chapter 1 - new year, same rivalry
a/n: hello! iâm back finally! super excited for this series, itâs definitely going to be more wholesome than my other one, and more of a slow burn! my plan is to have ten chapters, but that could change later on.. anyways enjoy and please tell me what you think! if you would like to be put on the series taglist, let me know! âĽď¸
chapter warnings: slight language
wc: 3.8k
series masterlist
âWelcome, year twelves. Itâs lovely to see you all today, I recognize some familiar faces. My name is Mrs. Chasteen, Iâll be your teacher for English studies this year.â You set your bag down and take a seat, glancing up at the woman speaking. Sheâs very elegant, with her grey hair pulled into a strict bun and sophisticated tiny rectangle glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. You smooth out your black pleated skirt before crossing your legs.
âAs Iâm sure you all know, this year is very important. You should be considering which universities you wish to apply to, how you would like to further your educationâŚâ Your attention is side tracked when a tall figure hurries into the room, his dark eyes scanning for an open seat. You swear your heart drops to your stomach. Farleigh.
His eyes eventually fall onto you after spotting the empty seat next to you. He reluctantly walks over and sits down next to you with a big sigh, like heâs just put off by your existence. At least the feelingâs mutual.
âYour grades need to be in top shape this year, as they will determine your chances of getting into university. This year is arguably the most important for grades,â Mrs. Chasteen explains, pacing around slowly. You shift uncomfortably, scooting away from Farleigh. Itâs like heâs trying to take up space on purpose as he splays his books and papers across the table. You shoot him an ungrateful look which he ignores.
âNow, enough about all that. Iâm going to introduce the book that we will be studying closely this term.â You perk up at her words as she goes to her desk, picking a book up off the surface.
âThis book is found on many, many reading lists for universities, namely Oxford.â You raise an eyebrow and sit up at the mention of your dream school. âA classic from the Victiorian era: Wuthering Heights by Emily BrontĂŤ.â She holds up the book briefly and you let out a relieved sigh. âOne of my personal favorites,â She adds quietly, setting the book back down.
Farleigh nudges you with his shoulder and you have to stop yourself from physically recoiling. âWouldâve thought youâd already read this by now,â He mutters with a slight smirk on his face, showing his teeth like a fox. Suddenly, a question enters your mind and now you have to ask, though you might come off as insecure. âHave you?â You whisper back, eyebrows furrowed. He shakes his head. âNo.â
Okay, good. That would have been bad if he had already read it. Itâs always nice at the start of the year. Youâre both even, and no oneâs ahead of each other in anything. Yet.
âWeâll be discussing and taking assessments over the chapters, so be certain to keep up with your reading. For your final project before winter break once we finish the book, you will be writing an essay based off of it and a prompt that I will give you. I will also be pairing you up with someone to collaboratively write said paper with.â Your eyes widen at this. A group project? Well, not a group. A duo. Nevertheless, itâs weird for two people to write an essay together. Youâve never heard of it.
âYou need to learn how to critique each other and work together. Itâs an important skill for uni.â Mrs. Chasteen seems to notice everyoneâs looks of confusion. âHmm,â Farleigh hums. You glance over to him shortly before observing the other students in your class. You recognize a lot of them. Just accquaintances, not friends.
âAnywho. Please come and grab a copy, then sign the sheet so I know you received one.â You quickly stand up and head over to her desk. You want to make a good first impression. But Farleigh and his stupid long legs make it there before you do, charming Mrs. Chasteen with a bright smile.
âHello. Iâm Farleigh. Iâm absolutely thrilled to be taking your class,â He holds out his hand, speaking with his velvety voice while your teacher shakes his hand with a curt nod. âYouâre quite tall,â She remarks with an impressed expression. You roll your eyes. Why does everyone feel the need to comment on his height? Does it make him better than everyone else? Itâs just one more thing that makes Farleigh stand out more than you, and you hate that. You miss what he responds with due to your bitter thoughts.
âPlease, take a book.â She steps back and gives him more space. He reaches down and takes a copy off of her desk, signing the paper shortly after with his free hand, writing in flawless cursive. Youâre envious of how smoothly and quickly he can connect the letters. It looks like something out of a scroll from the eighteenth century.
âOh, wonderful cursive,â Mrs. Chasteen clasps her hands together in approval and Farleigh just glances at you with a shit-eating grin before walking off and back to your shared table.
âHi there,â You put on your best Iâm very high achieving and hard working smile and mimic Farleighâs actions, holding out your hand as you introduce yourself. She smiles back warmly while shaking your hand. âWhat a beautiful name. Iâve heard many great things about you from your previous teachers.â She almost lowers her voice. You feel your face heat up and you try not to show your pride.
âOh, well then, I hope I live up to your expectations, miss.â You say with a beaming smile. She chuckles and hands you a book. âIâm certain you will,â She replies as you sign your name on the sheet of paper in slightly sloppier cursive, looking worse underneath Farleighâs perfect signature.
You walk back to your spot with a spring in your step, holding your head high. Hearing just those few words from your new teacherâs mouth made your day. Thatâs how badly you crave academic validation. Or just⌠validation in general.
âYou hear that?â You ask, returning his grin from earlier. âHear what?â He asks, raising an eyebrow and turning to you with a confused expression. âNevermind.â You donât know why you thought he wouldâve heard your conversation from all the way over here. âMmm,â He hums in response, and thereâs some attitude in his tone. You debate whether you should come up with a snarky question to ask him, but you decide against it.
Once all the books are handed out, Mrs. Chasteen walks up to the whiteboard and uncaps a marker. âSo, can anyone tell me something interesting about Emily BrontĂŤ?â She asks.
Both of your hands shoot up at the same time. You mentally curse at Farleigh and shoot him an annoyed side glance. He returns the favor. Mrs. Chasteen notices this and raises her eyebrows. âEager to answer, are we?â She chuckles and then looks around. âAnyone else?â
You glance around the room. No one else is raising their hands, theyâre all just looking expectantly at you and Farleigh. You look back to your teacher with wide eyes, willing her to pick you.
âAlright then..â Mrs. Chasteen clears her throat. Her eyes land on you. Sheâs going to pick you. Yes. Now you can prove your intelligence and superiority to the rest of the class, and to Farleigh.
âFarleigh.â Your hand drops back down to your side in defeat and he turns to look at you. He just winks. He winks. The annoying fuck, you could probably strangle him right now-
âWell, Emily wasnât the only poet and writer in her family. Her sister, Charlotte, wrote Jane Eyre, which was hugely successful. But Wuthering Heights was critiqued for being too clumsy or, rather, not well structured.â He explains, sounding like a fucking Britannica article. It was the exact thing you were going to say, and it pisses you off. You rest your elbows against the desk and put your chin in your hands, sighing dejectedly.
Mrs. Chasteen nods and writes this on the board, summing up the information into bullet points. âCorrect. Very good.â She caps the marker again and turns back to the class. You raise your hand quickly, and she calls your name.
âI think Farleighâs forgetting to mention Anne BrontĂŤ. She was probably the least popular out of the three sisters, but her works are seriously underrated. Her last novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, was one of the first feminist novels. She paved the way for other female authors and gave women a voice.â You explain, and Mrs. Chasteen looks surprised at your level of knowledge. You can feel Farleighâs bristling energy next to you. You smile contentedly, watching as your teacher writes what you said about Anne off to the side.
âAnd have you read this book?â Farleigh suddenly asks. You turn to face him, unafraid of his challenging. âNo, I have not. But I did a project over the BrontĂŤ sisters last year, and my research went quite in depth.â You explain, and he does one of those Olympic winning eyerolls. âHaving extra information like that comes in handy, you know,â You grin as his eyebrows furrow, glaring sharply at you. âItâs not like it matters. Weâre not even talking about Anne. She asked about Emily.â It seems like you two have forgotten completely about the rest of the students in the room, the teacher, and everything else in the world as you begin to argue. It just comes naturally.
âIf Iâm not mistaken, you mentioned Charlotte. She asked about Emily,â You mock him. He opens his mouth to say something back, then closes it and looks down.
âAlright.. anywho, now weâre going to read a short introduction to the book to give you all an idea of what youâre getting into.â Mrs. Chasteen explains, giving you and Farleigh a stern look.
Throughout the rest of the class, you and Farleigh remain silent and refuse to speak to each other, though you were instructed to discuss with the person next to you. You look out the stained glass window, watching the raindrops patter onto the cobblestone, the puddles illuminated by the golden light shining from the lanterns, the chatter around you drowned out by your own thoughts about the rest of today.
Your overthinking is interrupted by your teacherâs voice.
âOkay everyone, thatâs it for today. I will see you all tomorrow. Could you two stay for a moment, please?â She turns to you and Farleigh as youâre gathering your things, gesturing for you two to come up to her desk. You both glance at each other before nodding and heading over after youâve swung your bag over your shoulder.
âSo⌠you two seem very.. competitive. Youâre both very intelligent, make no mistake.â You wonder where sheâs going with this. âWhich makes me curiousâ May I ask which universities you two intend on applying to?â
âOxford.â You both say at the same time, after which you immediately turn to each other with wide eyes. What? No. It canât be. Youâre seriously fucked if he applies to Oxford. They rarely ever take two people from the same school.
âYouâre applying to Oxford?!â You both ask, once again, at the same time. He looks almost personally offended by you, with his upper lip pulled up and his eyebrows knitted together in a familiar scowl.
âOh- Haha, well. What a coincidence,â Mrs. Chasteen chuckles nervously, glancing back and forth. âI went to Oxford. It was quite lovely there, and the professorsââ
âNo, you canât. Iâm applying to Oxford.â You point at yourself, and he scoffs. âWho says I canât?â Farleigh asks, his voice dripping with sass. âMe.â You reply. He rolls his eyes and facepalms with exasperation.
âWell, the chances of you both getting in arenât⌠impossible. If they see two exceptionally good students who are at the top of their class, they wonât mind if youâre from the same school. They only see the talent,â She goes on to explain, trying to stop an argument from breaking out again.
âLogically, they would pick the top student, though. Not students,â You emphasize the s at the end of students. Mrs. Chasteen continues. âYou never know. And backup universities are a great option, ifââ
âI appreciate the suggestion, but Iâll only be applying to Oxford. Itâs Oxford or nothing,â You reply, your voice full of determination. âMe too. Oxfordâs been my dream uni since I moved here from the states,â Farleigh adds. You turn to glare at him and he glares right back.
âWell then. Thatâs fine, just please try not to take up any more class time with your bickering.â She raises her eyebrows at you two. You nod. âYes, miss.â
âAnd who knows,â She says, pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, âYou two might work better together. Two smart brains are better than one,â You shudder at the word together. You and Farleigh working together? Absolutely not.
âThink about it.â She points a finger and you reluctantly nod, just to give her some temporary satisfaction. âYouâre excused,â She dips her head and you hear Farleigh let out a little sigh of relief. âThank you, miss. Have a good day,â He nods shortly to her before turning on his heel and heading for the door. You follow suit.
Shit. You forgot about the rain. Before English class, you had made it inside before the downpour had really started. Now the raindrops covered every inch of the ground. You have to cross the courtyard to get to your next class, which is in the west wing of the school. You awkwardly stand in the arched corridor, listening to the rain, slightly shivering as you try to make a decision. The weather is always bipolar in London. Itâs September, and the other day it was sweltering. Now itâs freezing and rainy.
Farleigh turns around and raises an eyebrow at your hesitation. âWhat are you doing?â He asks. You glance down. Heâs holding a black umbrella. How is he always prepared for everything?
âWell I donât have an⌠umbrella,â You mumble, gesturing to the one in his hand. âAm I supposed to care?â He replies. Of course. Why did you think he would care?
âYou asked me what I was doing,â You throw your hands up. âI was answering your question!â You exclaim angrily. He rolls his eyes. âWhatâs your next class?â He asks hesitantly.
You pull out the small yet important paper from your pocket with your classes on it, looking down and squinting. âBiology,â You reply, looking up and watching all the other students bustling around, chatting excitedly or holding umbrellas over their head as they walk through the courtyard. You look back to Farleigh, who seems to be thinking something over in his head.
âAlright, câmon.â He nods to you, walking out into the open area, holding up the umbrella. You step forward without questioning it, just thankful for the rare act of kindness. âIâm headed to the west wing anyway,â He says as you walk side by side, as if he has to make it clear that this is not him being generous to you. Itâs simply convenient.
You wish you didnât have to stay so close to him, but if you want to be covered fully from the rain, you sort of have to get closer to him, your head brushing against his shoulder due to your almost embarrassing height difference and your feet almost tripping over his. You both remain silent, with only the sound of the rain pelting against the umbrella to keep you company.
You eventually reach the west corridor, and heâs quickly stepping away from you and wrapping up the umbrella. You begin walking to go find your class, before you hear his voice call after you.
âNo âthank youâ or anything?â He asks. You turn around and groan internally. â...Thank you.â You respond, very reluctantly and quietly. âYouâre welcome,â He smiles sarcastically and you roll your eyes before turning back around, quickening your pace to make it to your class on time.
A week later, your first calculus assessment of the year is already upon you. It doesnât help that you share that class, of all classes, with Farleigh. Math has always been your most difficult subject. Youâve never been quick to understand it, it never comes naturally for you. But if you put in the time and work, you can make it seem like itâs effortless.
Apparently for Farleigh, it is effortless. He makes it clear that he never studies for tests or quizzes. While it infuriates you, you also find it hard to believe. How can he ace everything when he claims he doesnât even try?
You sit down at your desk, fishing your pencil and calculator out from your bag. You nervously chew on the eraser, waiting for the papers to be passed out.
âFirst assessment of the year, good luck everyone. If you fail, there will be no corrections, so hopefully that makes you feel better,â Mr. Bailey says as he passes out the tests. His sarcasm somehow only makes the situation worse. You spent hours studying for this last evening, although he claimed this was all âmostly a reviewâ from your precalculus class last year. Right. Review. You should know this stuff by now.
As soon as the paper is on your desk, you begin working, starting with the problems you know how to solve. You get in that zone, completely unbothered by your surroundings or any distractions, just working, switching between writing down numbers and formulas to typing into the calculator.
You get stumped on a question and glance up to check the time. Your eyes wander from the clock over to Farleigh, who seems completely relaxed, one hand running through his hair and fiddling with his dark curls and the other working a problem out.
âEyes on your own tests, please,â Mr. Bailey sternly calls out. Your eyes dart over to him, where he sits behind his desk, his gaze directly upon you. Fuck. Now heâs going to think you were cheating. But what were you actually doing? Staring at Farleigh? No. You were just⌠observing. You go back to your test, flipping the paper over to start the graphing section.
âThatâs time. Pencils down, Iâll come by to pick up your papers.â Mr. Bailey announces, standing up and starting down the rows of desks and picking up everyoneâs tests. He says something to Farleigh but you canât make it out, but you see Farleigh grin. It seems that Mr. Bailey has already chosen his favorite student. You never even stood a chance.
Once he makes it to your row and picks up your test, you begin to pack up your things. âIâll have these graded by tomorrow. Please donât complain to me if you fail. Thatâs on you.â You scoff quietly at your teacherâs harsh remarks as you make your way to the door. Thank God that was your last class of the day. Now you can head back to your dorm.
Farleigh falls into step next to you. âSo, howâd that go for you?â You stare straight ahead, focusing on the path ahead of you. âGood. Honestly, it was easier than I expected.â You reply. Itâs half truth. It was slightly easier than you were preparing yourself for, but you usually prepare yourself for the worst. But you canât let him know that you still struggled.
âReally. Hmm,â He hums, and you glare up at him. âWhat?â You study his expression. He must think youâre lying, based on his little smirk and raised eyebrows. âNothing. Itâs just⌠we both know math is not your strong suit,â He pauses and you stop next to him. âOkay, but that doesnât mean I canât be good at it.â You scowl up at him and he just grins.
âUnlike you, I actually study.â You continue walking, hoping heâll leave you alone, but he follows you. âAw, you actually need to study? Sad.â He pouts and you actually feel the urge to strangle him.
You turn around abruptly and he stops in his tracks. âAlright. Lovely talking with you. Bye!â You wave with a fake smile. Farleigh looks a bit surprised by your reaction. Thereâs only so much of his insults you can take.
âBye,â He quietly mutters as you turn back around, walking quicker and more determined, putting some confidence into your step.
You groan and flop onto your bed once you enter your dorm. Suddenly, you realize how sleepy you are as your eyelids feel heavy You cover your face with a pillow and sigh, wishing you could rest. It sounds wonderful. But you have work to do. Reading, studying, the list goes on.
You chose this boarding school because you heard it was most similar to the Oxford experience, campus wise. It was also named the most prestigious secondary school in London. You often become very homesick, though, and you long for the comfort of your parents and your real home. At least itâs preparing you for university.
You groan once again into the pillow before sitting up and pushing the idea of sleep away. Itâs time to get to work.
The next day, you wait to get your calculus test back. Mr. Bailey is handing them out while you overthink and prepare yourself for a failing grade. What would you do if you actually failed? You think you would rather be pushed off of a tall building than receive an F on a test.
Suddenly, a paper lands on your desk. You quickly glance down and see â97.5â written in red ink at the top of the paper. Your eyes widen and you feel relief wash over you. Thank the Lord. You grin and pick up your test, inspecting it closer and going over your errors.
You hear someone coming up behind you. You quickly flip your paper over, hiding the grade from whoever is lurking over your shoulder. But itâs too late.
âNot badâŚâ A deep, American voice chuckles quietly. You turn around in your chair, and to no surprise, Farleigh is standing there with his arms crossed. Heâs already seen your grade.
âStop looking at my grades,â You hiss. âRelax, I was just curious.â He smirks at your frustration and holds up his own test. You see a â98â scrawled up at the top along with a âgood jobâ next to it. You huff in response, turning back around.
âThatâs not even much better than mine,â You mutter. âWhatâs that?â He asks, leaning over your shoulder, his breath ghosting over your neck. You shiver and remain silent, unable to repeat yourself for some reason.
âSorry, who got the better grade?â Farleigh questions, his voice lowered. You let out a small sigh, ready to admit your defeat. âYou.â You reply quietly.
âRight.â And then heâs gone, probably heading back to his own desk. What a bitch. You roll your eyes and pinch the space between your eyes, shaking your head. Yeah, he got .5 more points than you, and it doesnât seem like much. But for Farleigh, itâs a huge win. But youâll get him back. You always do. And youâre going to be the one who makes it into Oxford, you are sure of it.











