Page 42 of Broken Rivalry

The clink of our glasses resonates in the room, and I take a sip, tasting the margarita’s tangy sweetness on my tongue.

“You didn’t skimp on the tequila,” I observe, sensing the liquid fire slide down my throat.

She winks. “I figured some of us might need a bit more liquid courage than others to open up.”

A silence envelops us, punctuated by sips of our drinks and cautious glances, each of us pondering who will break the ice and what will be revealed.

Nessa downs her glass in one go and exhales audibly. “Alright, I’ll kick things off,” she declares, pouring herself another and leaning back with a mischievous grin. “Bet you didn’t know you’ve been living with a deaf girl, did you?” Her grin fades into a more somber expression as she lets the revelation sink in, allowing vulnerability to peek through her usually defiant demeanor.

My glass halts midway to my mouth. “You’re deaf? But…” I gesture toward the headphones.

“The headphones?” She taps them lightly, a small, introspective smile playing on her lips. “They’re a bit of a safety net, I suppose. They help me blend in, avoid the pitying looks and awkward conversations.”

Suddenly, things make sense: her distant look during conversations without eye contact, her occasional unresponsiveness.

“But how—” Eva begins, but Nessa’s eyes, locked onto mine, don’t waver until I glance away, and she follows my gaze. Her awareness of her surroundings is uncanny.

“How?” Eva repeats, her voice a blend of surprise and curiosity.

Nessa turns to her. “How do I manage to pretend? How do I speak that well?”

Eva’s cheeks flush faintly.

Nessa waves her hand, her eyes reflecting a depth of unspoken stories. “I lost my hearing at fourteen. It was a tough pill to swallow, and it changed my life in ways you probably can’t imagine. But I learned to adapt, to find new ways to communicate and connect with the world around me. Meningitis led to an infection, which spread to the cochlea. I’m not ashamed, but I hide it because I don’t want to be defined by it. I don’t want to be the ‘poor deaf girl.’ It’s not who I am.”

I nod, a strange sense of understanding washing over me. “You’re not that to us,” I assure her, moving closer and enveloping her in a gentle, supportive hug. “You’re Nessa, our roommate, our friend, badass extraordinaire, and master hexer.”

She offers a small, genuine smile. “I know. But after losing my hearing, I spiraled, got drunk, stole a car at my sister’s wedding, earned myself a DUI, and, well, here I am. But!” She raises a finger dramatically, “In four months, I can drive again.” She takes a long, deliberate sip. “Who’s next?”

“Okay, my turn,” Eva says, refilling her glass with a bit more resolve in her eyes. “I owe you guys at least this much after the meltdown you witnessed.”

I take her hand while Nessa, ever the comic relief, snorts, “Oh, come on, as far as meltdowns go, that was like a two out of ten. Remind me to tell you about the time I ended up in a tutu at the police station.”

My eyebrow lifts, silently requesting that story for another time.

Eva clears her throat, a little shaky but determined. “Cole Westbrook and I were… from different circles in high school. He was the star athlete, and I, the music geek. Our paths never really crossed until—” She pauses, sipping her drink for a bit of liquid courage.

My fingers squeeze hers, offering silent encouragement.

She shows us her left hand, a scar boldly interrupting her palm. “I had a full scholarship to Julliard, then the accident occurred.”

Nessa and I exchange a glance, recognizing the pained twist of Eva’s expression at the mention of “accident,” suggesting there’s more to the story. Yet this moment isn’t about prying; it’s about sharing.

“It cut the nerves in my left hand,” she continues, voice barely above a whisper, “and Cole… he played a part in it, whether he meant to or not. It’s a wound that never quite healed, and seeing him again, it’s like ripping off a bandage that was barely holding everything together.” She sighs. “I can’t play the violin like before. Julliard, my dream, it’s gone. I spent a year in rehab trying to fix the damage and figure out a new, unplanned future, and this is why I’m starting one year late. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.” She finishes her drink in one go.

My heart swells, filled with the depth of their shared sorrows and unspoken struggles. And then, it’s my spotlight, my moment to bare a piece of my soul.

“Back then, I was a totally different person,” I start, a bit of sadness sneaking into my voice. “I was a student at Crestwood Heights Academy with Ethan.”

“The school for the elite jerks, right?” Nessa interjects.

I half laugh, half snort, smirking a bit. “Exactly that one. Ethan and I, we’ve never been friends. I’m not sure why… it should have been logical for us to band together, but my father requested me to stay away from him. You know, not to meddle with the son of the boss. And Ethan seemed to dislike me from the first time I met him at his parents’ garden party.”

Eva gives me a side smile. “He doesn’t seem to dislike you now…” She trails off.

I blush a little. “No, he doesn’t, does he?” And that’s a piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit my idea of the narrative. We became rivals for no real reason. Always wanting to best the other on stupid things and pulling annoying pranks. Like I once put lube on his history paper while I was at his house, he stole my underwear while he was at my house to expose them around school… petty shit that I almost missed sometimes when I was sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa of the trailer or passing through the metal detector of my new high school.

I shake my head, letting go of the memory. “I was wealthy… not Hawthorne wealthy, but wealthy enough to get a brand-new Audi for my seventeenth birthday and walk through school hallways in Louboutins.”

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