Married to the Villain

Chapter 1

Type. Type. Type.

Enter.

Nothing happened.

Aggressive Type. Aggressive Type.

BIG ENTER!

Still nothing! WAAHH! Why is it not working?!

I stared intensely at the library computer screen, my nose almost touching the monitor.

My tongue was sticking out just a little bit because that's what the hackers in the movies do when they're bypassing the mainframe firewall algorithm thingy.

I watched the YouTube tutorial specifically!

The guy with the hoodie and the shadowy face said, "Step 1: Open Command Prompt.

Step 2: Type 'color a' to make the text green.

Step 3: Type 'tree' to look cool."

I did all of that! The text was green! It looked super matrix-y and cool! But Mr. Samuels' phone contents were still not magically appearing on my screen.

"Hmph!" I crossed my arms and puffed out my cheeks, glaring at the monitor. "You are being very uncooperative today, Mr. Computer."

I needed to get into his phone. I needed to. It was a matter of life and justice and... and saving the world! Or at least, saving a teenager.

I heard the whispers in the girl's bathroom yesterday.

Someone said Mr. Samuels—our creepy, sweaty Theology professor—was dating a high schooler.

A minor! That is illegal and immoral and just super-duper icky!

If I could just hack his phone and find the messages, I could print them out, give them to the police, and then bam! Bad guy goes to jail!

I hate bad guys. I hate them so much.

Ever since my cousin Sydney died two years ago.

.. well, I decided that the world needs more heroes.

Sydney died in an explosion. Explosions happen because of bombs.

Bombs are made by bad people who want to hurt others.

If there were no bad people, there would be no bombs, and Sydney would still be here to braid my hair. It's simple logic, really.

So, I have to stop the bad guys! Even if I'm just an IT student who is currently failing to hack a simple smartphone. HUHU.

I sighed, a long, defeated sound that vibrated in my chest. I leaned back against the hard library chair, letting my arms dangle. My gaze drifted to the glass doors of the library just as they swung open.

A girl with perfect, shiny curls and a walk that said "I own this building" strutted in.

Stephie!!!

She spotted me immediately—probably because I was the only one aggressively glaring at a blank screen—and marched over. She looked like a runway model, as always. The Blair Waldorf of Metropolitan University.

"Ali," she said, popping a hip. "Why do you look like a sad puppy who dropped her ice cream?"

"Stephieeeeee!" I wailed softly (because it's a library, shhh). "I'm failing! I'm trying to be a white-hat hacker, but the hat is too big and I can't see anything!"

I started ranting. I told her everything—about the YouTube tutorial, the green text, the command prompt, and how Mr. Samuels' secrets were stubbornly staying secret.

Stephie stared at me. Then, she reached out with a perfectly manicured finger and poked my forehead. Boop.

"Ali," she sighed, shaking her head. "You cannot hack a private mobile device using the university library's public desktop just by typing 'tree'. That just shows the directory of folders."

"It does?" I blinked, my eyes widening. "But... but the green text! It looked so professional!"

"Come on," she said, grabbing my arm. "Stop committing cybercrimes poorly. Let's get lunch. I'm starving."

"But justice..." I whimpered weakly.

"Justice can wait. Pasta cannot."

She was right. Pasta is very important.

I scrambled to grab my things. I picked up my bag—it's the best bag ever, it's pastel pink and I have exactly twenty-three keychains hanging from it.

There's a fluffy bunny, a sparkly star, a mini heavy-metal skull (for balance!), and a lot of ribbons.

They jingle-jangle when I walk, which makes me feel like a fairy!

I fixed my uniform skirt and buttoned my oversized pink cardigan. It's technically not part of the uniform, but the disciplinary prefect gave up scolding me about it last semester because I started crying when he raised his voice.

We walked to the cafeteria, the jingle-jangle of my bag announcing our arrival.

The cafeteria was loud and smelled like pepperoni and teen angst. We found our usual table where the rest of the gang was already eating.

There was Ian (scrolling on his phone), Ash (stealing fries from Kiel), Kiel (letting Ash steal fries), and Joseph (reading a comic book).

"Hiii everyone!" I chirped, sliding into the seat next to Stephie.

"Hey, Leesha," Ian grinned. "Did you manage to hack the Pentagon today?"

"No," I pouted, opening my lunchbox (it has Hello Kitty on it). "The library computer was being mean. And Stephie said I can't hack Mr. Samuels just by typing 'tree'."

"Mr. Samuels?" Joseph looked up. "Why do you want to hack him?"

"Because he's a villain!" I whispered loudly, leaning in. "He's dating a minor! Allegedly! And I have to stop him because that's what heroes do!"

"You're going to get expelled," Ash laughed, munching on a fry. "Just eat your food, sunshine."

We started eating. I had a ham sandwich cut into triangles (triangles taste better than squares, it is a scientific fact). The conversation shifted to our upcoming exams.

"Man," Kiel groaned, rubbing his temples. "I am so dead for the Physics finals. My brain is literally fried. Like, crispy."

I stopped chewing and gasped, dropping my sandwich. I grabbed Kiel's arm, my eyes wide with horror. "Oh my gosh! Kiel! We have to go to the hospital!"

The whole table went silent. They all stared at me.

"What?" Kiel looked confused. "Why?"

"Your brain!" I pointed at his head, panic rising in my chest. "If it's fried, that means your neurons are suffering from severe thermal damage! That causes permanent cognitive dysfunction!"

For a second, nobody moved.

Then, Ian snorted. Ash started giggling. Stephie buried her face in her hands.

"Ali," Stephie groaned through her fingers. "It's a figure of speech. He means he's tired."

"Oh." I blinked. I looked at Kiel's head. It did look normal. No smoke. "Oh! Hehe. Oops."

I picked up my sandwich again. "That was scary. Don't say that, Kiel. The brain is very delicate tissue."

They all laughed again, shaking their heads. I didn't really get it, but I smiled anyway because I like it when people are happy. Their laughter feels like warm sunshine.

After lunch, we had to go back to class. I was skipping along the hallway, humming a song from a cartoon, when the PA system crackled.

"Ms. Aleesha Serena Garcia. Please report to the Faculty Office immediately. Ms. Aleesha Serena Garcia."

I froze.

The Faculty Office?

"Ooooh," Ash teased, walking past me. "Someone's in trouble."

My heart did a little somersault. Was it because I tried to hack the computer? Did the library know? Am I going to jail?!

I walked to the office with heavy steps, clutching my pink bag tight to my chest for emotional support. Jingle... jangle... jingle... even my keychains sounded sad.

When I got to the Faculty Room, the secretary pointed to the door at the back.

Mr. Samuels.

My stomach twisted. I hated him. I really did. He always looked at the female students with eyes that felt like slimy slugs crawling on your skin.

I took a deep breath, puffed out my chest to look brave (I probably just looked like a pufferfish), and knocked.

"Come in."

I pushed the door open. Mr. Samuels was sitting behind his desk. He's a man in his fifties with thinning hair and teeth that look a little too yellow. He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.

I tried to keep a poker face, but I knew I was failing. I was definitely glaring. My eyebrows were furrowed so hard they were probably touching.

"Ms. Garcia," he said, gesturing to the chair. "Sit down."

I sat on the edge of the chair, hugging my bag. "Did I break the computer, Sir? Because I promise I only typed 'tree'!"

"What? No," he waved a hand dismissively. "This is about your grade in Theology."

"My grade?" I relaxed a little. Oh! Academics! I'm good at academics. I'm actually super smart. "I have an A, right? I calculated it. My weighted average should be 98.4%."

Mr. Samuels sighed, a long, dramatic sound. He picked up a folder and opened it. "I'm afraid not, Aleesha. You failed."

"F-Failed?!" I squeaked. I stood up, my bag clattering to the floor. "That's impossible! Sir, I got perfect scores on all the quizzes! I recited in every class! I even memorized the entire genealogy of the prophets for extra credit!"

"Sit down, Aleesha," he said sharply.

I sat back down, trembling. Tears were already prickling the corners of my eyes. Failing? me? But... but school is the only thing I'm perfectly good at!

"You missed a crucial activity," Mr. Samuels said smoothly, tapping a paper. "The... interpersonal reflection paper."

My brow furrowed. "That wasn't in the syllabus! I memorized the syllabus!"

"It was an oral requirement," he lied. I knew he was lying. I have the memory of a dolphin! (Dolphins are smart, right?).

"But—"

"However," Mr. Samuels stood up. He walked around his desk.

I shrank back into my chair. He smelled like old coffee and something musky. He stopped right next to me.

Suddenly, his hand reached out and grabbed my arm. His fingers squeezed the wool of my pink cardigan.

I froze. I didn't pull away because my brain was buffering. Processing... Processing... Why is he touching me? Is he checking the fabric quality?

"It's a shame for such a... bright... student to fail," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. It sounded raspy. "I think we can negotiate."

"Negotiate?" I blinked, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes. "Like... extra credit? I can write an essay! I can write ten essays!"

He chuckled, a low, wet sound. His thumb rubbed my arm. "No essays, Aleesha. I was thinking something more private. A dinner. Tonight. At my restaurant downtown. Just you and me. We can discuss... adjusting your grade over some wine."

My brain finally finished processing.

He wants to have a meeting! Adults have business meetings at dinner all the time! Stephie's dad does it! This is just a professional academic meeting!

I wiped my eyes and nodded vigorously.

"Okay!" I beamed, the fear vanishing instantly. "I'll go! I'll bring my notes so I can show you my quiz scores!"

Mr. Samuels smiled.

"Excellent," he said, squeezing my arm one last time before letting go. "Leave the notes, Aleesha. Just bring... yourself."

"Okay! See you tonight, Sir!"

I grabbed my bag and skipped out of the office, feeling so relieved. Phew! Crisis averted! I'm going to save my grade! I'm so smart. Mwehehehe!