Page 3 of The Romance Rivalry

One small-town romance

After weeks of suffering through all the “fun events” planned before high school graduation, after months of summer break

where I kept myself busy by leading an online read-along of the Lisa Kleypas backlist, after days of packing my newly curated

college wardrobe, and after hours of being in a car with my mom and dad as he regaled us with story after story of his glory

days at college, it’s finally here... move-in day.

My entire body buzzes with excitement. Or that could be the iced caramel macchiato I had on the way.

“Well, the room is a lot more charming than I expected,” my mom says.

“I wonder if these are the same desks from back when I lived in the dorms,” Dad says in a reverent almost-whisper. He runs his fingers along the wood, reacquainting himself with every knot and scratch, and then presses down with both hands as if proving the bland furniture’s sturdiness. “Yes, exactly the same. Same closet. Same bed...”

Oh god, I hope not. I do not need thoughts of all the yucky buildup on said bed from students past. They deep clean these beds, right?

I applied, was accepted, and eventually decided to attend Brighton College, a tiny private liberal arts university, for two

reasons, both of which are standing right in front of me. One, this is my dad’s alma mater, and if you think I’m going to

disappoint him by declining their offer to come here, you’d obviously be wrong. And two, Brighton is known for their Contemporary

Literature program. My mom’s dream was always to be a book editor. And though she was never able to fulfill that, choosing

to be a stay-at-home mom raising three kids instead, she’s passed her dream down to me. We share a love of books. It makes

sense, I guess.

I’m not actually the most organized person. And I’ve never really gotten into the craft of writing and the literariness of

books. I read for vibes, not structure. But they’ll teach me all of that here. I’m sure I’ll make a fine editor one day.

I’d originally hoped to go to the much, much larger UCLA. I graduated from a big high school and there’s something nice about being able to hide in a crowd, without everyone knowing or caring about your business. But when the rejection letter came, and the ones from every other school I applied to after that, Brighton became my only choice. I didn’t tell anyone about my rejections. I wanted to make my dad feel like I’m here because it was my top choice, not just my only choice.

Anyways, I’m finally the kid that’s making my parents’ dreams come true for once.

I look around at my very small, very standard-issue dorm room. It’s split in half so that both sides are symmetrical. Neither

side has been claimed yet, so I’m assuming I’ve arrived before my roommate, Jeannette.

We’ve FaceTimed a handful of times since we were randomly assigned to live together for the entirety of our freshman year

at Brighton College. Jeannette was raised by a single dad, is the older sister to five brothers, a psychology major, and she’s

always hmm ing me when I say something she wants to mull over and think about. She also uses the term “we” all the time: “We should figure

out who brings what and just share,” “What meal plan are we getting,” “We are going to have the best year ever.”

I’ve never been a part of a “we.” I’m not quite sure how I feel about it yet. But she’s clearly excited about living with

a female for once, instead of a house filled with boys and the various scents and sounds that come with them. Most important,

she’s read Six of Crows and believes Kaz and Inej’s HEA is canon, so she’s all right by me.

Mom lets out a sigh. “Look at our Irene, all grown up,” she says, clasping her hands at her chest, her lip quivering.

“Mom, please don’t cry,” I beg.

“We’re just really proud of you. Our first child to go to college. And following your passion and your dreams. It’s quite

admirable,” Dad says. It doesn’t sound that impressive compared to what my siblings do. But if it makes my parents happy,

if it makes their dreams come true, I’ll take it.

Cybil didn’t make the trip to Brighton to see me off. She couldn’t miss her weekly facial, needed to maintain her glasslike

skin for photos. Eugene is staying with my uncle Peter, who will likely stuff him with orange mac ’n’ cheese and play video

games with him all weekend. Good. He deserves a weekend off, not practicing or thinking about golf.

“Let’s just drop everything off here and go look around the campus,” I suggest.

We place everything on the bed farthest from the door. I hope Jeannette doesn’t mind. At least she gets the window. I just

want as much wall space as possible for hanging up my reference charts. My to-be-read-this-week whiteboard along with my corkboard

of all my fan castings for my favorite book boyfriends. Inspiration.

... for my plan.

“Oh, hi, you’re already here!”

I look over my shoulder and see Jeannette walking in, arms full of clothes on hangers. Behind her is someone I assume to be her dad, carrying some boxes and a laundry basket filled with toiletries.

Jeannette is tall, almost six feet is my best guess. And with her striking red hair and tiny facial features, she reminds

me of a fae queen. Regal. Noticeable. But it’s when she smiles that I swear to god the entire room lights up and it suddenly

feels ten degrees warmer. I’ve never met anyone whose presence impacts me physically, like taking my breath away. But that’s

the best way to describe my new roommate.

“Hi, Jeannette,” I say. I stand awkwardly, as do my parents. My mom’s mouth is open like she can’t quite believe the majesty

of the teen girl who stands before us. None of us move forward. We’re not good with in-contact pleasantries, apparently. But

Jeannette drops the clothes on the empty bed, rushes over to me, and wraps her arms around me tightly. No such struggle with

this one.

“Can you believe it? We’re in college! We’re roomies! We’re gonna have so much fun!” Did I also mention she’s very excitable?

“And look at you! You cut your hair. And you decided to go with the bangs we discussed after all. I’m obsessed. So stylish.”

“Um, thanks,” I say. It was Jeannette’s suggestion, the full bangs and blunt bob, made on one of our FaceTime calls—one where she got especially animated over the new persona we were crafting. She even suggested I add blue hair color to the underlayers of my all black. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, but she was right. It’s a whole new me.

“The plan is all coming together!” she says excitedly.

My eyes widen in panic, and I shake my head slightly to let Jeannette know not to say any more.

I, of course, have not told my parents about the plan. In fact, I haven’t told anyone, other than Jeannette, and that was

only in a moment of weakness when she was saying how as roommates, she hoped we could be open and honest with each other and

then asked me what I wanted out of my first year in college.

Before I could make an excuse to get off the call before getting too deep with each other, she went first.

“In my first year of college, I want to make my family proud and show them what we’re all capable of. And”—she looked directly

into the screen, directly into my soul—“to build tight, meaningful friendships that will last my whole life.”

I was overwhelmed.

I was touched.

I was put under the fairy’s spell.

I spilled it all.

So here it is—my plan is simple: For my first year in college, I want to fall in love.

Well, more specifically, to fall in love and be fallen in love with. A boyfriend. A relationship. A Happily Ever After.

And I’m using romance book tropes to do it.

No more being dateless at big events. No more having my credibility questioned in the comments. No more reason to worry if I’m not fit to be a brand ambassador for a dating app.

I’m ready for it... for love. To have someone pick me over anyone else. To find me the most interesting, to love me so

much he can’t live without me. I’m ready to be pushed against a wall and have lips swollen from kissing.

I’m ready to be the main character of my life’s story.

And I’m going to use all my favorite romance tropes as my guide to selecting who to pursue. It’s the framework I understand.

One I can work within. I know how tropes work and how I should work within them.

And after plenty of scouring on Pinterest, along with some fashion advice from Jeannette, I found the look I need to fit my

role as a young romance heroine. My future love interest may not know what’s coming, but when I arrive, I’ll make sure he

takes notice.

I have a new look-at-me hairstyle, a new styled-to-fit-all-my-curves wardrobe, and, most important, a new unwavering determination

to find him. The one. And when I do...

My entire body flushes at the thought, right here in my dorm with my parents, my new roommate, and my new roommate’s dad.

Great.

“We were about to go look around campus,” I say quickly to change the subject.

“Oh, cool, we’ll come with you,” she suggests.

The parentals all exchange introductions and pleasantries and Jeannette throws an arm around my shoulder as we walk out into

the bright afternoon sun. Everything looks so green, so peaceful, so quiet.

I can hear every anxious thought in my head so clearly.

“None of those fancy eyesores with modern glass and steel found here at Brighton,” Dad brags. We all nod and let him lead

the way, the five of us off to explore Jeannette’s and my home for the next four years. My dream school, where I will study

for my dream career...

... and where I’ll fall in love with my dream man.

The lecture hall is packed with young, enthusiastic, slightly terrified faces. Still, the total number of new freshmen at

orientation is less than half of my high school graduating class. I’m worried that I’ll actually get to know every single

person’s name, and they, in turn, will somehow know all my business.

Jeannette’s knee bounces next to me. “Look at everyone. I can’t believe this is who we’re going to be living and studying

and growing into adulthood with.”

I reach over and place my hand on her knee. “You’re making me more nervous than I already am,” I say.

“Sorry. If you haven’t noticed yet, whatever you feel, I’m likely feeling it ten times more intensely. I’m an empath.”

I smile at her and her big heart. I don’t tell her I don’t think I believe in empaths. No reason to concern her. Jeannette treats me as if we’ve known each other for years. And the friends back home that I have known for years haven’t even contacted me once since graduation. The definition of “friend” seems so different from high school to college. There’s a lot that’s going to be different, I suspect.

I scan the room and take in the diverse group, curious where each of my fellow freshmen has come from and what they dream

of doing. I wonder if any of them are in the Contemporary Literature program with me. Does anyone here read romance? Smaller

class, lower odds. But still, I feel confident there are some.

My eyes are drawn to the back of someone sitting in the middle of the room a few rows in front of me. Broad shoulders, long

neck, straight posture. His hair is cut tight in the back, longer in the front. He pulls his head from side to side, stretching,

yet I still can’t see his face. But there’s something so familiar about him. Like I’ve seen that jawline before. Do I know

him? Surely I would have heard about it if someone from my high school had ended up at Brighton as well.

“Okay, have you made an assessment yet of the options?” Jeannette leans into me while she scans the room. “I mean, you don’t have to limit yourself to just freshmen, obviously. But I feel like it’s a good start. Let me see...” Jeannette looks down at her phone’s Notes app. Listed are some of the tropes we brainstormed over breakfast. For someone who doesn’t really read romance, she seemed especially excited about friends-to-lovers and second-chance romances. I gave her a few book recommendations to check out.

“Is this seat taken?”

I look up to find a guy with an easy smile standing there. His blond hair is messy in a way that doesn’t look like it’s been

done on purpose. And he has his hands shoved into his front pockets, shoulders lifted in an “aw shucks” kinda charm.

Wow. So guys like that do exist.

My mouth feels like a desert.

I’m here at a small school, technically a small town, so it very well could be that the first new person I meet ends up being

The One. Just like in the books.

Okay, then, let’s do this.

“Um, nope, it’s available,” I say with a smile. I grab my backpack and jacket off the seat and set them on the floor. “They

haven’t started yet, so you’re just in time.”

“Cool, guess it’s my lucky day,” he says as he takes a seat. “Hi, I’m Derek, by the way.” He reaches out his hand and I grab

it.

“Hi, I’m Irene, and this is my roommate, Jeannette.”

“Nice to meet you both.” He holds my eye for one second longer than is necessary. I feel my face blush and hope it doesn’t look all splotchy. Just as I look away, I notice him doing a once-over of me from head to toe.

I try to play it cool. Don’t smile too big. Don’t seem too eager. I’ve never been the type guys notice and look at twice.

But now that I’m in my romance-heroine era, maybe things are changing.

Jeannette elbows me in a very unsubtle way and I bite my tongue not to let out the “ow” I’m feeling from it. We both need

to relax, find our chill.

“Where are you from, Derek?” I ask. Small talk. Yes, good.

“New York. Manhattan,” he says.

“What’s your major?”

“I’m a poli-sci major. My dad’s a city councilman and he’d really like to see me follow in his footsteps,” Derek says.

Interesting. Big-city boy runs from his family’s overbearing expectations and lands in a small town where he unexpectedly

meets the love of his life. I’ve definitely read this one.

“What about you?” Derek asks.

“I’m a contemporary literature major. I’m studying to become an editor, in publishing,” I explain. “Books are kind of my thing.”

And let the awkward silence commence, as it so often does when I mention books.

“Hey, so what are you doing after orientation? Do you wanna go and get a coffee with me?” Derek asks.

His invitation catches me off guard. It feels sudden. We’ve only exchanged pleasantries and, like, two questions about ourselves. His eagerness is unexpected. What’s wrong with him that he’s interested in me already? I haven’t had the chance to be self-deprecating in a witty and charming way yet.

“Um...” I’m uncertain how to respond.

“You just adore coffee, Irene. Weren’t you saying so this very morning?” Jeannette says.

Well, I actually said I’d be crawling through the mud without coffee in the morning, but I guess that’s one interpretation.

And why is Jeannette suddenly talking like a New England debutante? She’s from the Valley.

“Yeah, okay, sure, sounds good,” I say. No harm in meeting someone new with my roommate.

“I, on the other hand, have got some really important plans and simply just cannot get out of them, so you two go along without

me,” Jeannette says. Again, subtlety: not her forte.

I give an awkward smile to Derek on one side and shoot daggers from my eyes at Jeannette on the other, but she’s busy frantically

typing on her phone. Then mine buzzes with a new notification. I look down at the text.

Jeannette: He’s cute! And totally interested! OMG!

I feel the weight of Derek’s gaze on me to my right. I feel the buzz of Jeannette’s thumbs flying over her phone texting me

to my left. I feel the pounding of my heart inside me, beating out the rhythm first date, first date down my center.

I take a deep breath.

It’s your time to be the main character, Irene. Let’s do this.

I turn back to Derek.

He’s cute, but something’s missing. There isn’t an immediate, all-consuming attraction to him. No butterflies. No va-va-va-voom.

It could be slow-burn over instalove, I guess. I’m interested to see how the conversation over coffee goes and if I find myself

more drawn to him afterward.

I turn around as the speaker at the front asks for everyone’s attention. My eyes are drawn once again to the guy in the middle

of the room. I catch him just as he turns his head toward the speaker as well. Was he looking back at me? I wish I could get

just one look at his face.

But I give up and place my focus on freshman orientation—where to park my bike if I have one, how to access campus security

in case of emergency, and best tips on how to succeed in college.

I sneak a quick peek at Derek. He’s taking notes like his life depends on it. I should probably write some stuff down, too,

in case I miss some important information. But my head is filled with thoughts of every small-town romance I’ve read and how

this could play out.

I didn’t expect this all to happen so fast. It’s only day one. Am I really ready for what’s next if this plan of mine actually

works?

Well, I’m about to get coffee with Small-Town Romance Derek, so I better get ready.

“So, what do you say?” Derek asks me.

I’m caught mid-sip and his question has me coughing up the coffee that has gone down the wrong pipe. He pats me on the back

a few times.

“I’m sorry, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend so that you can win back your ex?” I ask.

He nods earnestly. “You look a lot like her.” He holds out his phone and shows me his lock screen. An adorable blond girl

with bangs who I look nothing like smiles up at me. “I’m certain she just has to see me with a pretty girl on my arm to realize

she made a terrible mistake breaking up with me. She doesn’t want freedom to try new things in college. We were supposed to

come to Brighton together. How can I be here on my own? I need her to realize her mistake.” His voice is desperate, and with

desperation comes volume. The entire coffee shop has heard his plea and sits waiting for my response.

And considering how small this campus is, I’m sure this will be posted in some online student chat portal, passed along in

whispers between classes, and featured as headline news in the school paper by end of week. I probably share a class with

her, too.

Great.

This would not have happened at UCLA, guaranteed.

Thing is, I feel Derek’s pain. And fake dating is such an incredible tool for love. Though it’s usually the two people faking it who find themselves surprised at the very real feelings that eventually form between them. Frankly, Derek kinda gives me the ick. And he’s so whipped for his ex, there’s no way that’s happening in this situation.

I wonder what it’s like to be loved that much.

I want to help him. But I have my own plan to find love, and that’s what I need to deal with right now. No time to waste.

“I’m sorry, Derek. But I think it would honestly be best if you just told her straight up how you feel. Let her know how miserable

you are without her. Women love a grand gesture. Don’t play games. Your love doesn’t need them,” I say.

“Preach,” someone says at one of the two-tops in the corner.

“Listen to her,” one of the baristas chimes in.

“Go get your girl,” a patron behind a laptop adds.

Derek’s eyes light up. “You’re right, Irene. I just need to tell her how I feel. If she knows how serious I am about our love,

surely she’ll want me back.”

“Yeah, okay, but maybe take it down just a notch,” I say, pressing my forefinger and thumb together to demonstrate just how

much I think he needs to chill. I don’t, however, tell him how his intensity might be the reason his ex wanted space in the

first place.

Derek jumps up from his seat and bends down to hug me. “Thank you so much for the advice. I’m so glad I met you at orientation.” And with that, he takes off.

I definitely didn’t have tropes working against me on my bingo card.

I avoid the stares of the others around me. I grab my backpack and stand, throwing away my empty cup. I mourn the loss of

this coffee shop as a regular place to patronize, as I clearly can never show my face here again.

And I walk out the door, the jingle of the bell above me ringing in my ears. I sigh as I head back to my dorm, trying to put

the entire day behind me.

Because while I may have possibly saved one relationship, I, myself, am back to square one.

Luckily, the school year has just started, and I have a long list of tropes at the ready to move forward.