Page 100 of The Ruthless Rivalry

“So, like festivities before the festivities?”

“Exactly,” Aubrey says with a sly grin. “It’s all just one big distraction. But if it gets us a bigger budget for our club next year, I’m willing to go along with it.”

Aubrey pauses for a moment after dropping the sheet and dusting off her hands before casually asking, “So any chance you’ve changed your mind about partaking in the games this year?”

“Nope,” I say walking over to grab another piece.

She crosses her arms. “Come on, Alex. You’re ranked first this year. I mean, that’s a big deal. First place—how epic is that?”

“I really don’t see what the big deal is. It’s a bunch of ridiculous competitions for some weird bragging rights. I’m not interested.”

She takes a step, now genuinely trying to convince me. “I think you’re looking at this from the wrong perspective. You won the pre-trial game.” I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off.“You need to really think about it before you climb up on your high horse and decide to play the ‘too good for this’ card.”

I mean, she wasn’t wrong. “Why would I want to do that again? It’s just a bunch of random competitions.”

Aubrey leans in, lowering her voice a little, like she’s letting me in on a secret. “Because, if you play, you get first pick of your teammates. You know how few people get that privilege, right? It’s a big deal. You’d get to stack your team of four however you want. And let’s be real, it’d be awesome to see Camden’s face when you don’t pick him.”

I shoot her a look. “So you only want me to partake for purely selfish reasons?”

“Yeah, mostly,” Aubrey says with a playful nudge and a shrug, not bothering to deny the truth. Her face turns serious again. “I just want to make sure you know your options. And I don’t want you to throw away a perfect opportunity just because you’re being stubborn.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Yeah, well, to get me to participate, there’s going to have to be some kind of catastrophic event—like, I don’t know, the entire carnival blowing up or something. Then maybe I’d consider it.”

“Sure, that sounds totally reasonable. If that happens, I’ll be sure to mark it on my calendar as the day you finally caved.” She grins, clearly not buying my sarcasm. “But seriously, think about it, okay?”

“Oh, I’ll make sure to think about it real hard, Aubrey,” I mock.

Aubrey clicks her tongue, clearly amused but also a bit disappointed. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, now lift,” I say, picking up my half of another piece of plywood.

She sighs dramatically. “Fine, be boring. But don’t come crying to me when everyone’s gloating about the Legacies’ victory in thethree-legged race, or whatever ridiculous event the professors have planned this year.”

We continue working, and after a few hours, we make decent progress on the stage, forming a solid outline of what will soon be the main performance area.

“Your section’s coming along nicely,” Sutton says, stepping up beside us and giving the stage a once-over.

Aubrey thanks her, and Sutton’s curls bounce behind her headband as she hands something to me. “Here,” she says.

I look down at the expensive-looking, black leather book bag with hesitation. Sutton rolls her eyes, clearly impatient. “It’s not a setup. Swear,” she adds when I still don’t make a move to grab it. Honestly, who could blame me? After she and the other Legacies had set me up with the whole dress and credit card fiasco, I wasn’t exactly rushing to trust her.

Sutton stands there, holding the bag out, her smile just a little too wide, her eyes sparkling like she’s trying to convince me that this isn’t some kind of trick. I still don’t take it.

“You know, I’m actually trying to be nice here,” Sutton says, her tone softening just a bit, like she’s being genuine.

Yeah. That’s what makes me nervous.

I glance at the bag, then back at her. “Instead of gifts,” I mutter, “you know you could just apologize.”

Sutton blinks like I’ve just asked her to speak another language. “What?”

I lift a brow.

She scoffs lightly and laughs, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Don’t make it weird.”

I don’t say anything. Just keep staring.

She shifts, uncomfortable now, the moment stretching longer than she clearly wants it to. Then, finally, with a quick sigh, she mutters, “Fine. I’m sorry. For the dress thing. And the credit card. And… the natatorium.”

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