Falling for My Elite Rival

CHAPTER FOUR

Monday morning comes too early.

I'm on the 6:15 AM bus heading to Westbridge, my backpack heavy with textbooks and the exhaustion of a weekend spent replaying Friday night in my head. The presentation. The missing USB. Enzo helping me. His warning about sabotage.

Someone took it. Someone who wanted you to fail.

I've turned that sentence over a thousand times, trying to make sense of it. Who would sabotage me? And why?

The obvious answer is someone who benefits from my failure. Someone who wants my spot on the Academic Decathlon team, or my scholarship chances, or my class ranking.

The list of people who fit that description is uncomfortably long.

The bus lurches to a stop at the corner near Westbridge. I'm the only student getting off here—everyone else on this route is heading to jobs or other schools in cheaper neighborhoods. I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and start the walk up the tree-lined street toward campus.

Westbridge looks different on Monday mornings. Quieter, before the flood of luxury cars and the performance of wealth and status that defines the school day. In these early moments, it's almost peaceful.

I use my student ID to unlock the side entrance and head straight for the library. Mrs. Chen will be there, preparing for the day, and I have a two-hour shift before first period.

The library is my sanctuary. Three stories of books and quiet and the smell of paper and possibility. Mrs. Chen is indeed already there, rolling a cart of returns toward the fiction section.

"Mara!" She beams when she sees me. "I heard about your presentation Friday night. Everyone's talking about it. Absolutely brilliant work."

"Thank you, Mrs. Chen."

"I mean it. That kind of research—connecting personal narrative to systemic analysis—that's what makes scholarship committees pay attention." She hands me a stack of books to reshelf. "You should be very proud."

I should be. But the pride is tangled up with anxiety about the missing USB and confusion about Enzo and the uncomfortable awareness that someone at this school actively wanted me to fail.

I spend the next two hours in the familiar rhythm of library work—shelving returns, processing new acquisitions, helping the few students who come in early to study. It's meditative, grounding. By the time first period approaches, I feel almost normal again.

Until I walk into AP Government and see Valentina Andrade holding court near the windows, surrounded by her usual circle of legacy students.

She sees me and smiles. That same honey-sweet, cold-eyed smile from Friday night backstage.

"Mara! Congratulations on your presentation. It was very... inspiring." The way she says inspiring makes it sound like charity work. "I heard the scholarship committee was quite moved by your personal story."

There's something underneath her words. Something sharp.

"Thanks," I say neutrally, moving toward my usual seat.

"It must be so stressful," Valentina continues, "having everything riding on one scholarship. I mean, if you don't get Kensington, what's your backup plan? State school?"

Several students are watching now. This is a performance.

"I have several options," I say evenly, even though we both know that's only partially true. Kensington is the only full-ride. Everything else requires loans my family can't afford.

"Of course." Valentina's smile doesn't waver. "I'm sure you'll figure something out. You're very... resourceful."

The word resourceful lands like an insult.

I'm saved from having to respond by Mr. Patterson entering and calling the class to order. I slide into my seat, pulling out my notes, trying to ignore the way Valentina's friends are whispering and glancing at me.

The morning passes in a blur of classes and note-taking and the constant low-level awareness that people are talking about Friday night. Most of it is positive—students congratulating me, teachers praising the presentation, even a few underclassmen asking for research advice.

But there's an undercurrent too. Whispers that stop when I approach. Looks I can't quite interpret.

By lunch, I'm exhausted from the social performance of it all.

I find Tally and Isac at our usual table in the cafeteria's side alcove—away from the premium courtyard tables where legacy students eat, but close enough to see the whole ecosystem.

"Finally." Tally shoves a sandwich toward me. "You look like you haven't eaten all day."

"I had breakfast."

"A granola bar on the bus doesn't count." She points at the sandwich. "Eat. I brought extra."

I take it gratefully. Tally's always doing this—making sure I eat, sharing food, pretending it's no big deal when we both know her family doesn't have much more than mine.

"How was your weekend?" Isac asks, looking up from his book.

"Weird. Good, but weird." I take a bite of sandwich. "People keep congratulating me about the presentation, but there's also this... thing. Like some people are bothered that I did well."

"Let me guess." Tally's eyes narrow. "Valentina and her minions?"

"Mostly. She made some comment this morning about me being 'resourceful' and how stressful it must be to have everything riding on one scholarship."

"That's because she's a privileged b***h who's never had to work for anything in her life," Tally says flatly. "Ignore her."

"I'm trying. But—" I hesitate, not sure how much to share. "Do you guys think someone could have actually sabotaged me Friday night? Like, deliberately taken my USB?"

Tally's expression sharpens. "What do you mean 'taken'? I thought you lost it."

"I didn't lose it. I checked it at lunch, it was in my locker, and then forty-five minutes later it was gone. My locker was locked the whole time."

"Wait." Isac closes his book, giving me his full attention. "You're saying someone broke into your locker and stole your presentation?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It sounds paranoid when I say it out loud."

"It's not paranoid if it's true." Tally leans forward. "Who else knew you kept your USB in your locker?"

"I don't know. I didn't exactly announce it. But people have seen me access it before. Anyone who paid attention could have figured out my routine."

"Who benefits if you fail?" Isac asks quietly. His analytical mind is already working through possibilities.

"Academic Decathlon alternate. Scholarship competitors. Anyone tied with me for rankings." I pause. "Valentina's the Decathlon alternate. If I'd bombed Friday night badly enough to get dropped from the team..."

"She'd move into your spot," Tally finishes. "Motive."

"But how would she get into my locker? Only I know the combination."

"Combinations can be figured out if you watch someone use them enough times," Isac says. "Or sometimes people write them down, keep them on their phones, share them with friends..."

I try to remember if I've ever been careless with my combination. I don't think so. But I can't be certain.

"There's something else," I say, lowering my voice. "Enzo warned me. After the presentation. He said someone took it, someone who wanted me to fail, and I should be careful."

Tally's eyes go wide. "Enzo Tavares? Your academic rival Enzo Tavares?"

"He's not—" I stop. "It's complicated."

"Apparently." Tally exchanges a look with Isac. "How does Enzo know about your missing USB?"

"Because he's the one who helped me rebuild it. I ran into him right after I realized it was gone, and he—" I can feel my face heating up. "He helped me recreate the whole presentation in forty-five minutes."

The silence at the table is deafening.

"I'm sorry," Tally says slowly. "Enzo Tavares, who you've been competing against for three years, who also presented Friday night, who also wants the Kensington scholarship—that Enzo Tavares helped you rebuild your presentation instead of letting you fail?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He said it wasn't real competition if someone sabotaged me. He said he didn't want to win that way."

Isac is watching me carefully. "And you believe him?"

Do I? I've been asking myself the same question all weekend.

"I think so. Yeah. He seemed genuine."

"Or," Tally says carefully, "he seemed genuine because he's smart enough to know that helping you would make you trust him. Make you think he's different from the other legacy students. Make you let your guard down."

The suggestion stings because part of me has wondered the same thing.

"I don't think that's what this is," I say.

"You don't think or you don't want it to be?" Tally's voice is gentle but firm. "Mara, legacy boys don't help scholarship girls out of the goodness of their hearts. There's always an angle."

"That's not fair. You don't even know him."

"And you do? You've competed against him, but have you ever actually had a real conversation with him before Friday night?"

She has a point. Enzo and I exist in different orbits. Different social circles, different worlds. Friday night in that computer lab was the longest we'd ever spent actually talking.

"Just be careful," Isac says quietly. "I'm not saying Tally's right about his motives. But I'm also not saying she's wrong. People are complicated. Especially when scholarships and rankings and futures are at stake."

I nod, even though something in me wants to defend Enzo. Wants to believe that his help was genuine, that his warning was real, that the connection I felt building slides together in that computer lab was actually something.

"Speaking of Enzo," I say, changing the subject slightly, "Academic Decathlon practice starts today. Coach assigned partnerships for the state championship format. I'm paired with him."

Tally nearly chokes on her drink. "You're WHAT?"

"Partnered. For the competition. Coach says we're the strongest competitors so it makes strategic sense."

"Strategic sense," Tally repeats. "So now you're going to be spending how much time with this boy?"

"Practice is three times a week. Plus competition travel. So... a lot."

Tally exchanges another look with Isac. "This is a terrible idea."

"It's not my idea. It's Coach's assignment."

"Then get reassigned."

"I can't. The partnerships are final. And honestly—" I take a breath. "I think it might be good. Enzo's brilliant. If we can actually work together instead of just competing, we could dominate state championship."

"Or he could sabotage you from the inside," Tally mutters.

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

Because he spent forty-five minutes rebuilding my presentation when he could have let me fail. Because he looked genuinely concerned when he warned me to be careful. Because something in his eyes when we were working together felt real and honest and nothing like the performance we usually do for grades and rankings.

But I can't say any of that without sounding naive.

"I just do," I say instead.

Tally sighs. "Fine. But if he breaks your heart or screws with your scholarship chances, I'm going to make his life hell. I don't care how rich his family is."

"Noted."

The lunch bell rings, saving me from further interrogation. We gather our things and head to afternoon classes.

I'm halfway to AP Literature when my phone buzzes.

Enzo: Still on for practice after school? Classroom 4B at 3:30. Coach wants us to start strategizing for team competition format.

My heart does something stupid and fluttery.

Me: I'll be there.

Enzo: Good. Bring your A-game, Ribeiro. I'm not going easy on you just because we're partners.

Me: Wouldn't expect you to, Tavares.

I save the message thread and slip my phone back into my pocket, trying to ignore the way I'm smiling.

Tally's warning echoes in my head: Legacy boys don't help scholarship girls out of the goodness of their hearts.

But maybe Enzo is different. Maybe Friday night proved that.

Or maybe I'm being exactly as naive as Tally thinks I am.

I guess I'll find out at 3:30.