Chapter 4

By Wednesday, the rivalry had gone public.

Rowan hadn’t planned it that way. She preferred things contained, controlled, conflict kept on the field where it belonged. But Halecrest had a way of turning friction into spectacle, and she and Lila Moreno were exactly the kind of conflict people liked to watch.

It started small.

Someone posted a clip from Friday night. Rowan’s goal, slowed down, dramatic music layered over it. The caption read: Captain behavior. It gained traction fast, likes, reposts, comments stacking on top of each other like proof she hadn’t asked for.

An hour later, a cheer account reposted a video of Lila leading the crowd. Her timing was flawless, voice cutting clean through the noise, arm slicing upward with confidence that looked effortless. The caption was shorter.

Face of the school.

Rowan rolled her eyes when she saw it, but the comments told a different story.

People picked sides.

She ignored it. Or tried to. But ignoring something didn’t stop it from existing, and by lunchtime she could feel the tension humming through the cafeteria like a live wire, snapping quietly beneath every conversation.

Rowan sat with her team, tray untouched. Fries went cold. Her phone stayed face down, even though she could feel it buzzing every few minutes.

Conversations drifted around her, practice schedules, teachers, gossip she didn’t care about.

Until she did.

“Lila’s actually kind of terrifying,” someone at the next table said, not even bothering to lower their voice.
“Yeah, but Rowan Hale doesn’t back down from anyone.”
“Honestly? I want to see them go head-to-head.”

Rowan clenched her jaw.

Across the cafeteria, Lila sat with the cheer squad, posture relaxed, laugh easy. She looked like she wasn’t aware of anything happening beyond her table, like the noise didn’t touch her.

Rowan knew better.

Lila glanced up.

Their eyes locked.

This time, Lila lifted her cup in a mock toast—subtle, infuriating, just for her.

Rowan looked away first, the decision tasting like metal.

Pep rally planning only made it worse.

Every meeting felt like a test of endurance. Lila challenged Rowan’s ideas without raising her voice, never aggressive, never apologetic. Rowan countered with facts and schedules. They worked efficiently, irritatingly well, like two people who refused to give ground but understood the rules of the same game.

It pissed Rowan off more than open hostility would have.

“You don’t have to rewrite everything,” Rowan said, tapping her pen against the table. “The logistics work.”

“They work for you,” Lila replied calmly. “Not for the crowd.”

Rowan leaned back in her chair. “It’s not about the crowd.”

Lila’s eyes sharpened just a fraction. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Rowan met her gaze. “You think this is a performance.”

“I think everything here is,” Lila said. “Including you.”

Rowan laughed, short and humorless. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Lila tilted her head, studying her like this wasn’t an argument but an observation. “I know you hate losing control.”

The words landed too cleanly.

Rowan snapped her notebook shut. “Meeting’s over.”

No one argued. Chairs scraped back, voices picked up again. Lila didn’t move right away. She just watched Rowan with that infuriatingly calm expression until Rowan stood and walked out, pulse hammering harder than it ever did before a game.

Practice didn’t help.

Rowan pushed harder, demanded more. When someone missed a cue, she corrected it immediately. When someone lagged, she closed the distance herself, voice sharp enough to cut through the air.

“Ease up,” her vice-captain muttered during water break.

Rowan shook her head. “We don’t ease up.”

Still, her focus slipped in flashes she hated. A movement on the track. A voice carrying too clearly. Citrus and something else she refused to identify.

By the time practice ended, her shoulders ached and her patience was gone.

She took the long way to her car, cutting past the bleachers instead of the main path.

She didn’t make it far.

“Are you avoiding me now?”

Rowan stopped.

Lila stood near the bleachers, leaning against the railing like she belonged there, arms crossed loosely. The late afternoon sun caught in her hair, setting it briefly on fire.

Rowan turned slowly. “I didn’t know we were on speaking terms.”

Lila smiled faintly. “Funny. You didn’t seem to mind talking over me earlier.”

Rowan scoffed. “You started that.”

“I finished it,” Lila corrected.

Silence stretched between them, thick and careful. The field was empty now, quiet in a way that made everything feel exposed.

“If you’re going to keep provoking me,” Rowan said, “at least be honest about why.”

Lila pushed off the railing, taking a single step closer, not enough to invade Rowan’s space, just enough to be felt. “Maybe I’m waiting to see if you’ll finally react.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “This is me reacting.”

Lila’s gaze dropped briefly, to Rowan’s clenched fists, her rigid shoulders, before lifting again. “No,” she said softly. “This is you holding back.”

Rowan didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Because Lila was right, and because for the first time, Rowan wasn’t sure how much longer she wanted to keep control.

They stood there, neither moving, the rivalry humming between them, charged, unresolved, and suddenly impossible to ignore.

And Rowan knew, with a certainty that unsettled her more than any crowd or comment ever could:

This wasn’t just something people were watching anymore.

It was something she was already losing.