Chapter 1
The cafeteria at Westfield University was a mess of noise, trays clattering and laughter bouncing off the walls, but Leo Santoro barely noticed. He was too busy glaring at the crowd of students who weren’t looking at him.
“Seriously?” Leo muttered, slamming his half-empty soda onto the table. “Not a single girl batting an eye at us.”
Nash, Milo, and Daniel—all perched around him like loyal satellites—snorted.
“Relax, Leo,” Milo said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just lunch.”
“Just lunch?” Leo echoed, throwing his hands up. “Since when did lunch stop being a showcase for my brilliance?”
Across the cafeteria, whispers rippled like waves. Everyone was talking about the new transfer from Bayview State College, the guy with the easy smile and that effortless charm. Declan Moreno, they called him. Apparently, girls were flocking him everywhere: dorms, classes, even the library. And Leo? He and his crew weren’t getting the same attention they used to.
“Look at that,” Daniel muttered, nodding toward a cluster of students who were staring at someone near the salad bar. “New kid. Declan Moreno. Transferred from Bayview State. Everyone’s losing their minds.”
Leo’s jaw tightened. “And nobody’s losing their minds over me anymore. I swear, one day they’re gonna regret it.”
Nash leaned back, smirking. “Maybe it’s karma for all the times we made freshmen cry in the locker room.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed. “We didn’t make them cry. We taught them respect. You mess with the star striker, you get your ass handed to you.”
Milo groaned. “Leo, your ego is insane.”
“And proud of it,” Leo shot back, taking a long sip of his soda. “Besides, the team needs me more than ever. Coach Thompson isn’t even sure who’s starting in goal next week for try-outs. Lost our best goalie last season—injury sidelined him for the whole year.”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah, and you know Coach is already thinking about replacing someone else. Probably that rookie from last semester. Can’t say I blame him, but it’s gonna make the try-outs brutal.”
Leo slammed his fist on the table again. “Try-outs are nothing. I’ve carried this team before. I’ll carry it again. But first, someone needs to remind Westfield University that the Santoro boys still run this campus.”
The guys laughed, clinking their soda cans together, but even as they joked, Leo’s eyes kept darting toward the whispers, the glances, the new kid stealing attention. Declan Moreno might be the name on everyone’s lips—but Leo had never been the type to let someone else steal his spotlight.
Declan moved through the cafeteria like he owned every step of it, a casual grin on his face and sunlight catching just right on his dark hair. Girls parted instinctively, whispering and giggling as he passed. Even a few guys looked up, impressed—or maybe just cautious.
Leo, Nash, Milo, and Daniel watched, jaws tight.
“Unbelievable,” Leo muttered, rolling his shoulders back like he could push through the crowd and reclaim the spotlight.
“Should we… you know… ask them to sit with us?” Milo suggested, smirking. “Maybe remind everyone who the real kings are?”
Leo’s grin was sharp. “Oh, absolutely.”
They stood, walking toward a table where three girls had been sitting before Declan appeared. The girls’ heads turned as the Santoro boys approached, and Leo put on his most charming, dangerous grin.
“Hey,” he said smoothly, leaning on the edge of the table. “Mind if we join? I promise we’re worth it.”
The girls’ expressions froze for a second, then, almost in perfect sync, their eyes drifted toward Declan as he finally reached the table. The boy smiled politely, gesturing for them to move down a little.
“Oh… um… we’ll just sit with him,” one of the girls said, her voice hesitant but flustered.
Leo’s grin faltered, just for a second, before he forced a smirk. “Right. Sure. No problem,” he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
They stepped back, grimacing as the girls trailed after Declan, laughing at something he said that Leo couldn’t hear. Milo muttered under his breath, “Seriously? The new kid doesn’t even try and they’re all over him.”
Daniel kicked the edge of the table. “I can’t believe this. We used to be the ones causing traffic jams in the cafeteria.”
Nash shrugged. “Well… guess someone’s gotta be the underdog now.”
Leo’s fists clenched at his sides. “Underdog my ass. This is war. Declan Moreno just made himself my new target.”
Leo collapsed onto his bed, sneakers still on, and let out a long groan. The day had been brutal. First, the cafeteria humiliation—Declan Moreno waltzing in, girls swooning, everyone’s attention stolen. Then classes, where even the professors seemed distracted by the “new transfer” buzz.
“Rough day?” Nash’s voice came from the corner of the room. He was stretched out in Leo’s chair, flipping through a magazine lazily, clearly not as rattled as Leo.
“Rough? That’s mild, Nash,” Leo groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “I’m the star striker at Westfield! The Santoro boys are supposed to run this campus, and today? Not a single person noticed me. Not one.”
Nash chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re letting some transfer get to you? Seriously, Leo… you are the Santoro storm. This Moreno guy isn’t changing that.”
Leo rolled over onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. “Doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t even try, Nash. Doesn’t even care, and still… everyone’s following him around like he’s the sun and we’re just… satellites. It’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe it’s just first impressions,” Nash suggested. “He’s new. People always flock to the new kid. Give it a week—your fans will come back.”
Leo snorted. “Fans? I’m past fans. I want respect. Fear. Recognition. And this… Moreno? He’s stealing it all without even breaking a sweat. Even Coach Thompson—he’s probably already thinking about putting him in try-outs next week.”
Nash raised an eyebrow. “You really planning on letting him walk all over you?”
Leo sat up, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes flashing. “Let him? No. The moment he steps on the field, it’s game on. And I’m not losing my spotlight—not to some transfer, not to anyone.”
Nash smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, man. I like that fire. Just try not to break the dorm doors in the process.”
Leo cracked a small grin, exhaustion giving way to determination. “Dorm doors are weak. Moreno? That’s a challenge.”
And with that, Leo flopped back onto the bed, mind already racing with strategies—for the cafeteria, for the soccer field, and for the inevitable clash with the boy who had dared to upstage him.
