Broken Rivalry : New-Adult Angsty College Romance (Silverbrook University Book 1)
Broken Rivalry : Chapter 1

It’s hard to believe it’s been over two years since that fateful day when everything changed.

My mother stops her beat-up old Honda in front of one of Silverbrook University’s apartment buildings at the far end of campus.

I look at her, the neon green and orange of her waitress uniform stark against her tired complexion. The vibrant blonde locks I remember from my childhood have faded, replaced by a muted brown sprinkled with strands of silver.

I purse my lips at the shadows under her eyes, feeling a new wave of guilt settle on my stomach. “Mom”—I hesitate, my voice thick with emotion—“are we sure about this? Is this really the right move for us?” I say as I look at a student and her parents walking up the path, trailing a cart full of boxes to the metal door of the building.

My mother turns off the car and sighs. “Pop…” she starts, her voice as soft as a whisper.

I turn toward her and meet her serious face. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

She glances at her watch and shrugs. “I can be a few minutes late. I’m dropping my baby girl off to college. Something that’s long overdue. They are so proud of you.” She grins, and my heart aches at all the pride and love I see swimming in her tired eyes. “None more than me, though.” She points behind me. “You deserve this, Poppy. We’ll be fine.”

I twist my mouth with uncertainty. “But if I’m here, who’s going to help out financially? I can’t leave you to shoulder everything.” Her smile falters, giving way to a familiar expression of pain and shame that surfaces during discussions of bills or as she accepts the money I earn from working full-time at Pizz-tachio, a local pizza place.

She rests her forefinger on my mouth, silencing my protests. “It was never your job to take care of this family. You’ve been my rock, my angel girl. We’ve been over this so many times. James is fourteen and starting high school, and Billy is doing the free after-school activity, and the days I have late shifts, Mrs. O’Leary will keep an eye on them.” She sighs again, cupping my cheek. “We all want you to have that. Your brothers won’t shut up about coming to stay with you, and you’re what? Forty minutes away?” She shrugs. “We’ll manage.”

“But—”

“Think of it this way. Study, get a good degree and a good job, and then you can get us out of there,” she insists.

I bite my lip, torn. Her words make sense, but there’s this nagging feeling inside, telling me she’s only saying this to make me feel better.

“You need to seize this opportunity. I need you to do it, Pops. You can’t even fathom how horrible it feels to wake up every day knowing how miserably you have failed your children.”

My mother didn’t fail me; she is not failing me or us. She became a driving force I never suspected she could be. You don’t know how strong you can be until you need to. And my mother is living proof of that. I remember those nights when she’d come home late from work, exhausted but still replaceing the energy to cook us dinner. Or the time she sold her favorite necklace to buy James a new pair of shoes. Her sacrifices were endless.

I inhale slowly, nodding with resolve. “Alright, we’ll replace a way. We always do,” I say more to myself than to her.

“We definitely will!” She smiles and glances at her watch again. “Now I really need you to move because I’ll be more than fashionably late.” She kisses my cheek soundly before brushing a stray hair behind my ear, her eyes glistening. “I’m so incredibly proud of you, Poppy.”

I step out, the car door creaking loudly. A few passing students glance my way. Wincing, I slam the door shut. It’s the only way to ensure it stays closed, thanks to that faulty lock. I open the trunk, which contains all of my belongings, and it all fits in a medium-sized rolling suitcase, a sports bag, and my backpack.

I close the trunk and tap on the rear window. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Pops!”

She starts the car, and I don’t move quickly enough and start coughing at the black smoke coming out of the exhaust.

I watch the car until it disappears around the corner. The campus around me buzzes with energy. Freshmen like me look around, their faces a canvas of excitement tinged with apprehension. The tall oaks lining the pathways provide shade, their leaves rustling lightly in the breeze.

Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention to the apartment building in front of me. This will be my home for the next four years. Well, me and my new roommates Evangeline and Vanessa.

A month ago, during a private induction session, Evangeline, Vanessa, and I found an instant connection. There was an unspoken understanding between us, a shared experience that brought us together. We are the first recipients of the Phoenix Rising Scholarship program here at Silverbrook University. It is what they call a second-chance scholarship, but for us, it’s not merely a scholarship; it’s a lifeline, a second chance.

I don’t know why the girls are here on this program, and they don’t know about my family’s downfall. Together, we made a pact. No prying, no questions. Whatever secrets we chose to share would remain safely guarded within our trio, a bond of trust in this new chapter of our lives.

I grab the key and fob from the back pocket of my overused skinny jeans and walk into the building. I roll my eyes, seeing the elevator with the out-of-service sign, and am grateful that I have so few things to take with me and climb to the fourth floor.

I barely reach the first floor when a lanky redhead guy exits an apartment.

“Hey there! Do you need help with that?” he says with a warm smile, already extending his hand toward my sports bag.

I tighten my hold on it, meeting his eyes steadily. “No, thank you, I’ve got it.”

He doesn’t back down, his fingers brushing against the bag. “Come on, it looks heavy. Let me assist you.”

My grip remains firm, and I take a step back, maintaining politeness in my voice. “I said, no thank you.”

He raises his hands in surrender, but there’s a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, just trying to be a gentleman.”

I lift my chin, a small smile curving my lips. “Appreciated, but not needed. Have a good day.”

As I continue my ascent to the apartment, I overhear him muttering something under his breath, but I pay it no mind. A sense of pride swells within me. Poppy Lockwood might have moaned, lamented over her nice shoes, and demanded the elevator be fixed immediately. But I’m not her anymore. I’m Poppy Donovan, and this girl can handle a few stairs—and unwanted advances—on her own.

I reach my floor and replace the door unlocked, suggesting that one or both of my roommates have already arrived.

“Poppy?” Evangeline’s deep contralto voice, unmistakable and rich, calls out.

“How did you know?” I ask, turning to see her step out of a room, her face breaking into a broad smile.

I’ve grown fond of Evangeline in the short time I’ve known her. We’re both nineteen, starting our university journey a year later than most. But when I look at Eva, she seems to have the fashion sense of someone decades older. She dresses more like a history professor on tenure than a university freshman. Today, even on moving day, she’s impeccably dressed in a green sleeveless cardigan over a neatly tucked white shirt paired with black dress pants. Her sleek black hair is pulled into a high ponytail, with her only eccentricity being her cat-patterned socks. Her plus-size figure is carried with confidence, making her presence even more pronounced.

“I’m a psychic?” she replies, coming to stand in front of me.

While I’m of average height, Eva is notably shorter. “Nessa won’t be here until tomorrow. You’d know if you were in our WhatsApp group,” she teases.

I rummage through my sports bag, pulling out my basic flip phone. “Not exactly WhatsApp-friendly.”

She laughs. “No worries. We’ll go old school with group texts.” She glances at her brown-and-gold vintage watch, then nods toward the sofa. “They delivered our electronics this morning. I’ve put them on the sofa.”

I leave my bags by the door and walk over to the sofa. I’m not sure about the finances of the other girls, but for me, seeing a brand-new laptop, even a basic one, feels overwhelming.

As I glance around the room, my thoughts drift to Nessa. While Eva exudes vintage charm, Nessa embodies modern gothic allure. Towering over both of us, her long blonde hair often stands out against her all-black attire, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. Her style screams emo goth, from her dark eyeliner to her black combat boots. On the surface, the three of us couldn’t be more different, both in looks and personality. But from our interactions during the summer selection and induction process, I sense an underlying bond. Despite our differences, or perhaps because of them, I feel we’re becoming an inseparable trio.

“Nessa says she doesn’t mind which bedroom she gets, and I feel the same,” she shrugs, gesturing around the apartment. “So, pick whichever you like.”

I shrug in return. Having my own room, a space only for me, feels like a luxury after spending so many nights on the uncomfortable pull-out sofa in our trailer.

“We’re either British-level polite or the two most unbothered girls on the planet,” Eva observes as I cradle the new laptop box.

“I vote for unbothered,” I reply, pointing to the first room next to the bathroom. “I’ll take this one.”

“Perfect. I’ll settle in the other one,” she says, pointing to a door on the opposite side of the apartment.

I step into my chosen room. It’s simple: a frameless double bed, a built-in wardrobe, a white desk under the window, and a matching chest of drawers.

Closing the door behind me, I take a moment to appreciate the privacy, something I once took for granted. Tears of happiness and relief threaten to spill. Things are looking up. The old Poppy Lockwood might be gone, but Poppy Donovan is ready for a fresh start.

Silverbrook, here I come!