’m just trying to survive mine.
***
The next morning, the chaos surrounding Ethan’s arrival at school reached a fever pitch. Ava could barely make it down the hallway without hearing his name.
“Did you see the video of him telling off that paparazzi guy last year? Savage.”
“My cousin said he punched someone at a yacht party. Who even throws yacht parties?”
“Do you think he’s single?”
Ava groaned as she turned the corner and headed toward her locker, only to find Jules waiting for her with the biggest grin Ava had ever seen.
“Guess what?” Jules said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
Jules shoved her phone into Ava’s hands. On the screen was a new headline:
“Billionaire Heir Ethan Blackwell Faces PR Nightmare as Public School Stunt Backfires Online.”
Below the headline was a blurry photo of Ethan in the school cafeteria, looking as aloof and arrogant as ever. The comments section was a war zone.
“What do you mean, backfires?” Ava asked, handing the phone back.
“Apparently, the internet thinks it’s hilarious,” Jules said, scrolling through the comments. “Half of them are making fun of him for slumming it at a public school, and the other half are calling him a misunderstood bad boy. It’s like the drama of the century.”
Ava sighed, slamming her locker shut. “I don’t care what the internet thinks. I just want him to leave me alone.”
Jules grinned. “Good luck with that. He’s your partner for the mural project, remember?”
“I’m trying to forget.”
***
By the time Ava made it to the art room for her next class, she was already dreading the confrontation. Sure enough, Ethan was waiting for her, leaning against the supply cabinet with his signature smirk firmly in place.
“Morning, partner,” he said, his tone as smug as ever.
Ava ignored him, heading straight for the table where their project materials were laid out.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ethan continued, following her like a shadow. “If we’re going to work together, we should set some ground rules.”
Ava snorted. “You want rules?”
“Yeah,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. “Rule number one: No glaring at me like you want me dead. It’s distracting.”
Ava rolled her eyes, picking up a sketchpad and flipping through it. “Rule number two: Don’t talk to me unless it’s about the project.”
Ethan leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Rule number three: Stop pretending you don’t enjoy this.”
Ava slammed the sketchpad down onto the table, her patience snapping. “What do you want, Ethan? Do you think this is fun for me? Because it’s not. I don’t have time for your games.”
For a moment, Ethan didn’t say anything. Then, to her surprise, his smirk softened into something almost…genuine.
“I’m not playing games, Ava,” he said quietly. “I just…don’t know how to do this.”
Ava blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”
“Be normal,” he said, his voice low. “Be around people who don’t care about my last name.”
Ava stared at him, her anger faltering. She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about his last name either—that she just wanted him to stay out of her way. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she picked up her pencil and started sketching. “Fine,” she said after a long pause. “But don’t think this means we’re friends.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, his smirk creeping back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
***
As the day wore on, Ava couldn’t shake the strange weight of her conversation with Ethan. Something about him didn’t add up. He was arrogant, sure—but there was something else beneath the surface. Something that made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t like.
After school, she found herself lingering in the hallway, watching him from a distance as he talked to another student. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What’s his deal?” Jules asked, appearing out of nowhere and making Ava jump.
“Stop doing that,” Ava hissed.
“Seriously, though,” Jules said, crossing her arms. “Why is he even here? There’s no way someone like Ethan Blackwell ends up in a place like this unless something really bad happened.”
Ava frowned, watching as Ethan walked away, his shoulders tense. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m starting to think I don’t want to find out.”
- Writer
