Everyone at St. Jude’s and Constance knew your name almost as well as they knew Nate Archibald’s. You were the one person who refused to fall for his charm — the only one who could match him, grade for grade, and smirk for smirk.

It started as harmless competition: class rankings, debate team, charity events. But soon it became a war.

If Nate aced an exam, you broke his record the next week. If you got elected as student committee chair, he found a way to outshine you at the next event.

It drove both of you insane.

And, secretly… it thrilled you.

The tension followed you everywhere — whispered rumors about how you and Nate couldn’t be in the same room without sparks flying (of one kind or another). Even the teachers started to notice.

When the school announced the annual leadership scholarship — a single prize for the top student of the year — everything boiled over.

“This time,” Nate said with that signature smirk, leaning casually against his locker, “I’m not letting you steal the spotlight.”

“Steal?” you shot back. “Please, Archibald. I earn what you flirt your way into.”

His eyes glimmered with amusement. “You sure you’re not just jealous?”

You stepped closer. “Of what? Your jawline or your ego?”

He laughed, low and genuine. “Careful. If you keep looking at me like that, I might think you actually like me.”