The library was quieter than the classrooms ever were—but for Faye, it was perfect.
No buzzing chatter.
No Jason Blake filling the air with his smug one-liners.
Just the soft hum of the air conditioner, the faint rustle of pages, and the steady scratch of her pen gliding across paper.
Her notes for the English project were stacked neatly beside her. Charts, timelines, and annotated poems—all perfectly labeled, color-coded, and precise. She had rewritten the outline three times already, making sure it was flawless before submission. Every margin, every heading, every word mattered.
If only groupmates worked at the same pace, she thought, tapping her pen against the table. Especially one in particular.
As if summoned by her irritation, a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Wow," Jason said, dropping his bag on the chair across from her. "Even in here, you're attacking those poor pages like they owe you money."
Faye's hand froze. Slowly, she looked up, her expression frosty.
"Blake. Don't you have anywhere else to annoy people?"
Jason leaned forward, chin propped on one hand, grin lazy but disarming.
"Now why would I do that when my favorite overachiever is right here?"
"Favorite?" she echoed, unimpressed. "You're delusional."
From a nearby table, Clint glanced up from his own stack of books, whispering to Mira, "I swear, one of these days, they're either going to flirt or argue."
Mira rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "More like argue while flirting."
Faye tried to focus again, her pen moving briskly across the page, but Jason's amused gaze made it impossible to ignore him.
"Relax," he said lightly, flipping open his notes. "I'm just here to work on our English presentation, same as you. Don't worry, I actually read the material this time."
She raised an eyebrow. "Color me shocked."
"Hey," Jason said, mock offense coating his tone. "Cambridge is on the line, remember? I can't afford to let you run off with that scholarship."
Her pen paused for just a fraction of a second. Cambridge.
The word carried weight—the same kind her parents' voices did when they said, Never settle for less.
"Then maybe you should focus more and talk less," she said softly.
Jason grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. He looked down at his notes, the air between them shifting from playful to thoughtful.
For a brief second, he recalled the day of the announcement—the way she looked so composed while everyone else buzzed about the scholarship. He'd been excited too, but for different reasons. For him, it wasn't prestige—it was possibility. LA chance to lift some of the burden from home.
He glanced at her again, admiring her focus, the way her brow furrowed slightly when she concentrated.
"You know," he murmured, "you work like the world might stop if you slow down."
Faye didn't look up. "Maybe it will."
Jason chuckled softly, but the sincerity lingered. "You're really something, Lopez."
Her pen stilled, just for a heartbeat. "I'm just doing what I have to."
He smiled faintly. "And that's exactly what makes you dangerous."
---
That afternoon, the Science Club lab smelled faintly of antiseptic and metal. Faye was labeling test tubes when Jason appeared again—this time without teasing, only quiet curiosity.
"Need a hand?" he asked, voice gentler than before.
"I've got it under control," she said, though her hand trembled slightly as she placed another label.
"Sure," Jason said easily, but instead of leaving, he picked up a tray of pipettes and began arranging them by size, anticipating each step she'd need next.
Mira passed by the doorway, catching sight of them. She smirked. "Careful, Jason. She might grade you for precision."
"Maybe I'll get bonus points for charm," he replied without looking up.
Faye sighed but didn't stop him. For once, his presence didn't throw her off. In fact, the rhythm of their quiet cooperation—the clink of glass, the shuffle of notes—felt strangely… calm.
"Not bad," she muttered under her breath.
Jason grinned. "Careful, Lopez. I might start thinking you like working with me."
Her lips twitched but didn't form a smile. "Don't."
They both laughed softly—just once, quietly—and the sound seemed to echo between the rows of equipment.
But as the laughter faded, the weight of reality settled back in. The scholarship. Her parents' expectations. Her own relentless standards.
As she drew the final label, the ink line stretched smooth and perfect across the glass. She stared at it, the neatness of it—how controlled, how deliberate. Every boundary she set was like that. Clean. Precise. Necessary.
Jason didn't notice the storm behind her calm eyes. He only saw the version of her that everyone else did—composed, disciplined, brilliant.
"You did great," he said simply, brushing off his hands.
"Thanks," she replied, voice even.
And then, as she gathered her things, she thought:
*Maybe admiration and competition can exist side by side.*
But that didn't mean she could let the line blur. Not now. Not ever.
As she left the lab, Jason called out, "Hey, don't forget our English report draft's due Monday!"
She turned briefly, her expression unreadable. "I never forget."
Then she was gone, leaving Jason in the quiet hum of the lab, wondering when her presence had started to linger even after she walked away.
Faye's last thought lingered like a whisper:
Every success comes with a cost. And sometimes, that cost is distance.