Chapter 4
969 Words
The next morning, Ava was already regretting dragging herself out of bed. The café was slammed, a line of bleary-eyed customers snaking out the door while her mom juggled orders behind the counter.
“Ava, can you take these to table three?” her mom called, balancing a tray of muffins.
“Sure.” Ava grabbed the tray of mismatched ceramic mugs, weaving through the crowded space with practiced ease.
She had barely set the drinks down when Jules barreled in through the front door like a tornado, her rainbow scarf flying behind her. “Ava!”
“Jules, I’m working—”
“You’ll thank me for this later,” Jules said, grabbing Ava by the arm and dragging her into the kitchen.
Ava sighed. “What is it now?”
Jules held up her phone like it was the Holy Grail. On the screen was a blurry photo of Ethan Blackwell in the cafeteria from the day before, his trademark smirk firmly in place.
“Your new best friend is blowing up the internet,” Jules said, shoving the phone closer to Ava’s face.
“I’m not his friend,” Ava said flatly, stepping back. “And stop stalking him.”
“Stalking? No. Research? Absolutely,” Jules said, scrolling through a flurry of comments below the post. “Apparently, he’s trending on three different hashtags: #PublicSchoolPrince, #BlackwellScandal, and my personal favorite, #HotAndHorrible.”
Ava groaned, grabbing a rag to wipe down the counter. “I don’t care, Jules.”
“Oh, but you should care,” Jules said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Because the whole school is obsessed. And by the way, did you hear who’s sitting in your art class now?”
Ava froze. “No.”
“Oh, yes.” Jules grinned. “I walked past the art room this morning. He’s already there, chatting it up with Ms. Grant like he’s Michelangelo.”
***
Ava’s grip tightened on the strap of her backpack as she pushed open the door to the art room. Sure enough, Ethan Blackwell was there, perched on the edge of a desk like he owned the place.
“Ava,” Ms. Grant said brightly, gesturing toward Ethan. “You’re just in time. Meet our new student, Ethan Blackwell. He says he’s interested in developing his creative side.”
Ava stared at Ms. Grant like she’d lost her mind. Creative side? The guy probably thinks a paintbrush is something you use to dust off your Lamborghini.
Ethan turned toward her, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Oh, we’ve met,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.
Ava forced a tight smile. “Lucky me.”
“Actually,” Ms. Grant said, her hands clasped in front of her, “I was thinking you could help Ethan get acclimated to the class. He’s new to this environment, after all.”
Ava’s stomach dropped. “Acclimated?”
“Yes,” Ms. Grant said, clearly oblivious to the tension simmering between them. “You two can work together on the mural project for the community center.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Sounds perfect.”
Ava wanted to sink through the floor.
***
Half an hour later, Ava stood at the supply closet, rifling through bottles of acrylic paint. Ethan leaned against the doorframe, watching her with an expression that screamed amusement.
“Do you always scowl when you work, or is that just for me?” he asked.
Ava didn’t bother looking at him. “Do you always talk this much, or is that just for me?”
He chuckled. “Touché.”
Grabbing a box of brushes, Ava turned to face him. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here or what game you’re playing, but let me make one thing clear: I’m not interested in being part of your drama.”
Ethan tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly. “What makes you think I’m playing a game?”
“Because guys like you always are,” Ava said simply, brushing past him to set the supplies on a table.
For a moment, Ethan didn’t reply. When he finally spoke, his tone was quieter, almost…serious. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
Ava looked up, caught off guard by the shift in his demeanor. But before she could respond, Ms. Grant returned, interrupting the moment.
***
The school day crawled by after that, each encounter with Ethan leaving Ava more frustrated than the last. By the time the final bell rang, she was ready to leave and pretend none of it had ever happened.
But Ethan had other plans.
She was unlocking her bike outside the school when she heard his voice behind her.
“Hey, Ava.”
She turned, sighing heavily. “What now?”
Ethan shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his smirk replaced by something almost…hesitant.
“I get it,” he said. “You don’t like me. You think I’m a spoiled brat with nothing better to do than make your life harder.”
Ava blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “Pretty much.”
“Fair enough,” he said, stepping closer. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” she asked, crossing her arms.
Ethan’s gaze met hers, steady and unflinching. “I’m not here to make your life harder, Ava. I’m just trying to survive mine.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without another word, Ethan turned and walked away, leaving Ava standing by her bike, her mind spinning.
***
As Ava mounted her bike and pedaled toward home, she couldn’t shake Ethan’s words—or the strange, nagging feeling that her life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.
- Writer
