Everyone at Westview High knew one thing going into senior year: you and River Dawson hated each other. Like, truly hated. The kind of hate that could cut through the hallway tension like a blade, leaving behind whispers and sideways glances every time you walked past one another.

But it hadn't always been that way.

Back in ninth grade, you were the school's golden couple. You — quiet but magnetic, with that calm confidence that made people listen even when you didn't say much. And River — loud, charming, always the center of attention with that smirk that seemed to get away with everything. The contrast worked. For a while.

You were inseparable. Lunches under the bleachers, secret notes passed in classes, late-night FaceTimes that turned into early morning sleepy goodbyes. For almost two years, you made each other better—or so everyone thought.

But things shifted in junior year. River started getting reckless. More parties, more people, more flirting with boundaries. And you — never the type to beg for someone's attention — began pulling away. The final straw came at the spring formal. River disappeared mid-dance. Everyone assumed he was just being dramatic, but you found him outside—with someone else. Laughing too close. Eyes full of everything that used to be meant for you.

You didn't speak the rest of the night. And a week later, it was over. The breakup wasn't quiet. It was volcanic.

Now, senior year had started. And you had every class together.

"Are you kidding me?" River muttered on the first day, the moment he walked into English and saw you already in the seat he always used to take—front row, left side, near the window.

You leaned back in your chair, offering a cool, measured smile. "Looks like someone's going to have to find a new favorite spot, River."

It only escalated from there. Snide remarks in the hall. Passive-aggressive stares during group projects. Everyone watched it like it was a school sport. Team River versus Team You.

What no one really knew — what neither of you would ever admit — was that hate didn't grow from nothing. It grew from fire that used to be love. And somewhere under all that bitterness and bravado, something else still smoldered.

And senior year had only just begun.