Emma Sinclair had a system for everything.
She woke up at 6:30 a.m. sharp. Not 6:35. Not 6:29.
Breakfast: protein bar and one coffee, no sugar.
Bag: organized the night before.
Planner: color-coded, three months in advance.
She thrived on order.
Which is why Jay Markov drove her insane.
Not because he was lazy—though he was.
Not because he was too casual with his popularity—though that was irritating.
But because he got under her skin in a way she couldn't label or plan around.
Like the aquarium.
That had not been in her schedule.
And yet—she had gone.
And laughed.
And gotten too close in a mirror tunnel.
And maybe—not that she'd admit it—almost kissed him.
Now it was Monday, and everything was back to normal. Or supposed to be.
Emma wasn't the type to overthink emotions.
She compartmentalized.
Friends. Duties. Rivals.
She sorted people like files—efficient, manageable, predictable.
But Jay Markov didn't fit in a folder.
Not anymore.
He was smiling at Amaya again. That quiet, familiar smile—the kind you only gave someone who'd known you longer than you knew yourself.
Amaya smiled back. Soft. Safe.
Emma looked away before she could stop herself.
She adjusted her clipboard. Focused on today's tasks.
Except…
It was getting harder to ignore the way other girls looked at him, too.
Sofia Hart, for example.
At lunch, she casually looped her arm around Jay's shoulder while laughing at some dumb poll she ran on the class group chat.
"You're winning the 'most dateable first-year' by 72%," she said, waving her phone at him.
"Only 72?" Jay teased.
Sofia smirked. "I gave myself the other 28."
Emma rolled her eyes.
Then narrowed them.
Sofia might've played everything off like a joke—but Emma had seen the way she looked at Jay when he wasn't paying attention. Like she was debating whether to flirt harder or just take what she wanted.
Typical.
Luna Bennett wasn't as loud.
She barely spoke.
But every time Emma glanced her way, she caught Luna watching Jay with that calm, unreadable gaze. Sometimes sketching. Sometimes just… studying him.
One time, Luna looked up from her notebook and met Emma's eyes.
No words.
Just a tiny, knowing smile.
It made Emma bristle, though she didn't know why.
Even that loud girl from 1-C—the one always fixing her bangs and acting like she didn't care—stopped Jay outside class to ask if he wanted to visit the Photography Club again.
He said no.
But he smiled.
And that smile?
It was dangerous.
Emma set her lunchbox down with more force than necessary.
Across the table, Noah glanced up mid-monologue about some love triangle in his drama script.
"You, okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're stabbing your tofu."
Emma looked down. Her chopsticks had punctured it clean through.
She let out a slow breath.
She wasn't mad. She wasn't jealous.
She just… didn't like being outplayed.
Jay wasn't doing it on purpose. He was too soft for that.
But he was slipping away.
More people saw him now. More people wanted him.
And Emma? She didn't want to be one of many.
She wanted to win.
After lunch, she passed by Amaya in the hallway. The girl was holding a tray for the Home Ec club, soft-spoken as always.
Emma didn't say anything.
But as they passed each other, Amaya looked up. Just once. Her eyes met Emma's.
Gentle.
But steady.
Like she wasn't afraid anymore.
Emma didn't flinch.
But her grip on the clipboard tightened.
This wasn't a war.
Not yet.
But it was no longer a one-girl race either.
And that?
Was oddly thrilling.