Page 3 of Broken Rivalry

I’ve grown fond of Evangeline in the short time I’ve known her. We’re both nineteen, starting our university journey a year later than most. But when I look at Eva, she seems to have the fashion sense of someone decades older. She dresses more like a history professor on tenure than a university freshman. Today, even on moving day, she’s impeccably dressed in a green sleeveless cardigan over a neatly tucked white shirt paired with black dress pants. Her sleek black hair is pulled into a high ponytail, with her only eccentricity being her cat-patterned socks. Her plus-size figure is carried with confidence, making her presence even more pronounced.

“I’m a psychic?” she replies, coming to stand in front of me.

While I’m of average height, Eva is notably shorter. “Nessa won’t be here until tomorrow. You’d know if you were in our WhatsApp group,” she teases.

I rummage through my sports bag, pulling out my basic flip phone. “Not exactly WhatsApp-friendly.”

She laughs. “No worries. We’ll go old school with group texts.” She glances at her brown-and-gold vintage watch, then nods toward the sofa. “They delivered our electronics this morning. I’ve put them on the sofa.”

I leave my bags by the door and walk over to the sofa. I’m not sure about the finances of the other girls, but for me, seeing a brand-new laptop, even a basic one, feels overwhelming.

As I glance around the room, my thoughts drift to Nessa. While Eva exudes vintage charm, Nessa embodies modern gothic allure. Towering over both of us, her long blonde hair often stands out against her all-black attire, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. Her style screams emo goth, from her dark eyeliner to her black combat boots. On the surface, the three of us couldn’t be more different, both in looks and personality. But from our interactions during the summer selection and induction process, I sense an underlying bond. Despite our differences, or perhaps because of them, I feel we’re becoming an inseparable trio.

“Nessa says she doesn’t mind which bedroom she gets, and I feel the same,” she shrugs, gesturing around the apartment. “So, pick whichever you like.”

I shrug in return. Having my own room, a space only for me, feels like a luxury after spending so many nights on the uncomfortable pull-out sofa in our trailer.

“We’re either British-level polite or the two most unbothered girls on the planet,” Eva observes as I cradle the new laptop box.

“I vote for unbothered,” I reply, pointing to the first room next to the bathroom. “I’ll take this one.”

“Perfect. I’ll settle in the other one,” she says, pointing to a door on the opposite side of the apartment.

I step into my chosen room. It’s simple: a frameless double bed, a built-in wardrobe, a white desk under the window, and a matching chest of drawers.

Closing the door behind me, I take a moment to appreciate the privacy, something I once took for granted. Tears of happiness and relief threaten to spill. Things are looking up. The old Poppy Lockwood might be gone, but Poppy Donovan is ready for a fresh start.

Silverbrook, here I come!

Chapter 2

Poppy

“Ithink mapping all the routes is smart, especially with this maze of a campus,” I tell Eva, my finger tracing the colorful lines on the map. I am quite lucky with my timetable, having Thursday afternoons and Mondays off. This allows me to maintain a good working schedule at the pizza place. Despite what my mother says, she needs every dollar I can spare.

Eva, with her round glasses and a stack of books always in hand, nods, her eyes scanning her own packed schedule. Where I have five classes, she has seven. “I know. I made the mistake one year at the London—” She stops, a shadow crossing her face as she shakes her head, clearly a memory she doesn’t want to revisit now. “Let’s say that I learned from my mistake.”

With a delicate push, she adjusts her glasses on her nose and halts in the middle of the bustling central square, where students crisscross in every direction, their laughter and chatter creating a lively symphony.

I gaze around at the majestic red brick buildings, their ancient facades adorned with creeping vines, an embrace of greenery against the stark, aged brickwork. The air is filled with the scent of the impending rain and fresh grass. Freshmen don’t officially start classes before Monday, but the other years are already starting, and we can see students going in and out, way too busy with their own agenda to spot the two nerdy girls gaping at the similar-looking buildings. “How much do you bet I’ll get confused for the next six months at least?” I turn back toward the way we came from, toward the café where Nessa is waiting for us in the warmth with an iced coffee while listening to her music with her gigantic headphones she’s taking everywhere she goes.

“Maybe Nessa has a point,” I say, my eyes squinting as I look around the bustling campus, students moving with purpose and excitement. “We could wing it instead of acting like… What was her loving term for us again?”

Eva laughs. “‘Overanxious grannies.’ And no, she’s the lucky one! She only has four classes, and all in the same ultramodern building at the back.” She looks down at her schedule again. “Got any classes in Albert Hall?”

“Two.”

She nods. “Okay. I’ve got three. Let’s go to this one first, then,” she adds, pointing at the first building to the right.

I smile as we walk down the path toward Albert Hall. I can’t help but think about how much I missed having friends until I found these girls. It feels so good to be able to have people in my life who didn’t know Poppy Lockwood.

In retrospect, I’m not a fan of the girl I had been back then. I had been conceited and spoiled; I had taken everything for granted and often forgot to take pleasure in anything I got.

Now, a leftover pizza at the end of my shift brings me a strange joy, a world apart from my former routine of luxury dining. It’s a humbling reality check, a reminder of the life I now lead. Finding shoes or clothes I like in my size at the charity shop sends me over the moon. Paying some bills for my mom or having a little extra cash to buy my brothers something special, like a brand-name candy bar, fills me with happiness.

I breathe out, linking my arm with hers as we enter the building, and she throws me a curious look.

“I’m just glad I met you two,” I say, the warmth of belonging thawing the chill of loneliness that had clung to me for so long. “It…” I twist my mouth, not really knowing how to word it. “It…”

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