Where pride breaks—and truth finally breathes.
The stage lights blazed white against red curtains. The hum of the ceiling fans mixed with the low roar of a full auditorium. Phones flickered like stars in the dark as students waited for the Quiz Bee Duel—the final academic event before midterms.
On stage stood two names everyone knew now:
Jason Blake and Samantha Faye Lopez.
Two perfect grades.
Two scholarships on the line.
And one coveted spot at Cambridge.
---
Backstage, Faye pressed her phone to her ear.
> Mom:"Faye? Your cousin just won second at the International Science Fair in Tokyo! Isn't that great?"
>
> Faye:"…Yeah. Are you… coming?"
>
> Mom:"We'll try to catch the livestream. Don't embarrass us, okay? Make the family proud again."
>
> Faye: "Ma, I—"
The line clicked off.
Faye stared at the black screen, her reflection warped and tiny. She swallowed hard. Her throat ached with words she had no space to say.
'Don't embarrass us'
The phrase looped in her head as she walked out into the glare of the stage lights.
---
She scanned the audience. Rows of uniforms, hundreds of eyes, Cambridge banners on the walls. Not a single familiar face. Not her mother. Not her father.
But in the second row, Mira sat forward, hands clasped in front of her mouth. Clint beside her, leaning in, eyes flicking from the stage to the scoreboard. Both of them watching Faye, watching Jason, watching something invisible tighten between the two prodigies.
"Ready?" Jason whispered from his podium, voice light but eyes unreadable.
Faye's fingers tightened on her pen. "Always."
---
> "Final round," the host announced. "Category: Integrated Sciences!"
> 'Explain how molecular polarity affects solubility and give one real-world example.'
Buzz.
"Polar substances dissolve in polar solvents due to electrostatic attraction—example, water dissolving salt," Jason answered.
"Correct—five points!"
> For an additional five points, explain why nonpolar substances fail to dissolve in water.'
Buzz.
"Because water's hydrogen bonds exclude nonpolar molecules. The lack of attraction prevents mixing," Faye replied, voice steady.
"Correct! Lopez gains the additional points!"
The scoreboard flashed: Lopez 45 | Blake 40.
One question left.
---
The last problem appeared.
> 'Solve for x in dy/dx = 3x² + 2x – 1, given y = 0 when x = 0.'*
Both pencils flew—graphite scratching furiously. Timer beeping. Faye's pulse hammered in her ears.
Buzz.
"y = x³ + x² – x," she said, voice clear.
"Correct! Lopez wins the Quiz Bee Duel!"
The hall erupted—cheers, whistles, applause. Her name chanted like a drumbeat.
Jason clapped too, smiling up at her, but she saw it—his smile was real, soft, even though he had lost. The kind of smile you gave someone you respected, not a rival you hated.
She bowed, took the medal, and left the stage.
---
Outside, sunlight streaked through high windows. The echo of applause faded into the hush of empty hallways.
Faye walked fast, medal heavy around her neck, her breath unsteady.
She gripped the ribbon like it might anchor her. Don't cry. Not here.
---
"Faye!"
Jason's voice. Quick footsteps. She kept walking.
"Hey—wait!" He caught up, slightly out of breath, his medal still glinting on his chest. "You didn't even stay for the group photo."
She spun around. "Does it matter?"
Jason blinked. "You won. Of course it matters."
Her fists clenched, her eyes stinging. "Does it, Jason? Because winning doesn't change anything.they are still not here."
Her voice cracked. Jason froze, something in him shifting.
"I've been winning since I was twelve," she said, the words spilling out faster than she could stop them. "Science fairs, math contests, Olympiads. Every medal, every certificate—it's never enough. My mom says, 'Good job, Faye. Your cousin got a higher score in Japan, though.'My dad says, 'Keep it up, we're counting on you.'"
Her breath trembled. "They don't even ask if I'm okay. Just if I'm still on top. Because if I'm not—what was the point of all of this?"
Her voice cracked louder now. "Do you know how exhausting it is to keep studying, and studying, and studying—just to prove you deserve to be here?"
Jason didn't move. His hands curled at his sides. He'd never seen her like this—sharp edges breaking apart into pieces.
Finally, quietly, he said, "I do."
Faye blinked, tears blurring her vision. "What?"
Jason took a step closer, voice low but steady.
"You think I'm carefree because I smile all the time. But I have to, Faye. Because if I don't, I'll fall apart. My dad's printing shop barely makes enough to keep us afloat. The Cambridge scholarship—it's not just about pride for me. It's my family's only chance."
His voice wavered. "I've been staying late in the council office because that's where the Wi-Fi's free. I've been skipping lunches so I can pay for test materials. I can't afford to lose this either."
The confession hung between them, raw and trembling.
---
From the end of the corridor, Mira had risen from her seat, heart hammering. "Clint…" she whispered.
"I know." Clint's voice was soft. "Don't go in, let's wait for them."
They stood just outside the doorway, watching the two prodigies—school idols, top students—standing there stripped of all their armor. Mira's eyes stung. Clint pressed a hand to his forehead, looking away. Neither spoke.
---
Faye's lip quivered, a half-sob escaping. "Perfect? I feel like a cracked glass half the time."
Jason let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "Yeah… well. Looks like we're both a mess."
For a moment, silence. Then both of them—still trembling, still teary—laughed. Shaky, broken, but real.
"Why do we care so much?" Jason asked through a weak smile. "About medals, rankings, everything?"
Faye wiped her cheeks, her smile small but sincere. "Because someone told us we had to."
He nodded. "And maybe… it's time we stop letting that decide who we are."
They stood there—two medals glinting, two hearts finally breathing—while down the hall, Mira and Clint exchanged a look.
Mira sighed softly. "can we now go?," she whispered.
Clint nodded. "Yeah… let's go talk to them."
The door creaked open. Faye quickly wiped her eyes, Jason straightened, both trying to pretend they weren't just falling apart a second ago.
Mira crossed her arms, pretending to glare but failing to hide her smile. "You two seriously think you can fool us? You look like you just filmed a drama scene."
Jason let out a breathy laugh. "Maybe we did."
Clint leaned against the wall, his tone gentler. "Hey… You both need to breathe. I mean, come on—look around. You're eighteen. You're supposed to mess up sometimes."
Faye blinked, startled. "Eighteen?"
"Yeah," Mira said softly, stepping closer. "Eighteen. You're not robots. You're not machines that have to win every time. High school's almost over, guys. And trust me—once it's gone, you can't go back."
Clint nodded. "You'll forget the formulas and debates someday… but not the people who stood beside you when you were breaking. Don't lose that while chasing grades."
Jason's throat tightened; he looked down, smiling faintly. "You two sound like old souls."
"Maybe," Mira said, nudging his shoulder. "Or maybe we're just not as good at hiding how scared we are too."
Faye chuckled weakly, glancing at Jason. "Guess we're not the only messes here."
"Exactly." Mira grinned. "So stop pretending you have to carry the world. You're just kids who happen to be smart. Not the other way around."
For a long moment, silence filled the corridor—quiet, heavy, but no longer suffocating.
Then Faye nodded slowly. "Thanks… both of you."
Jason exhaled, finally smiling—one that wasn't forced. "Yeah. Thanks."
Mira threw an arm around Faye's shoulders, Clint doing the same to Jason. "Now, come on, prodigies. Let's grab something sweet before the cafeteria closes. You both need sugar and serotonin."
Jason chuckled. "Doctor's orders?"
"Friend's orders," Clint corrected.
And as they walked down the hall together—the weight of perfection melting, replaced by laughter and the echo of sneakers on tile—it felt, for once, like they were just teenagers again.
Just four kids.
Still learning how to breathe.
Still figuring out how to live.
The Duel and the Fall
Because sometimes, it takes breaking apart—and friends who remind you—to remember you're still just 18.