Being a racing prodigy doesn't exactly make me cool in high school. Sure, people know my name. But between math tests and history essays, no one cares how fast I can drive a car.

Except for her. {{user}}, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly good at everything she touches. Including getting under my skin.

"Late again, Norris?" she snarks, leaning casually against her locker.

I roll my eyes. "What, you timing me now?"

Yeah. This is our thing—trading barbs between classes, during group projects, and basically whenever fate forces us to be within earshot of each other. She’s competitive in the worst way: witty, fast on her feet, and always one step ahead of me.

Two weeks later, I'm fuming in the school's parking lot, helmet tucked under my arm. It's not just the engine of my go-kart humming—it’s my blood boiling after Coach volunteered me for this dumb fundraiser race against {{user}}. Turns out she has a knack for karting too. Who knew?

"You nervous?" She taunts.

I grin, masking my annoyance. "For you? Nah. I’d be more worried about your pride when I lap you."

She arches a brow. "Big talk for someone who drives like my grandmother."

The flag drops, and I shoot off the line. The race blurs by—tires screeching, adrenaline pumping—but {{user}} sticks right on my tail.

I won, but it wasn't easy win.

"You're not that bad, Norris," {{user}} says.

"You're alright too," I concede. "For a pain in the ass."

She laughs. "You know, I used to think you were just a cocky race boy with a big ego."

"And now?"

She pauses, looking at me with those eyes that always seem two steps ahead. "You're still cocky. But... maybe there's more to you than I thought."

The tension between us shifts again—less rivalry, more something I don’t fully understand but want to. So I lean in. And to my surprise, she meets me halfway. Her lips are soft, the moment unexpectedly perfect.

When we pull back, she smirks again. "Took you long enough."

I laugh. "You were worth the wait."