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Vic Fuentes prided himself on a lot of things. His handwriting was neat. His guitar playing was getting better every day, and most importantly he was the smartest kid in his school. At least, he had been, right up until Kellin Quinn moved to San Diego and fucked everything up two years ago.
Kellin Quinn had walked into English class the first week of his 10th year like he owned the place, messy black hair falling in his eyes, a hoodie he thrifted, sneakers scuffed like he’d lived three lives already. He’d slouched into the seat in the back row, smirking like lateness was a personality trait. And then, without even paying attention, he’d aced the diagnostic exam. Perfect score. Vic had scored perfect too. But suddenly it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t the smartest kid in the grade anymore. He was just one of two, and Kellin made sure he knew it. From that day on, their names were pinned at the very top of every leaderboard, neck and neck. Teachers whispered about them, classmates placed bets, and Vic’s stomach was permanently in knots.
By October, the rivalry was already legendary. Whenever Vic raised his hand in class, Kellin would immediately raise his too, adding on a “correction” in that airy voice that made Vic’s skin crawl. Whenever Vic turned in an essay early, Kellin would casually remark that he’d finished his the night before without even trying. It was like Kellin existed just to undo him.
Vic swore he hated him. But the truth was uglier, more complicated. He hated the way Kellin smirked when he won, hated the sparkle in his pale blue eyes, hated the way he leaned in close just to whisper insults. He hated it so much he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Some nights he’d sit at his desk, textbook open, trying to memorize formulas, but all he could see was Kellin’s mouth quirking in that smug half-smile. All he could hear was that voice: “Guess I’m still king.” It echoed in his skull until he snapped his pencil in half. It wasn’t about Kellin. It couldn’t be about Kellin. It was about grades, about rankings, about being the best. And yet, in the darkest hours of studying, when his eyes blurred and his thoughts wandered, he’d catch himself imagining Kellin differently, leaning close and kissing him. That was when Vic would slam his book shut, pacing his room until the thought burned out.
Things only got worse during midterms. Vic had scored a ninety-eight, solid, until Kellin waved his paper in the air for everyone to see. Ninety-nine.
“Guess I’m still untouchable,” he’d announced proudly, and the whole class had laughed. Vic’s chest had burned hot, his pride gutted in front of thirty other sophomores.
He’d marched over during break, slapping his paper down, as he said. “You only fucking beat me by one point, Quinn. Don’t think you’re hot shit.”
Kellin had leaned back, his lips curling into a smirk, and said, “Doesn’t matter, does it? One point’s all it takes. You’re losing, Fuentes. Again.”
His breath had brushed Vic’s ear when he whispered the last word, and Vic had felt something hot coil in his stomach that wasn’t anger, no matter how much he told himself it was. He swore he’d crush him next time. He shut himself in his room, ignoring his brother and friends, running on nothing but caffeine and fury. By December, his spiral had turned manic. Tony joked that Vic had fallen in love with his textbooks, but Vic didn’t laugh, because he knew what he’d actually fallen into, and it wasn’t something he could ever admit out loud.
The next test brought his chance. When the graded papers landed on their desks, Vic saw the bright red one-hundred and nearly laughed in relief. His first perfect score all year. He looked up immediately, searching for Kellin’s face, and when he found it, he almost couldn’t breathe. Kellin was staring at his paper, jaw tight, knuckles white. Ninety-seven . For the first time, Vic had beaten him.
He walked past Kellin’s desk, unable to resist whispering, “Guess the crown’s slipping.”
The glare Kellin shot him should have felt like victory, and in a way it did, but beneath it Vic had seen something else flash on Kellin's face. Fear, maybe? Instead of satisfaction, all he felt was the strange, twisting ache of wanting to say something kinder. And he did, later, lingering by the lockers after class.
When Kellin stormed past, Vic blurted, “Hey. I thought you did good.”
Kellin had blinked, startled, before smirking again, softer this time. “Careful, Fuentes. People might think you like me.”
Vic had shoved past him, muttering “Don’t flatter yourself,” but his face burned all the way home.
February brought the science fair, and of course they both signed up. Vic’s project was meticulous, airtight. Kellin’s was bold, flashy, ambitious. Every time he passed Vic’s station, he leaned down to whisper, “Cute. Still safe and boring.”
Vic bit his tongue until it nearly bled. On the night of the fair, Vic wore his cleanest hoodie and made sure every detail was aligned. Kellin showed up in skinny jeans and a leather jacket, grinning like the world was his stage. When the results were announced, Vic thought he might scream. He got first place, tied, with Kellin fucking Quinn . Kellin smirked at him, his eyes glittering as he said, “Guess we’re stuck with each other.”
For once, Vic didn’t argue, because deep down, he knew it was true.
The cafeteria chatter about their rivalry reached the highest it ever had the next couple of days. Students whispered bets, keeping score. Vic tried to ignore it, but Tony was relentless.
One afternoon, as Vic glared at Kellin across the room, Tony nudged him and said, “You’re staring again.”
Vic snapped back. “I’m not, shut the fuck up.”
Tony grinned. “Sure. You’re keeping an eye on your crush.” Vic nearly choked.
Tony went on, teasing, “Everyone sees it. It’s academic flirting. Next thing you know, you’ll be making out over flashcards.”
The words snapped something inside Vic. He swung before he could stop himself, fist colliding with Tony’s chest with insane strength. Tony’s body slammed into the brick wall behind them, sliding down with a groan. The cafeteria went silent. Vic’s chest heaved, shame and adrenaline tangling in his blood, his hand trembling where he’d struck one of his best friends. Jaime stared at him, his jaw basically on the floor. For a moment, something inside him surged forward, hungry for more, and he had to grip the table until his knuckles went white to keep it down.
“Jesus Christ,” Tony wheezed, clutching his ribs. “What the hell, man?”
Vic’s mouth opened, stammering an apology that didn’t come, Kellin’s laugh cut through the silence. He was leaning against the vending machine, arms crossed, grinning wider than ever. “Wow,” he drawled, “didn’t know you had that in you, Fuentes.” The look in his eyes wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t fear. It was… interest? Like Vic had just given him the best show of his life. Vic grabbed his backpack and stormed out, face burning, heart hammering too hard to think straight.
That night, he spiraled again. He could still see Tony hitting the wall, still hear Kellin’s laughter. He hated himself for losing control. He hated Kellin for watching. And he hated the way, even after all that, part of him replayed the moment just to savor the sound of Kellin’s voice. He didn’t just want to beat him anymore. He wanted him.
When their history teacher caught them passing snarky notes in class the next week - Kellin had thrown one at Vic’s head that read Try harder . They were sentenced to detention together. The empty classroom was quiet except for the ticking clock. Vic sat stiffly at his desk, arms crossed, and seething. Kellin sprawled in the seat behind him, tapping his pen idly. After ten minutes, he leaned forward, breath ghosting over Vic’s ear. “So… about that punch. Kinda hot.”
Vic whipped around, face flaming. “Excuse me?!”
Kellin grinned lazily, resting his chin in his hand. “I didn’t know you had that side to you. Guess I’m rubbing off on you.”
Vic turned back to face the front, heart racing so fast he felt dizzy. He muttered “Shut up,” but his voice cracked, and Kellin chuckled softly behind him.
Vic pressed his palms flat against the desk, trying to ground himself, but it was useless. Every word Kellin spoke was a spark against dry kindling, threatening to catch. Every look was a challenge, every smirk a hook he couldn’t untangle himself from. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. And the terrifying part was, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to be anymore.