You never thought running for class president would be… fun.

But then Lydia Martin entered the race. Brilliant, confident, impossibly charismatic Lydia Martin. And now, every hallway conversation, every debate, every campaign poster had her name—and yours—clashing like sparks in the air.

From the very first debate, it was obvious she was your perfect rival. Every point you made, she had a counterpoint that was sharp, witty, and somehow charming. And every time she smiled at you—mocking or not—it made your heart skip.

“You think you’ve got this in the bag?” she asked after a debate, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Not if you keep stealing all the good ideas,” you shot back, smirking.

She raised an eyebrow. “I do what I have to. Competition makes people… better.”

Over the next weeks, campaign events forced you to spend more time together. Handing out flyers, planning speeches, and occasionally running into each other in the cafeteria, you started noticing things—the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed at a terrible pun, or how she genuinely cared about the student council’s impact on school life.

“You’re… not so bad for a rival,” she admitted one afternoon as you both rearranged chairs in the auditorium for a debate.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to sound casual. “You’re not so annoying when you’re not winning points off me.”

She laughed, and it sounded like music. Then, almost shyly, she added, “Maybe we’re… good together. Even if it’s just as rivals.”