Best Enemies

The party was already in full swing when I arrived—a perfect mix of too loud, too crowded, and somehow still tolerable because I knew most of the faces. It was one of those gatherings where you could barely take a step without running into someone you knew from class or sports or the local café down the street. But as was always the case at these gatherings, the people you couldn’t stand also showed up.

And of all the people I couldn’t stand, Evans Blake was at the very top of my list.

I spotted him the second I walked in. Tall, bespectacled, and every bit as infuriating as he was during our university debates. He stood by the bar, gesticulating wildly to a group of people who were all nodding along to whatever self-important crap he was spewing. God, I hated him.

It wasn’t just that we were on the debate team together and that we were constantly butting heads. Evans had a knack to argue about everything. And by "everything," I mean everything—from the theory of utilitarianism to which pizza toppings were objectively better. Every single point, no matter how trivial, became a hill he was willing to die on.

Most people couldn’t handle it and just gave up, but not me. I’d been in enough spats—both verbal and otherwise—to know how to hold my own. Hell, by the time we hit the podium during debates, it didn’t even matter which one of us was speaking that day. We’d already argued every topic into the ground, going round after round until it was a wonder we could still stand each other at all. Spoiler alert: we couldn’t.

It also didn’t help that Evans thought he was the smartest guy in any room. And the worst part? A lot of people actually believed it. I mean, sure, he had all those fancy accolades from high school top marks in every subject, a trust fund baby, all that crap. And me? I was from a humble background. My parents didn't care if I existed; I had to fight to survive and reach the university.

But of course, Evans didn’t see any of that. In his mind, someone like me didn’t belong on the debate team or even at university. I was an anomaly—one he clearly couldn’t stand. He never said it outright, but I could tell by the way he spoke to me, with that condescending tone, as if I was slow or something.

I fucking hated him for it.

I had avoided him as much as possible. I even got myself moved out of a class we were both in. But the thing about a small city, and especially about university life, is that no matter how hard you try to escape someone, they’re always around. Evans was friends with everyone, just like I was. And for some ungodly reason, they could all stand him.

“Ugh. Evans’s here,” I groaned to my roommate, Dexter, as I grabbed a beer from the fridge.

Dexter rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to get over this thing with him, man.”

I scowled. “It’s not a thing; it’s a justified reaction to the most annoying person on earth.”

“He’s not that bad,” Dexter said, giving me a look.

“Of course you’d say that. You’ve never had to sit through him explaining why Socrates would agree with his take on climate change. I mean, who the hell brings Socrates into that?”

Dexter laughed, slapping me on the back. “You really let him get under your skin, huh?”

I took a swig of my beer and glared across the room at Evans, who was now laughing with a group of people. His smile was annoyingly bright, the kind that could probably charm most people. Not me, though. I knew what lurked beneath that smile—the assumption that he was always right and you were always wrong.

“I avoid him as much as possible,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

But of course, tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights where avoidance was an option. The party was too small for that. Before long, I found myself in the same group as him, thanks to Dexter dragging me over to chat with some friends. And there Evans was, in all his glory.

“Hey, Cameron,” he said, with that same infuriating tone he always used, like we were old pals when, in reality, we could barely stand to breathe the same air.

“Evans,” I replied, not bothering to hide the disdain in my voice. I leant against the wall, trying to seem casual, though the tension was already building in my chest.

He raised an eyebrow. “Been a while. Still playing football, or did you finally realise it’s a waste of time?”

There it was—the dig I’d been waiting for. I forced a smile, the kind that definitely didn’t reach my eyes. “Still playing. Unlike debate, it actually requires physical ability. And coordination.”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Ah, yes. Coordination. I’m sure it’ll take you far.”