Noah's POV
Evan's thumbs are flying across his phone screen, and I watch from across the dining table with growing irritation.
We have exactly one rule at family dinners: no phones. Dad implemented it years ago. The rule applies to everyone, but apparently Evan thinks he's exempt tonight.
I want to ask who he's texting. Want to know if it's about Lena, if he's making moves without telling me. But we haven't spoken since our argument two days ago.
Two days of icy silence, of passing each other in hallways without acknowledgment.
Footsteps make Evan's head snap up. He shoves his phone into his pocket just as our parents enter.
Dad's still in his work suit, tie loosened, looking every inch the corporate lawyer who bills by the minute. Mom's changed clothes but has that distracted look that means she's mentally reviewing case files.
They take their seats at opposite ends of the table, and the maid brings out the first course. This is supposed to be family time, but the tension is thick.
Dad clears his throat and looks at me first, his expression all business.
"Noah, how are your grades this semester? Midterms are coming up. You're maintaining your GPA?" There's no warmth in the question, just clinical precision, like he's checking items off a list.
"Yes, sir," I say, because that's what he expects. "Three point seven."
"Acceptable," Dad says, which is his version of praise. Then he turns to Evan. "And you?"
"Three point nine," Evan says smoothly, and I don't miss the slight smile that crosses Dad's face.
Of course Evan's grades are better. Evan's everything is better, at least in our parents' eyes.
"Good. And football?" Dad continues, still looking at me. "How's the team looking for playoffs? You're captain this year. That's a lot of responsibility."
"We're doing well," I say, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. "Seven and two so far. If we win the next three games, we're in."
"Make sure you win them," Dad says, like it's that simple. "College scouts are watching. This is important for your applications."
Mom finally looks up from her wine glass. "Speaking of college, how are those applications coming? You both need essays done by December."
"Working on them," Evan and I say in unison, which would be funny if we were actually speaking.
Mom's attention shifts. "And the charity gala next month—the children's hospital fundraiser I'm chairing. You boys are coming. Are either of you seeing anyone appropriate you'd like to bring?"
The emphasis on 'appropriate' isn't subtle. She means someone from the right family, someone who won't embarrass them.
Evan and I share a look despite ourselves, the first eye contact in days. The question lands like a grenade.
Are we seeing anyone? Yes. Is she appropriate by our mother's standards?
Maybe not.
The silence stretches too long, and our parents notice. Mom sets down her fork.
"What's wrong?" she asks, voice sharpening. "You've both been very quiet tonight."
"Nothing's wrong," I say automatically.
Dad's eyes narrow. "Are you two fighting?”
My jaw tightens. “No.”
Dad's voice rises. "This is not how Mercers handle conflicts, Noah. You should know better than to hold grudges against your brother." He pauses. "You're the captain. You need to act like it. Your brother manages to maintain better grades AND charm everyone he meets, and you can't even keep yourself to lead that team to playoffs. You need to be more serious."
The word feels like a blow to my ego. I feel Evan stiffen across from me. I think he might defend me, but he stays silent, and that silence hurts worse than Dad's words.
I push back from the table, my chair scraping loud.
"May I be excused?" I don't wait for permission before heading for the stairs.
I'm halfway to my room when I hear footsteps. Evan follows me inside and closes the door. For the first time in two days we're alone with no choice but to acknowledge each other.
"I went to see her," Evan says. "Lena. After practice yesterday."
The words stop me cold. "You what?"
"Marcus gave me advice. Said I should do sweet things for her, show her I'm serious. So I bought flowers and went to her house." He runs a hand through his hair. "She didn't take them. Told me to leave but I left it there.”
Rage floods through me. "And you didn't think to tell me before you did that? We're supposed to be doing this together."
"You weren't speaking to me!" Evan shoots back. "You've been ignoring me for days. What was I supposed to do?"
"I was the first to like her," I say, my voice rising. "I told you I liked her, and that's when you suddenly decided to start crushing on her too. Like you couldn't stand the idea of me having something you didn't."
"That's not—" Evan's face flushes. "I liked her first, Noah. I've liked her since sophomore year. I just didn't say anything because you—"
"Liar," I cut him off. "You never mentioned her once until I told you how I felt."
"Because you're my brother!" Evan's voice cracks. "Because I knew if I said something it would become a competition, and I didn't want that. But then you told me, and I couldn't just let it go."
We're shouting now, months of tension finally exploding, years of comparison and competition coming to a head. I open my mouth to yell back when a sharp knock freezes us both.
The door swings open, and Mom stands there.
Her face is shocked, her composure completely shattered.
"You're fighting," she says slowly, processing. "You both are actually fighting because of a girl?"
Evan and I stare at her, then at each other, neither knowing what to say. Because yes, that's exactly what we're doing.