CHAPTER 9 Monroe vs. Aiden
POV: Aiden Hart
The morning air was crisp as I walked through the halls of Kingswood High, the familiar scent of floor polish and teenage angst lingering. I adjusted my letterman jacket, the weight of expectations pressing down on my shoulders. As I turned the corner, there he was, Kieran Monroe. Leaning against his locker, clad in a new leather jacket, he exuded an effortless cool. He exchanged words with a few of my football teammates, laughter echoing down the hallway.
"Let's see if the prince of the school can keep up," he said, his voice dripping with playful challenge.
I forced a smile, masking the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. I wasn't threatened, I told myself. But the knot in my stomach said otherwise.
The summons to the principal's office came unexpectedly. I assumed it was about college recommendations. But as I entered, I was met with the sight of Kieran already seated, his posture relaxed.
"Aiden," Principal Jenkins greeted, gesturing for me to sit. "Kieran here has shown remarkable academic performance. We're appointing him to the student council to fill the vacancy."
I clenched my jaw, the news hitting me like a punch to the gut. The student council was my domain, my turf. And now, he was invading it.
The council meeting was tense. We were discussing the proposal to relax the dress code for Spirit Week.
"Tradition matters," I argued. "We need structure."
Kieran leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "But school should be fun. Let's loosen up a bit."
Trey, usually my steadfast supporter, hesitated before siding with me. But his support felt different this time, more protective, more personal. I caught him glancing at me, a softness in his eyes. We decided to take a vote at the next meeting.
Kieran's rise in popularity was meteoric. He charmed teachers, mingled with different cliques, and was the life of every party. I overheard whispers in the hallway:
"Monroe's actually fun."
"Aiden's cool, but kind of... intense."
Jealousy, annoyance, and admiration all swirled within me, leaving me self-conscious about my reputation.
In the cafeteria, Kieran initiated a spontaneous poker game, drawing a crowd. Laughter and excitement filled the air. I sat with my usual crew, watching in disbelief.
"You should join. It's fun," one of my teammates suggested.
I shook my head, muttering something about rules.
In English class, group projects were assigned. Kieran's group performed a hilarious skit, earning extra credit for creativity. My group's presentation was polished but lacked flair. Even the teacher couldn't help but laugh at Kieran's performance. I forced a smile, masking my frustration.
A video of Kieran helping a student in a wheelchair down the steps went viral within the school. Praise poured in:
"He's a good guy with a past."
I scrolled through my own Instagram, the curated perfection suddenly feeling hollow.
After practice, I sat alone in the locker room, the silence deafening. I reflected on my life, always striving to win, to please, to be perfect. But Kieran played a different game, one that made me feel something I couldn't quite name.
For the first time, I wondered: What if fun isn't weakness? And why does being around Monroe make me feel a little alive, like being in the field?
Passing Kieran in the hallway, he winked and said, "Keep up, golden boy."
I stopped, smirking. "You wish."
As he walked away, I made a silent vow:
If it's war he wants, it's war he'll get. But I'm not losing... not to him.