A Perfectly Inefficient Rivalry
A competitive college trivia tournament brings two brilliant rivals face to face. A rivals-to-lovers romance filled with tension, wit, and obsession.
“Welcome to the Spring Crown,” the host said, smiling. “Let’s begin.”
By the time Melody's name was called, she had already decided that the lighting on stage was too glaring for optimal visibility, and that the returning champion—who stood at the far podium—was going to be intolerable in a way that would raise her blood pressure.
The quad had been transformed for the event. Folding chairs were arranged in lines, and colorful banners strung between trees. The stage was constructed to inspire confidence. A scattering of early spring blossoms drifted intermittently through the air.
Before her name was called, she sat on a folding chair, flipping through large flashcards.
Beside her, Sasha shifted in her chair.
“It’s kind of pretty,” Sasha said softly, glancing at the stage, the trees, and the spring decor of the entire setup.
“Sure,” Melody replied, adjusting the small strand of hair that had escaped from her bun for what was now the third time.
“The seating arrangement suggests a disregard for visual hierarchy, which becomes problematic in later rounds where prompt clarity is important.”
As usual, Sasha nodded because Melody spoke with a certainty that discouraged contradiction.
“You’re still going to win,” she added, after a moment.
“I am statistically favored,” she responded with a wink and continued to flip through the cards.
A few rows ahead, two students leaned toward each other, their voices lowered but not nearly enough.
“That’s her,” one of them said. “She cleared the bio bracket in like… three rounds.”
“No way.”
Melody did not react, though she heard every word, filing it away as noise she would eventually have to outgrow.
Across the rows, Fletcher laughed. His posture relaxed as if he held a profound misunderstanding of the stakes.
His best friend, Kip, was leaning back in his chair with an almost artistic disregard for posture, scrolling on his phone with intermittent interest, occasionally glancing up just long enough to make a comment that suggested he found the entire event amusing.
“Bro,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice, “you better not lose this. You got that big ass brain and it'd be a waste.”
Fletcher smiled mischievously.
“Nahh,” he said. “I won't lose to Bunhead over there.”
Fletcher noticed her at the exact moment she stepped into place. He approached the podium with practiced confidence.
Their eyes met and they both arrived at the same conclusion.
Annoying.
