Chapter Text
- NAMTAN TIPNAREE WEERAWATNODOM
- FILM RACHANUN MAHAWAN
One point.
The number glared at Film from the freshly pinned ranking sheet, a stark black digit on crisp white paper that felt personally insulting.
Namtan Tipnaree Weerawatnodom – 1st Place.
Film Rachanun Mahawan – 2nd Place.
The distance between their names was a mere centimeter of space, but it felt like a canyon. One multiple-choice question on the chemistry midterm. One moment of second-guessing between ionic and covalent bonds. That was all it had taken to dethrone her.
A familiar, honeyed voice cut through the hallway murmur behind her. “Look who it is! Admiring the view from second place?”
Film’s jaw tightened. She didn’t turn immediately, letting the irritation simmer for a beat before pivoting on her heel. Namtan stood with her arms crossed, a textbook tucked under one arm and a victory smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It was a practiced expression, one Film had seen in the mirror during her own brief reigns at the top.
“One point, Weerawatnodom,” Film said, her voice dangerously calm. “It’s a statistical error. A rounding blip. Don’t start composing your Nobel Prize speech just yet.”
“A blip that has your name sitting prettily below mine,” Namtan countered, the smirk finally touching her eyes. They were dark, sharp—always assessing. “Again.”
The “again” hung in the air between them, charged with the history of every swapped ranking, every tied score, every judge’s decision that had ever gone one way or the other since they were five years old and fighting over who could build the tallest block tower. The rivalry wasn’t just academic; it was atmospheric, a permanent weather system in their shared social ecosystem.
“Enjoy the altitude. I hear the air gets thin up there,” Film shot back, turning her back with a flip of her hair. She didn’t need to see to know Namtan was doing the same. They moved in opposite directions down the polished hallway—Film toward the main library with its vaulted, silent ceilings, Namtan toward the science annex library that smelled of old paper and ambition. They hadn’t voluntarily shared a study space since primary school. It was an unspoken treaty: you take your territory, I take mine.
Their friends, a tangled, overlapping web of them, called it “The Cold War.” Teachers called it “healthy competition.” Film just called it exhausting.
“Woah. Who replaced my best friend with a storm cloud?”
Love was already at their usual table in the history section, a fortress of books around her. Film slumped into the chair opposite, her bag hitting the floor with a thud that earned a sharp “Shhh!” from three tables over
“I’m second,” Film announced, as if presenting a diagnosis of a terminal disease
Love blinked. “And the sky is blue. Film, you’ve been second before. Namtan’s been second before. The earth continues to spin.”
“This was my semester,” Film insisted, leaning forward. She kept her voice low, a tense whisper.
“I gave up the drama club showcase. I skipped Jane’s birthday party. I drank so much coffee my nervous system has its own orbit. For one. Stupid. Point.” She punctuated each word with a tap on the table. The periodic table on the inside cover of her chemistry textbook mocked her. She should have known the electronegativity difference.
“Okay, granted, that’s tragic. But it’s not a war crime. Your vocabulary, however…” Love trailed off, raising an eyebrow. “Muttering about ‘destroying the giant’? People will think you’re plotting a literal assassination.”
“If the heel fits,” Film grumbled, finally pulling out her astronomy text. The cosmos, vast and impersonal, usually comforted her. Today, the swirling galaxies on the page just reminded her of how dizzyingly small her one-point problem was, and how massively it consumed her.
Before Love could retort, a hesitant tap landed on Film’s shoulder. A first-year student, looking anxious, pointed toward the door.
“The Principal’s office wants you, P’Film. Now.”
A cold trickle, unrelated to academic rivalry, ran down Film’s spine. The Principal? Now? Her mind raced through a ledger of recent behavior—no major violations, no public clashes with Namtan spectacular enough to warrant a summons. Unless… had someone reported her for that illicit late-night snack run to the 7-Eleven during study hall? But Love had kept watch!
“Duty calls,” she said to Love, her bravado forced as she repacked her bag. “Probably wants to congratulate the valedictorian. Oh, wait. That’s me next semester.”
Love just waved, her expression saying good luck with that.
The walk across the central quad felt like a perp walk. The usual glances—part curiosity, part recognition—felt different. Whispers seemed to cling to her as she passed.
Did they know about the snack run?
Or was it just the palpable drama of the newly posted rankings? She caught a snippet: “…heard the Principal is forming the Quiz Bee team…” and her stomach did a slow, unpleasant roll.
No. Absolutely not.
She reached the administrative wing, the air growing cooler, smelling of lemon polish and authority. Her hand was inches from the Principal’s polished oak door when it swung inward. Instead of cold brass, her fingers closed over warm, familiar skin.
Film snatched her hand back as if electrocrated.
Namtan stood in the doorway, looking equally surprised, then instantly, infuriatingly composed. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her face.
“Would you look at that?” she purred, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “Even in door-opening etiquette, I’m first. Some things are just innate, I suppose.”
“Some things are just being an insufferable giraffe with longer limbs,” Film hissed, brushing past her into the office, catching a faint scent of Namtan’s laundry detergent—something clean and sharp, like rain on cement.
“Good morning, Principal Anong,” they chimed in a flat, unison monotone, taking the two chairs facing the large, tidy desk. They sat as far apart as the furniture allowed, Film studying a framed certificate about educational excellence, Namtan examining her own perfectly manicured nails.
Principal Anong looked between them over the rim of her glasses, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She let the silence stretch, letting the tension in the room thicken to the consistency of tar.
“As I’m sure you’re both aware,” she began, her voice calm and deliberate, “the Annual National Quiz Bee is in two months. Our school’s reputation, and the associated scholarship opportunities for the winning team, are quite significant.”
Two stiff nods. They knew. They also knew the unspoken rule: Namtan and Film did not join the Quiz Bee. Sending one was a tactical nuke. Sending both was mutually assured destruction, mostly for each other’s sanity. They were the school’s secret weapons, kept in separate silos.
“Our reigning team from last year,” the Principal continued, “has, as you know, graduated. We find ourselves in a… vulnerable position.”
Film’s gut clenched.
No. No, no, no.
“After careful consideration, I am appointing the two of you as our primary duo. You will be the core of our team.”
The sentence landed like a judge’s gavel.
“I’ll do it,” Film said immediately, the words bursting out of her. “On one condition. She’s not on the team.” She didn’t point, just tilted her chin in Namtan’s direction, a gesture of pure dismissal.
Namtan didn’t miss a beat. “A profound relief to hear we agree on something, Principal. I am more than capable of leading a team to victory. Mahawan’s…particular temperament would be a redundant distraction.”
Principal Anong’s smile didn’t falter. She leaned back, steepling her fingers. “You are both, if I recall correctly, finalizing applications to Chulalongkorn, Thammasat, and several international universities. The endorsement letters from this office are, as I’m sure your guidance counselors have told you, pivotal. They speak not just to academic prowess, but to character. To school spirit. To the ability to… collaborate for a greater good.” She let the word collaborate hang in the air, heavy with implication.
“It would be a profound shame if such letters had to note a declination to serve the school’s interests in its time of need. A curious gap in an otherwise stellar record.”
The threat was velvet-gloved but iron-fisted. Film felt the trap snap shut. She saw the same realization dawning on Namtan’s face, the slight tightening around her eyes, the almost imperceptible deflation of her shoulders.
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the distant hum of a lawnmower outside.
Film swallowed, her dreams of a flawless transcript flashing before her eyes. “When,” she asked, her voice tight, “do we begin preparations?”
“Who,” Namtan asked at the same instant, her tone all brittle professionalism, “are the other team members?”
Principal Anong’s smile finally reached her eyes. She looked like a chess master who had just declared checkmate.
“You’ll meet them tomorrow at the first strategy session. I believe you’ll find them quite… familiar. You are dismissed.”
They rose in unison, movements stiff. The walk to the door was three miles long. Namtan reached it first, her hand on the knob. She paused, not looking back, her voice dropping to a low, cool murmur meant only for Film’s ears.
“A word of advice, Mahawan. Try not to be a complete anchor on this team. I’d prefer not to drag dead weight across the finish line.”
She slipped out, the door sighing shut behind her.
Film stood alone in the quiet office anteroom, the Principal’s threat and Namtan’s jab colliding in her chest, forging a white-hot coal of pure, undiluted rage. It bubbled up, past the years of practiced disdain, past the strategic silence, and erupted.
She yanked the door open, storming into the empty hallway just in time to see Namtan’s retreating back turn the corner at the far end.
“GO FUCK YOURSELF, WEERAWATNODOM!”
The shout erupted, raw and resonant, bouncing off the locker-lined walls. A door down the hall cracked open, a teacher peering out with wide eyes. Somewhere, far down the corridor, she was sure she heard the faint, unmistakable sound of laughter.
The partnership had begun.