The alarm buzzed at 4:45 AM, and Riley was already reaching for it before the second beep. She'd learned years ago that early mornings meant fewer distractions, better focus, and—most importantly—no one around to ask questions about why she needed to work twice as hard as everyone else.
She slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, grabbing her workout clothes from the floor where she'd left them the night before. Emma was still fast asleep, her breathing deep and even, dark hair spread across her pillow in a way that was definitely not Riley's business to notice.
The recreation center was nearly empty at 5 AM, just the way Riley liked it. She'd found the building yesterday during her campus exploration, noting the equipment quality and the hours. Free gym access was one of the scholarship perks she actually got excited about—at home, she'd been stuck with a rusted weight set in her family's garage and running routes through neighborhoods where people called the cops if they didn't recognize you.
Forty-five minutes later, endorphins flooding her system and muscles satisfyingly sore, Riley headed back to the dorm. She'd grab a quick shower, review her biochemistry notes one more time, and still be ready for class before Emma even started her morning routine.
What she hadn't expected was to find Emma already awake, standing at the small mirror above her dresser with what appeared to be an entire pharmacy's worth of skincare products arranged in precise order.
"Morning," Riley said, trying not to stare as Emma smoothed some kind of serum across her cheekbones with careful, practiced movements.
"Good morning," Emma replied, meeting Riley's eyes in the mirror. "You're up early."
"Workout." Riley grabbed her shower caddy, then found herself pausing. Emma's morning routine was mesmerizing in its complexity—cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, each step executed with the same methodical precision she'd shown while unpacking yesterday. "Do you always do all that?"
Emma's hand stilled for a moment. "It's important to maintain proper skincare habits. Prevention is more effective than treatment."
"Right," Riley said, though she couldn't help wondering if Emma actually enjoyed the elaborate ritual or if it was another item on her endless list of requirements. "I'll just grab a quick shower."
When she returned ten minutes later, towel-drying her hair, Emma was sitting at her desk with a plate of perfectly arranged food—Greek yogurt with precise amounts of granola and berries, whole grain toast cut diagonally, and orange juice in an actual glass rather than drinking from the carton like a normal person.
Riley grabbed a granola bar from her desk drawer and her travel mug of coffee, left over from yesterday's dining hall run.
"That's your breakfast?" Emma asked, genuine concern in her voice.
"Efficient," Riley said, taking a bite of the bar. "I'm not really a morning person when it comes to food prep."
Emma looked like she wanted to say something about proper nutrition and meal planning, but she caught herself. Instead, she took a careful bite of her yogurt and said, "The dining hall opens at 7 if you want something more substantial."
"This works for me." Riley settled at her desk with her biochemistry textbook. "Besides, I like the quiet for reviewing notes."
She could feel Emma watching her as she flipped through the pages, reviewing the enzyme pathways they'd be covering in today's lecture. Riley had already read ahead through the first three chapters, not because she was particularly eager, but because staying ahead meant never being caught off guard by a professor's unexpected question.
"You've already read Chapter 4?" Emma asked, leaning slightly toward Riley's desk to see the page.
"Through Chapter 6, actually." Riley glanced up to find Emma staring at her with something that looked like surprise mixed with calculation. "You?"
"Chapter 5," Emma admitted, and Riley caught the slight tightness around her eyes that suggested Emma wasn't used to being behind anyone academically.
"Cool." Riley turned back to her textbook, but she was hyperaware of Emma's presence, the way she was sitting straighter now, the subtle increase in tension radiating from her side of the room.
They got ready for class in careful parallel, each maintaining their own routines while sneaking glances at the other's preparation methods. Riley noted Emma's meticulous note organization and color-coded highlighter system. Emma watched Riley's more streamlined approach—one notebook, one pen, textbook marked with simple sticky notes.
The walk to their first class was awkward in the way that only forced companionship could be. They were heading to the same building, same classroom, but neither wanted to acknowledge that they were essentially walking together.
"So," Emma said finally as they approached the science complex, "have you decided which research opportunities you're most interested in?"
Riley recognized the question for what it was—intelligence gathering. "Still exploring options. You?"
"Dr. Martinez's pharmaceutical development lab seems promising. She's published extensively on enzyme inhibition pathways."
Riley kept her expression neutral, though internally she noted that Emma had clearly done her homework on faculty research focuses. Dr. Martinez's lab was exactly where Riley hoped to land a position, but she wasn't about to reveal her hand this early in the game.
"Sounds competitive," she said instead.
"The best opportunities usually are."
The biochemistry lecture hall was one of those intimidating spaces designed to make students feel small—steep rows of seats facing down toward a podium where Professor Williams was setting up his presentation. Riley chose a seat in the third row, close enough to show engagement but not so close as to look desperate. Emma hesitated for a moment, then sat two seats away in the same row.
Riley pulled out her notebook and pen, ignoring the way Emma was arranging her supplies with mathematical precision. Color-coded pens, ruler for underlining, sticky flags in three different colors. It was like watching someone prepare for surgical procedures rather than taking class notes.
"Good morning, future scientists," Professor Williams began, his voice carrying easily through the large space. "Before we dive into today's material on enzyme kinetics, I have an announcement that should interest those of you serious about research experience."
Riley felt her attention sharpen, and she noticed Emma go very still beside her.
"This semester, I'll be selecting two undergraduate research assistants to work in the university's pharmaceutical development lab," Williams continued. "The positions are competitive, require a minimum 3.8 GPA, and involve genuine research responsibilities, not just cleaning glassware."
Riley's pen tightened in her grip. Two positions. In a class of forty-five students, at least twenty would be qualified applicants.
"Applications are due Friday," Williams said, clicking to his first slide. "Now, let's talk about enzyme active sites and competitive inhibition."
For the next fifty minutes, Riley took notes with laser focus, but part of her attention was consumed by the awareness that Emma was doing the same thing. Every time Williams asked a question, Riley could feel the tension beside her, both of them poised to answer but holding back, sizing each other up.
When Williams projected a complex molecular diagram and asked, "Can anyone identify the rate-limiting step in this pathway?" Riley's hand started to rise.
Emma's shot up faster.
"Ms. Sullivan?"
Emma's answer was textbook perfect, delivered with the kind of confidence that came from extensive preparation. Riley had to admit it was impressive, even as frustration curled in her stomach.
"Excellent," Williams said. "And can you explain why this step becomes rate-limiting under these specific conditions?"
Riley watched Emma's face carefully and caught the microsecond of uncertainty before Emma launched into an explanation that was technically correct but missed the deeper implications of the enzyme's allosteric regulation.
Before she could stop herself, Riley's hand was in the air. "Building on that," she said when Williams nodded to her, "the allosteric binding site actually changes conformation under high substrate concentrations, which means the rate-limiting step can shift depending on cellular conditions."
Williams's eyebrows rose with genuine interest. "Ms...?"
"Parker. Riley Parker."
"Ms. Parker raises an excellent point about dynamic regulation. This kind of thinking—looking beyond the textbook examples to real-world applications—is exactly what pharmaceutical research requires."
Riley felt a flush of satisfaction, but when she glanced toward Emma, she saw something that made her stomach twist. Emma's face had gone carefully blank, but her knuckles were white where she gripped her pen.
After class, they walked out in tense silence. Riley wanted to say something—maybe acknowledge Emma's solid answer, or explain that she hadn't meant to show her up—but Emma's body language screamed 'do not engage.'
They made it halfway across the quad before Emma finally spoke.
"That was well-reasoned," she said stiffly. "Your point about allosteric regulation."
"Thanks." Riley slowed her pace slightly. "Your foundational explanation was solid too. I was just building on it."
Emma's laugh was sharp. "Right. Building on it."
"I wasn't trying to—"
"Compete?" Emma stopped walking and turned to face Riley directly. "Because that's what this is, isn't it? We're both pre-med, both need research experience, both want those assistant positions. There's no point pretending otherwise."
Riley studied Emma's face—the careful composure that didn't quite hide the vulnerability underneath, the way her shoulders were set like she was preparing for battle. "You're right," she said finally. "We are competing."
Something flickered across Emma's expression. Disappointment? Relief? Riley couldn't tell.
"At least we're being honest about it," Emma said.
They resumed walking, but the dynamic between them had shifted. The morning's tentative politeness was gone, replaced by a careful awareness that felt both more honest and more dangerous.
Back in their room, they settled into parallel study sessions with the kind of focused intensity that only came from having something to prove. Riley spread her materials across her desk and dove into the next chapter, hyperaware of Emma doing the same thing three feet away.
The afternoon passed in productive silence, broken only by the sounds of pages turning and occasional notes being scribbled. Riley found herself stealing glances at Emma's study methods—the way she created detailed outlines, her system of cross-referencing between textbook and lecture notes, the small frown of concentration that appeared when she encountered difficult concepts.
It was... attractive, actually. The intensity, the dedication, the way Emma approached learning like it was an art form. Riley had always been drawn to competence, and watching Emma work was like watching a master craftsperson at their trade.
Which was a completely inappropriate thing to notice about her academic rival.
Around 9 PM, Emma finally leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. "I think I need a break," she said, sounding surprised by her own admission.
"Same." Riley closed her textbook and stretched. "Want to grab something from the vending machines?"
Emma hesitated, and Riley could practically see her weighing the pros and cons of spending social time with her competition. "Okay," she said finally.
The dormitory common area was buzzing with evening activity—students clustered around the TV, study groups commandeering tables, the eternal background noise of college life. Riley fed quarters into the snack machine while Emma stood beside her, looking slightly out of place in the casual social environment.
"You know," Riley said, retrieving her chips and Emma's bottled water, "just because we're competing doesn't mean we have to hate each other."
Emma looked up from counting exact change, and for a second, Riley saw something softer in her dark eyes. "No," she said quietly, "it doesn't."
But then Emma looked away, and Riley wondered if she'd imagined that moment of connection. The careful walls were back up, the competitive distance firmly reestablished.
As they walked back to their room, Riley found herself thinking about the morning's biochemistry class, Emma's moment of uncertainty, and the way her own success had seemed to diminish Emma's confidence. She'd spent so many years fighting to prove herself that automatic competition had become second nature.
But living with Emma was going to require a different approach. They were stuck together for the entire academic year, sharing the same space, the same goals, the same daily routines. The question was whether they could find a way to compete without destroying each other in the process.
"'You know,' I said, closing my textbook and looking directly at Emma, 'just because we're competing doesn't mean we have to hate each other.' She looked up from her perfectly organized notes, and for a second, I saw something softer in her dark eyes. 'No,' she said quietly, 'it doesn't.' But then she looked away, and I wondered if I'd imagined that moment of connection."
Riley settled back at her desk, but her focus on enzyme pathways was fractured by awareness of Emma's presence, the quiet sounds of her continued studying, and the growing certainty that their roommate situation was going to be far more complicated than either of them had anticipated.
The academic battle lines were drawn, but Riley was beginning to suspect the real challenge wouldn't be beating Emma in class—it would be figuring out how to compete with someone she was starting to genuinely like.