Chapter 11 – Ava

I don't know why I said all that.

Maybe it's the quiet. The fact that, for once, Riley isn't biting back with some sharp remark. Maybe it's the way the night air makes everything feel heavier, like words mean more when they're spoken under the stars.

Or maybe it's just her.

The way she's looking at me now—like she's seeing something in me she hasn't let herself look at before.

It makes my pulse stutter.

It makes me want to push. To see how much further I can go before she closes herself off again.

I shift slightly, turning toward her. "Okay," I say, keeping my voice casual, "since we're apparently being honest tonight… what did you really think of me back then?"

Riley exhales sharply, like she wasn't expecting the question. "You mean, aside from thinking you were an arrogant, insufferable pain in my ass?"

I snort. "Yeah, aside from that."

She hesitates.

Her fingers curl slightly in the fabric of her hoodie, like she's trying to find the right words.

And then, finally, she says, "I thought you were untouchable."

The answer takes me off guard.

I blink. "What?"

Riley shifts, looking straight ahead instead of at me. "You were always so… loud," she continues. "So sure of yourself. People liked you. You had this way of making everything look easy. Meanwhile, I was just trying to get through the day without feeling like an outsider."

My breath catches.

I never thought about it like that.

From my perspective, she was the untouchable one. The one who didn't need anyone, who kept everyone at arm's length because she wanted to. The one who never seemed to care what people thought.

But now…

I'm not so sure.

"Riley," I murmur. "I—"

"Don't," she says quickly, shaking her head. "I don't need your pity."

I huff a laugh. "It's not pity, dumbass. I just… I wish I'd known."

She finally looks at me, something flickering behind her eyes. "Would it have changed anything?"

I want to say yes.

I want to say we wouldn't have wasted so much time, wouldn't have spent years stuck in this stupid cycle of resentment and rivalry.

But I don't know if that's true.

So instead, I say the only thing I know for sure.

"It would've changed me."

Riley swallows.

Her jaw tightens, like she doesn't know what to do with that answer. Like she wasn't expecting it.

I wasn't expecting it either.

But it's the truth.

And maybe, for tonight, that's enough.

The silence between us stretches, thick with something unspoken.

I should let it go.

Should brush past the weight of her words, turn the conversation back into something light, something safe. That's what we do, right? We fight, we snap at each other, we dance around things we don't want to admit.

But something about tonight makes it harder to ignore.

Maybe it's the way Riley's voice wavered just slightly when she said untouchable.

Maybe it's the fact that I can still feel her eyes on me, like she's waiting for me to break the moment first.

Instead, I ask, "Did you really think I had everything figured out?"

Riley exhales a quiet laugh, but there's no amusement behind it. "Didn't you?"

The question is almost accusatory, like she wants me to admit it. Like she wants me to say she was right, that she was the only one who ever struggled.

I shake my head. "No, Riley. I was just good at pretending."

Her expression flickers.

She doesn't say anything, but I can tell she's processing that. Rewriting something in her head, rearranging the version of me she's held onto for so long.

And maybe that's what's hitting me the hardest about all of this.

For years, we built each other up as these opposing forces—two people who were destined to clash, who were nothing alike. But what if we were just too alike in all the wrong ways?

What if the only reason we were fighting each other was because we were too afraid to admit we were fighting the same battles?

Riley clears her throat, looking away. "Well. You were a damn good actor, then."

I let out a breathy laugh. "You weren't exactly bad at it yourself."

She glances at me, almost like she's about to argue. But then, something shifts.

Something softens.

And for the first time since this conversation started, she doesn't try to deflect.

She just looks at me.

Really looks at me.

Like she's seeing me—not as a rival, not as the girl she spent years trying to one-up, but as a person. A person she might have gotten wrong.

A person she might have been running from for longer than either of us wants to admit.

I should say something.

I should end this before it goes too far, before we cross a line we can't uncross.

But then Riley does something I don't expect.

She shifts just a little closer.

Just enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, the space between us so thin it makes my pulse stutter.

She doesn't say anything.

Doesn't move away.

And neither do I.

I watch Riley carefully, trying to decode the look on her face. There's something there—something fragile, something she doesn't want me to see.

I don't know if it's fear or frustration, but it makes my chest feel tight.

"You think I had everything figured out," I say, voice softer now. "But you don't know how many times I felt like I was drowning. Like if I stopped moving—stopped performing—I'd fall apart."

Riley's jaw tightens. "Yeah, well. At least you had people to catch you."

That hits harder than I expect.

I frown. "Riley—"

She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Forget it. It doesn't matter."

But it does matter.

I can see it now—how much it mattered to her all along. How much resentment she's held onto. Not just at me, but at how easy she thought I had it.

I never knew she felt like that.

Never knew she thought I had something she didn't.

But the truth is, I was just as lost as she was. Maybe still am.

I exhale, shifting closer—just enough that our knees almost brush. "You know," I murmur, "I used to wish I could be more like you."

Riley's head snaps up, startled. "What?"

I smirk slightly, but there's no real humor behind it. "You were so… cool. Unbothered. Like nothing got to you. Meanwhile, I felt like I was always trying to be the version of myself that people expected."

Riley stares at me.

For a long second, she doesn't say anything.

Then, finally, she huffs out a small, almost disbelieving laugh.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

I raise an eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Yes," she says firmly. "Because the whole time you were apparently wishing you were me, I was too busy thinking you had everything I didn't."

That stops me cold.

I swallow. "Riley…"

"Like, seriously," she continues, her voice rough. "Do you know how many times I felt like I was on the outside looking in? You were always in the middle of everything. People liked you. You made them laugh, you made them want to be around you. Meanwhile, I was—" She exhales sharply. "I was just… there."

I shake my head. "That's not true."

"It felt true."

For a moment, all I can do is look at her.

At the vulnerability in her face. At the way she's finally telling me something real—something she's probably never told anyone.

And suddenly, the weight of all our years of rivalry feels so much heavier.

Like we wasted so much time not knowing each other at all.

Riley presses her lips together, like she's regretting saying any of this.

I don't want her to regret it.

I don't want her to close off again.

So before I can overthink it, I reach out—just a small movement, my fingers brushing against hers. A touch that could mean nothing. Or everything.

Riley stiffens slightly, but she doesn't pull away.

And neither do I.

Neither of us speaks.

Riley's fingers are right there, warm under mine, but she doesn't move. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't lean in either.

I should let go.

But I don't.

Because for the first time in years, I feel like I understand her.

Like maybe we've been standing on opposite sides of the same glass wall, looking at distorted reflections of each other, never realizing how alike we really are.

I clear my throat, my voice softer now. "I didn't know you felt that way."

Riley lets out a breathy laugh, but it's not amused. "Yeah, well. I didn't exactly send out a memo."

"I wish you had."

She finally turns her head to look at me, her expression unreadable. "Why?"

I lick my lips, choosing my words carefully. "Because maybe then… I wouldn't have spent so much time resenting you."

Her eyes widen slightly, like she wasn't expecting that answer.

I wasn't expecting to say it, either.

But it's true.

All those years, I thought she didn't care. That she was cold, detached—that her indifference toward me was intentional. But now, I can see that wasn't it at all.

She wasn't detached.

She was guarded.

And maybe… maybe that makes all the difference.

Riley exhales, shaking her head slightly. "God, Ava. Do you ever stop surprising me?"

I smirk. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Her lips twitch, but then she sobers, her gaze flicking down to where my fingers are still touching hers. I feel her tense, and for a second, I think she's going to pull away.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she tilts her head, studying me.

"You really think we wasted time?" she asks quietly.

The way she says it makes my chest ache.

I nod. "Yeah. I do."

She hesitates, then whispers, "Maybe we didn't."

I blink. "What do you mean?"

Riley shifts, looking down at our barely-there touch. "Maybe… we wouldn't be here, having this conversation, if things had gone differently." She pauses. "Maybe we had to go through all that. To get here."

My throat tightens.

Because I think I know what she's saying.

And she's right.

If we had been different, if we hadn't spent years clashing, if we hadn't spent so much time hating each other… would we be this now?

Would we be this close?

Would I be sitting here, craving the warmth of her skin under mine, fighting the urge to close the distance between us?

I don't know.

And maybe I don't want to.

Maybe I just want to stay in this moment a little longer.

Riley takes a slow breath, and for the first time, I think she's feeling it too.

The shift.

The thing we've been ignoring for so long.

The thing we can't ignore anymore.

Her fingers twitch under mine.

Not pulling away.

Not pushing closer.

Just… waiting.

And I don't know who's going to move first.

But I know, when it happens—when we finally cross that invisible line—nothing will be the same.