Rival Hearts.

**Elena’s POV**

I clamber out of the bus, gripping the railing as everyone tramples over each other. It’s pouring rain, and puddles splash under my black Converse, while my soaked hair could fill a glass.

“Elena! Wait up!” Fiona’s voice calls from behind me. I instantly recognize her. Fiona and I have been best friends since we were six, inseparable ever since. She's an amazing ballet dancer, having practically forced her parents to take her to lessons as a child. We moved in together as soon as we turned eighteen, a much-needed change of environment.

“Ugh, it's freezing! I’m literally turning into an icicle!” Fiona complains. She’s wearing a small pink tank top with a white cardigan and black skater jeans I bought her for her eighteenth birthday.

“Why did you pick that out of everything in your closet? It’s 50 degrees and winter. Don't get me wrong, it’s adorable,” I say.

She sighs. “For exactly that reason. But right now, I regret my fashion choices.”

We navigate the busy streets as the rain pours down on us. My mascara runs, and my raincoat is useless since I can feel water seeping through to my skin. Fiona spends the walk venting about her new ballet teacher, ending her rant with, “Stupid old witch.”

“Fiona! You can’t call a seventy-year-old woman that. She’s like a grandma.”

“I hope she’s not someone’s grandma. Imagine the poor child,” Fiona shivers.

As we enter the college gates, students flood through like eager schoolgirls. It’s my fourth week at Clare University, and the massive campus is a nightmare for my terrible sense of direction. I arrive just before class begins and find Matt saving my seat at the back.

“Took you long enough,” he huffs. “Some girls tried to take your spot. I even put my textbook on the seat to claim it.”

I notice a group of girls huddled around, not-so-subtly staring at Matt, whispering and giggling.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Huh?” He turns to spot his admirers. “Someone’s got a little crush on you.”

He blushes, waving awkwardly, causing the girls to giggle and hide their faces just as the professor walks in.

“Really?” he chuckles.

I met Matt on the first day of classes. We both hid at the back, and thankfully, we became friends. Matt is what I’d call a quiet jock, if that’s even a thing, and he’s hot. People stare at him all the time, and he’s oblivious unless I point it out.

Suddenly, I remember something. “Matt!” I hiss, swatting his arm.

“Ouch, what was that for?” He abandons his doodling.

“You have your first basketball match today, and you didn’t tell me! I’m personally offended.”

He’d been so excited when he got accepted into the Briar Hawks that he practically jumped on me, and we were practically strangers then. Since then, Fiona and I have attended all his practice games.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” He looks down, pretending to find a pen.

“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.

He sighs. “What if I mess up? I’m the only freshman on the team, so if I screw up, it’s over for me.” His hands tremble.

“That won’t happen. You’re the best on the team. This is coming from someone who’s watched every practice game. You’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” he asks, self-conscious.

“One hundred percent. So, what time does it start? We’ll be your cheerleaders.”

“Are you going to wear a skimpy blue and white skirt with pom-poms?”

“No, but I’ll paint your number on my face.”

“Good enough. It starts at six.”

Back home, Fiona bursts into my room in her underwear, practically naked. “I have nothing to wear! I need something hot-but casual.” She rummages through my closet, pulling out a blue backless halter and black jeans. “This.”

“Cute, but you’ll be cold.”

“Then I’ll steal your jumper.”

I throw a white puffer jacket at her head. I look in the mirror, wearing a deep blue strapless top, a leather jacket, and denim jeans. I paint the number 08 on my cheeks in bright red.

“You’re not doing that to me,” Fiona says, applying makeup.

“I totally am.” I rush over, ready to draw on her face.

“Elena!” she screeches as I pin her down, messily painting the numbers on her cheeks.

“Perfect.”

“You ruined my face.”

“Too bad.” I stick out my tongue.

“We’re early,” Fiona says. “Let’s get dinner. I’d die for a slice of pizza.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” I reply, my leg bouncing as I scroll through messages.

“Elena…” Fiona narrows her eyes.

“What?”

“I’m not an idiot. I noticed you only had one bite of my pancakes this morning.”

“I’m just not hungry!”

I’ve been so good lately, I didn’t even realize-

“And you haven’t eaten all day,” she continues. “What if I make your favorite, butter chicken?”

“I’ll pass.”

“You know what? I’ll take a banana.” I grab one from the kitchen and take a big bite. “Happy?” I say with my mouth full.

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Let’s go. Better early than late, right?” I grab our house keys.

“Yeah.” Fiona follows me outside in silence.

We arrive just as the cheerleaders start. I see Matt with his team in the corner. We find seats at the highest point in the stands, avoiding the crowd.

“Do you see Camila?” Fiona asks urgently. Camila is her sort-of girlfriend, though Camila doesn’t want a relationship.

“Nope. Doubt she’d come to a sports game. Not her scene.”

“She texted me she would.”

“Of course she did. Let’s sit here.” I point to some empty chairs.

A loud buzzer signals the first quarter, and the stadium erupts in cheers. The Eagles and the Cheetahs start the game, and minutes later, Matt intercepts the ball and scores. The crowd goes wild.

“Go Matt!” I yell. Fiona whistles.

The game is intense, neck and neck by the third quarter. My phone rings. “I’ll take this,” I say to Fiona, stepping down the crowded stairs. “Mum, is something wrong?”

“What’s that noise? You’re not at a party, are you?”

“No, just a basketball game.”

“Good. I called to see how you’re handling college. I haven’t talked to you in two weeks.”

Guilt washes over me. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with school.”

“That’s okay, Elena! I’m glad you’re busy. I’m probably interrupting. Can I call you later?”

“Of course.” Her voice cuts off. “Mum? You there?” I check my phone. No signal. “Stupid cheap school,” I mutter.

Navigating through the crowd, I realize how packed the stadium is. Suddenly, I trip and crash into someone.

“What the hell, man, watch where you’re going!” a voice says. Holding my head, I realize I’ll have a bruise tomorrow.

A tall figure looms over me. He has shaggy brown hair, bright green eyes, and freckles.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, turning to find Fiona. She’s not there. “I’m really sorry-”

He stares at me, then looks away. Something about him seems familiar.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe. A lot of people know me around here.”

“Sorry, I thought you looked familiar. Probably just the fall.”

He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. Heat rises in my face as I realize who he is.

“That’s Jeremy Steves. The bane of my existence.”

So much for a fresh start.