His Beautiful Rival

5.TROUBLE

I sighed, the bitterness of that memory flooding back to me. It wasn’t just that Seraphina was better at academics; it was that her success had been wielded like a weapon to highlight my failures. I could still hear my father’s voice, the disappointment dripping from his words, making it clear that I would never measure up to her. The anger and resentment I felt towards her ran deep, tangled with my own struggles and insecurities.

Sitting up in bed, I narrowed my eyes, renewed determination sparking within me. I needed to regain some sense of control, to remind myself that I was more than just the shadow of Seraphina’s achievements. The playful banter we’d shared earlier had been a good start, but I needed to do more. I needed to find ways to irritate her, to assert my own presence.

A wicked grin crept onto my face as I began to formulate a plan. I could think of small ways to disrupt our study sessions, little annoyances that would push her buttons. Maybe I’d ask ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with our studies, or feign ignorance on topics I knew well just to see her exasperated expression. I could take my time getting to her house, making her wait, disrupting her meticulously planned schedule. Anything to keep her off balance.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I muttered to myself, imagining her reaction. I knew it was petty, but I needed to assert my own identity, to prove to myself—and maybe even to my father—that I was more than just a shadow. Annoying Seraphina would be my way of reclaiming some control over the situation.

But deep down, a small voice in my head reminded me of the futility of this plan. I knew that real satisfaction wouldn’t come from petty annoyances or superficial victories. Yet the wounds from my father’s words were still raw, and for now, this felt like the only way to cope.

With a heavy sigh, I lay back down, closing my eyes. Tomorrow, I’d start putting my plan into action. I’d find ways to get under Seraphina’s skin, to challenge her calm and collected exterior. It was a temporary fix, I knew, but it was all I had for now. As sleep finally claimed me, I resolved to make the most of our next tutoring session, even if it meant turning it into a battlefield of wills.

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Westwood High buzzed with the usual morning activity as students filled the hallways, greeting friends and rushing to their first classes. I sauntered through the crowd, my mind set on a single goal: annoying Seraphina. Our last tutoring session had gone smoothly with my little annoying habits, and today I intended to execute my plan to reclaim some control.

As I entered the classroom, I spotted Seraphina already seated in the front row, her books neatly arranged, her posture perfect. Typical. I thought with a smirk. I took my usual spot in the back, giving me a clear view of her.

The class began, and Mr. Thompson started lecturing on the Industrial Revolution. Perfect. I waited for the right moment to strike. As he turned to write on the board, I tore a piece of paper from my notebook, scribbled a silly message, and expertly flicked it toward Seraphina. A lopsided grin spread across my face as it sailed through the air.

The paper landed on her desk, and I could see her glance at it with mild irritation. She opened it and read, “Did you know Napoleon was super short?” I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as she crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, refocusing on the lesson. Her knuckles whitened with the fear of being left behind.

Round one had begun. Throughout the class, I continued my antics. I tapped my foot loudly against the floor, hummed under my breath, and occasionally whispered her name just loud enough for her to hear. Each time she shot me a look of exasperation but said nothing. Even some of the other students began to whisper about my sudden interest in Seraphina, which only fueled my fire.

Finally, I leaned back and stretched, intentionally knocking my textbook off the desk with a loud thud. Mr. Thompson turned around, his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Blaze, is there a reason you’re disturbing my class?”

I shrugged nonchalantly, the picture of innocence. “Just stretching, Mr. Thompson. Didn’t mean to cause a ruckus.”

Seraphina’s eyes flashed with anger, but she remained silent. I could see her growing more frustrated with each passing minute, and it felt good. I knew I was pushing my luck, but I didn’t care. My goal was to get under her skin, and I was succeeding.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, Mr. Thompson called out, “Blaze, Seraphina, stay after class.”

I leaned back in my chair, a smirk plastered on my face. “Looks like we’re in trouble,” I said, turning to Seraphina, who glared at me.

“This is your fault,” she snapped.

I shrugged again, relishing the moment. “Just trying to make things a little more exciting, you know?”

Seraphina huffed, her expression a mix of annoyance and determination. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe. But I’m also here to stay,” I replied, leaning back further in my chair. “Let’s see what Mr. Thompson has in store for us, shall we?”

As the classroom emptied and the tension hung thick in the air, I felt a rush of adrenaline. This was just the beginning of my plan to reclaim my identity—one annoying moment at a time.