Chapter 1 #2
She walks past our row without a single glance. Not a glare. Not a smirk. Nothing. And somehow, that hits harder than any insult ever could.
Tia doesn’t ignore people. She breaks them down.
Her quietness isn’t surrender. It’s the storm gathering strength before it strikes. She’s not finished. She’s watching. Waiting. And when she fights her way back to the top—because girls like her always do—someone’s gonna bleed. And it won’t be her.
Tia barely takes her seat before the next act walks in.
Nicole saunters through the doorway, gum snapping between her teeth, her skirt riding too high, and that voice already grating on my nerves. She walks as if the floor was made for her heels, as if the rest of us are just scenery.
She tosses her hair with dramatic flair, as if she’s practiced in front of a mirror a thousand times. She dramatizes dragging her freshly manicured nails across Reece’s desk as she walks by.
He doesn’t even blink.
He leans back, legs spread, one arm draped over the back of the chair. That stupid silver ring glints on his thumb as he twirls his pen between his fingers, all casual sin and zero shame.
Nicole slows down, eyes narrowing as she tracks the direction of his gaze with sharp focus.
And then she notices it.
Sees me.
Her mouth twists, but I hardly notice because now I’m the one caught.
Reece is watching me. Not just in passing or by accident.
Really watching.
My pulse wavers. I quickly look away, pretending I didn’t notice it. That slow crawl of heat up my neck, the twist low in my stomach, the ache I’ve spent months trying to hide.
His eyes stay fixed on me anyway. I can feel them dragging over my skin.
Nicole doesn’t speak, but her silence is heavy. She hates it—hates that for once, the attention isn’t on her.
That Reece isn’t looking at her or any of the other girls who chase him through the halls like he’s some messed-up prize. Because Reece Wilson, the resident heartbreaker and certified bastard, is staring at me. And my body’s betraying every rule I swore I’d follow.
I hate that he makes me feel seen.
I hate that I want him to keep looking, and I really hate that Nicole knows it.
“Still wasting your time on the virgin?” Nicole purrs, voice loud enough for the whole room to catch it. “Thought you went for girls who actually knew what the fuck they were doing.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit. My breath catches, and for a moment, I freeze.
Reece doesn’t even blink; he just twirls that damn pen as if he’s bored out of his mind.
“Maybe I’m into slow burns,” he says.
A few of the guys snicker behind us. Someone mutters “shit” under their breath. Nicole’s smile twitches because she wasn’t expecting that.
I give him a glare.
He meets it head-on, eyes locked with mine, piercing through the walls I’ve spent years building. He holds the stare and doesn’t give me a moment to breathe.
I don’t know what this is. This slow, cruel game he keeps dragging me into. All I know is I never come out the other side whole. He plays, I break. I bleed, he walks away untouched. Nicole’s glare cuts across the room, aimed straight at my throat.
“Don’t,” Liz murmurs beside me. “The bitch is begging for a reaction.”
“She always is,” I whisper, voice tense.
Lola leans over the back of her chair. “Her jealousy’s louder than her perfume, and that’s saying something. She needs a hug, a nap, and a reality check. In that order.”
I try not to laugh. Lola always chooses the worst moment to say the dumbest stuff. I swear she couldn’t read a room if the instructions were stapled to her forehead. But I love her. Fiercely. Stupid jokes and all.
Nicole opens her mouth, caught up in the sound of her own voice, soaking up the attention as if it’s hers to hold.
But then Noah shifts in his seat.
One look. That’s all it takes.
His tone cuts through the noise, sharp enough to draw blood.
“Sit the fuck down, Nicole,” he says. “And know when to shut your mouth.”
The air becomes still.
Every head turns. No one breathes. Because when Noah speaks, people listen.
Nicole’s eyes go wide. She blinks slowly and in shock, as if she wasn’t expecting Noah to say anything—let alone pick a side. Especially not mine.
The room stills.
Even Reece stops, his smirk fading as his pen halts in midair.
Nicole hesitates, frozen for a second, then moves. She slides into the seat behind me, the scrape of the chair loud in the silence. Her breath ghosts across the back of my neck, sticky with sugar and venom.
“You’d be real pretty if you weren’t such a stuck-up little tease,” she murmurs, voice low enough only I can hear.
“You walk around acting like you’re above it.
Like they only want you because you’re different.
But here’s a reality check, Sammy—every guy wants the same thing.
And none of them stick around after they get it. ”
I clench my fists in my lap.
I don’t need this crap today. Not when I’ve got college applications waiting at home and just one shot to get out of this place for good. Let them keep playing games in a town they’ll never leave. I’m already halfway gone.
Mrs. Whitman sweeps into the room exactly on cue, clutching a stack of papers and a travel mug that probably contains both regret and espresso. She claps her hands once, and the room falls into the bare minimum of order.
I straighten up in my seat and take a deep breath. I try to hide that I’m still trembling from Nicole’s whisper and Reece’s stare. The only battle I want to fight today is against the clock.
But peace doesn’t last long here. Not with the ex-queen bee sitting three rows over, and the new contender sharpening her claws behind me.
Tia raises her hand five minutes in, all polite smile and fake humility. “I just wanted to ask about the upcoming homecoming court nominations,” she says, sweet as poison in a glitter bottle.
Of course she does.
The moment the words leave her lips, I feel Nicole stiffen behind me, tension spilling off her shoulders like she’s gearing up for a duel. It’s not about the votes. It never is. It’s about image. Power. Legacy. Who gets to wear the crown and whose name gets erased from history.
Tia may have lost the boy, but she’s not giving up the spotlight without a fight.
And Nicole? She’s willing to burn the whole school down before she lets Tia take center stage again.
The war isn’t beginning. It has never ended. They’re just switching weapons.
Mrs. Whitman attempts to bring the room back to something educational, but it’s too late. The air is already thick with ego and glittering tension. Tia throws a smug glance at Nicole.
The rest of us just hold our breath and act like we’re not watching.
Ten minutes before the bell, Mrs. Whitman decides to ruin my life. She claps her hands, all business, and starts rattling off partner names. Then I hear it—my name.
And his.
“Samantha and Reece.”
My stomach drops.
I blink once. Twice. The world doesn’t stop spinning, but it definitely slows down.
Did she really say that out loud?
What the fuck?
There has to be some kind of cosmic glitch happening. Some cruel little glitch coded by the universe just to mess with me. Maybe it’s karma, taking advantage of something I forgot I did.
I glance over at Reece.
He doesn’t hide the smirk forming on his face.
One eyebrow raised, eyes shining with amusement, posture exuding arrogance.
He’s leaning back in his chair, relaxed and smug, as if this is the best news he’s received all day.
His fingers toy with the edge of his desk, tapping out a slow, steady rhythm that mirrors the tension building in my spine.
Then he moves.
His chair screeches across the floor, drawing attention along with it. Every eye in the room shifts. They know this is a show. And he’s about to put on one.
He stands, stretches, and walks toward me with all the time in the world.
I sit frozen in my seat, jaw clenched, fingers gripping my pen as if it could save me.
“Oh shit,” Lola breathes, loud enough to sound like a public service announcement. Her head swivels between Reece and me, back and forth, back and forth, as if she’s watching a car crash in slow motion and can’t decide which angle hurts more.
Liz is already gone, traitor that she is, slipping into the chair next to Sofia without even pretending to hesitate. Of course, she’s got Sofia. Calm. Normal. Safe. The kind of partner who uses highlighters properly and doesn’t stare at you like they might ruin your life for fun.
Why couldn’t that be me?
Why couldn’t I be working with Sofia, quietly filling out worksheets and counting down the minutes until the bell, instead of sitting here waiting for disaster to slide into the chair next to me?
Lola leans in closer, lowering her voice. “If you survive this, I’m buying you fries.”
I snort despite the nerves fluttering under my skin.
And then he’s there.
I keep my eyes locked on the notebook in front of me, pretending I don’t feel the air shift when he moves. Pretending I don’t already know that if I look up, I’ll see that smirk. The one that melts logic and short-circuits my entire nervous system.
He doesn’t wait; he simply drops into the seat beside me with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. His knee bumps against mine, hard enough to jolt but gentle enough to feel like it’s deliberate.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Red.”
I grit my teeth. “Lucky me.”
“Could be worse,” he says, eyes burning into the side of my face. “Could’ve been Nicole.”
“Please.” I keep my tone flat. “You’d love that.”
He leans in, his breath brushing the curve of my cheek, and I swear the universe is intentionally doing this.
“Maybe,” he murmurs. “But she doesn’t look nearly as pretty when she’s pissed off.”
I shove the worksheet at him, the one someone left on my desk while I was busy spiraling through the seventh circle of emotional hell. “Shut up and read.”
He laughs, a sound that hums in your blood long after it stops.
And I hate that it hits me right in the stomach, heat curling slowly, striking a match I never asked for.
We sit in silence.
Or… I try to.
Reece treats silence the same way he treats rules: he ignores it completely.
He shifts next to me, all relaxed limbs and smug confidence.
“Don’t look so miserable, Red,” he says, voice full of that lazy charm he uses when he’s trying to get under someone’s skin. “We used to get along, remember?”
I don’t look at him because I do remember, and that’s the problem.
We used to talk, once. Back before the parties, all his hookups. Before his fuck count got high enough to earn him a reputation and a whole damn scoreboard.
Back when he was just Reece, he had no swagger or smirk. No trail of girls wondering why they were never enough. He was simply a boy with sea blue eyes and a crooked smile who knew how to make me laugh effortlessly.
There was a time—long ago—when we sat in a circle in someone’s basement, giggling over a bottle we were too young to drink. It spun around. Slowed down and landed on me.
He was my first kiss.
It was awkward. Too fast. Barely more than a breath. But it stayed with me anyway, the way firsts always do.
I glance up. “That was years ago. You hadn’t learned how to be an asshole yet.”
“Admit it, Red, you liked me back then.” His grin widens.
I snort. “I had a crush. I also had braces and thought cutting my own bangs was a smart idea. Let’s not trust past me.”
He leans back, arms loose, mouth full of trouble. That confidence rolls off him, warm and suffocating, filling every inch of space between us.
“You’re cute when you’re mean.”
I don’t flinch. Don’t let the flutter in my chest show.
“Yeah?” I say, reaching for the worksheet. “You’re tolerable when you shut the fuck up. Let’s just do the damn worksheet.”
He taps his fingers on the desk with a slow rhythm. Each tap challenges me to respond.
“Fine, Red,” he says. “You want me to play nice, I’ll play nice.”
It’s a lie. Every word he says is just a game. Every look is another move on a board only he seems to understand.
Before I can respond, the bell rings loudly through the room.
I shove my belongings into my bag so quickly that my notebook nearly rips in half. Pens clatter to the floor. I leave them. I can’t stay here even for a second longer. Not with him still watching me. Not with my pulse pounding like I just lost a fight I didn’t agree to take part in.
I bolt.
Down the aisle, out the door, through the hallway.
I don’t slow down until the sunlight hits my face outside. I grip the strap of my bag. My heart’s still pounding in my chest, all scrambled and loud, as if it hasn’t realized that I’m free.
This year was supposed to be the best I could get.
Not perfect or like a fairytale. Just something that finally worked in my favor for once. One chance to get straight grades, walk across that stage, and move on to something better than this town has for me. I want more out of life.
This assessment counts for forty percent of our final grade. Nearly half my grade depends on one sheet of paper and a few weeks of partner work I never asked for. I need every single point I can get if I want to pass.
So no, I’m not letting Reece Wilson—human distraction, chaos in sneakers, walking red flag with a six-pack—screw that up for me. He can keep his grin, that flirty voice, the lazy charm that makes half the school fall over themselves just to be the next name he forgets.
He’s not ruining this for me.