POV: Mabelle
It was in the way Kevin looked at Zion after the match — a thin-lipped stare, clenched jaw masked by polite applause.
It was in the way Zion didn't look back at all.
He didn't need to.
That was what stung most.
Mabelle leaned against the cold metal bleachers, watching Kevin retreat toward his corner, fists shaking beneath the towel slung over his shoulder. His chest heaved. His eyes flicked toward her — once, twice.
She looked away.
Not because she didn't see.
But because she did.
Kevin was many things.
Smart. Sharp. Tall enough. Polished.
But he wasn't Zion.
Zion never asked for attention. He never played to the crowd.
He didn't chase glory or perform for praise.
He simply was.
And that drove Kevin mad.
She couldn't remember when it started — this quiet competition.
But she knew why.
Kevin wanted two things he couldn't seem to grasp:
Recognition.
And her.
And Zion?
Zion took both — with effortless grace.
Even when he lost, he did it without losing anything.
Even in silence, he was louder than Kevin could ever be.
Mabelle smiled to herself as she watched Zion sip from a water bottle like he'd just walked out of a spa rather than a match. He didn't even look winded.
That half-smile...
That quiet restraint...
That tall, sharp frame moving through crowds like he owned gravity...
She'd never said it aloud — not to Isla, not to Celeste, not to anyone — but her feelings for Zion were real. Realer than she let show.
She liked the chase, yes.
Liked when boys liked her.
It felt like power.
But Kevin?
He wasn't a contender.
No matter how hard he tried, how many new clubs he joined or achievements he racked up — she saw through it.
Desperation smelled different.
Zion never had it.
And yet... she let Kevin try.
Let him think he had a chance.
Because a little hope was kinder than flat rejection.
And because part of her — the darker part — enjoyed watching him spiral.
Not for cruelty's sake. But for the spectacle.
What will you try next, Kevin?
How far are you willing to go to prove you matter more than him... to me?
The rest of the friend group had started noticing, too.
Celeste had whispered something about "boys acting out again" after class.
Isla tried not to look at Kevin too much when Mabelle was around.
They all knew.
But no one said it.
The bell rang. School was over.
Mabelle stood, fixing her blazer, her gaze flicking one last time toward the sparring ring. Zion had already left. Kevin was still sitting.
Alone.