22. Alex
The next morning, I climb out of bed and notice even Dolores’s leafy green arms seem to be reaching up with enthusiasm.
After showering and getting ready for the day, I decide to follow suit.
After yesterday, Aubrey’s club section is almost complete, with her and the rest of the members finishing up today after classes.
Before heading to my morning class, Oceanic Reflection , I make a quick stop at the dining hall to grab a coffee, which has been my saving grace lately.
The warmth and caffeine help me power through the chilly mornings and keep my focus intact.
Well, mostly. I’m still frustrated with Bishop in more ways than one.
As I enter the large room, it’s buzzing with the usual clatter of students gathered around tables.
But something feels off today.
The typical chatter has softened into hushed whispers.
I catch sight of a group of students in the corner, all talking in low voices, their eyes flicking up.
Curiosity pulls me in, and I follow their gaze, locking on to the small mezzanine where the Legacy group is perched.
Camden and Sutton are the only two up there this morning.
Then I see it. Camden’s new bright pink hair—impossible to miss, like a flaming beacon in the sea of drab university colors.
The kind of color that’s not just bold, but clearly against university policy.
And that’s when I hear it.
Chancellor Maxwell’s voice booming from the bottom of the stairs, sharp and disapproving.
“Mr. Whitlock, is that…pink?”
The room goes silent, and all eyes are drawn to the mezzanine.
I can already feel the tension in the air, but no one dares to speak as Chancellor Maxwell’s voice echoes through the dining hall.
Camden looks frozen for a moment, his usual confidence faltering.
He’s trying to keep his composure, but I can see the slight tremor in his hand as he reaches up to tug at a lock of the offending pink hair, as if hoping to make it disappear.
“I don’t know what happened. Must’ve been a bad batch of shampoo,” Camden stammers, but the defensive tone in his voice does nothing to lessen the sting of his embarrassment.
Chancellor Maxwell’s gaze hardens, and I feel a tiny thrill run through me.
This is the moment. Camden is getting what’s coming to him.
“It’s not just bad ,” Maxwell says, her voice rising as she takes a step forward.
“It’s a direct breach of Altair University’s dress code, which clearly states that any unnatural hair color is prohibited for students who wish to maintain in good standing. You’ve done more than just draw attention, you’ve disrupted the standard we expect here.”
A murmur of approval sweeps through the crowd, and I catch a glimpse of Sutton’s expression—a composed mask, though I can see the faintest glint of annoyance in her eyes.
She doesn’t speak, but I know she’s not thrilled with how this is playing out.
Still, she’s not about to show weakness.
She’s a Legacy, just like Camden.
The tension in the room is palpable.
Maxwell crosses her arms, staring Camden down.
“You’ll be reporting to my office immediately, and your hair will be returned to a natural color by the end of the day—no excuses. This is your first and final warning, Mr. Whitlock. After this, you will face disciplinary action if you cannot respect the basic expectations of the university.”
I can’t help it.
A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips as I watch Camden shift uncomfortably under the Chancellor’s gaze.
He wants to argue, opening his mouth to defend himself, but Maxwell cuts him off before he can get a word out.
“I’ve already wasted enough of my time this morning,” Chancellor Maxwell’s voice sharpens.
“And now I have to squeeze in this little fiasco on top of it? If this rebellion continues, I might just have to reconsider your participation in the upcoming games.”
Just before they reach the stairs, Sutton pipes up, her tone cool but firm.
“Chancellor, did you get my report about my missing watch?”
Chancellor Maxwell glances at her, a flicker of irritation passing through her expression.
“Yes, I received it, Miss Oliveri. But right now, I have more pressing matters to attend to than a misplaced accessory.”
Sutton doesn’t flinch at the dismissal.
With a sharp nod, she follows Camden, and the moment they start to shuffle toward the stairs, I feel a slight buzz of excitement ripple through the crowd.
I make my way to the coffee station, the rich aroma instantly filling my nostrils, grounding me for a moment.
I add a splash of cream and take a sip, savoring the warmth as it slides down my throat.
Coffee in hand, I head toward my class, pausing by the shoreline near the boathouse.
The air nips at my skin, but the warmth from the cup in my hands is enough to stave off the chill.
A handful of other students are already gathered here, waiting for further instruction.
The wind picks up, catching my hair in its grasp.
I push it out of my face, just in time for Ophelia to walk by.
She bumps into me, sending hot coffee spilling across the front of my blazer.
The liquid soaks through, making it impossible to ignore.
“Whoops,” she mutters, not even breaking stride.
The nerve.
I bite back the urge to yell and instead flash a smile, sweet as poison.
“It’s fine, Ophelia. I’ve always wanted to wear a coffee stain as a fashion statement.”
Ophelia doesn’t bother looking back, her eyes fixed ahead, but I can feel the smugness radiating off her.
I watch her walk off, and as the sting of the moment settles in, I examine the damage.
The stain’s already spreading, and I’m sure I won’t be able to salvage it.
I sigh, pulling off the blazer and trying to rub the stain with my sleeve, hoping it’ll be fine.
I’m about to resign myself to the fact that I’m probably going to freeze in just my striped button-down when I feel a sudden warmth settle across my shoulders.
Bishop appears behind me, his rowing team jacket draping over my shoulders.
His hands brush against my skin in the process, and I freeze for a second before turning to shoot him a glare.
I frown, pulling at the sleeves.
“I don’t need your help,” I snap, trying to yank the jacket off, but it’s already snug around me.
He doesn’t move, just watching me with that irritatingly smug look.
“I know you don’t,” he says, his tone annoyingly calm.
“That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”
“So you’re doing it just to annoy me?”
Bishop’s smirk doesn’t fade.
“You’re welcome,” he replies smoothly, the words dripping with satisfaction.
I shoot him a pointed look, but I can’t deny the warmth I feel beneath the fabric.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Maybe,” he says with a half-smile, his tone just a little too smooth for my liking.
“But you’re not making it easy.”
I scowl, trying to ignore the flutter that his words cause in my chest. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for your help,” I shoot back, my hands still trying to tug at the jacket, but it’s useless.
He shrugs, unfazed. “I know. That’s what makes it fun.”
I grit my teeth, frustration mixing with something I can’t quite place.
It has nothing to do with the jacket, and everything to do with him.
I give up on trying to remove it and let out a sigh.
“You really have nothing better to do than spend your time annoying me, do you?” I mutter, not expecting an answer.
“I have plenty of other things I could be doing,” he says, his voice dipping lower.
“But watching you struggle with something as simple as refusing my jacket? Definitely more entertaining.” He leans in just slightly, his presence too close for comfort.
“But if you’re really done with it, I could always help you take it off properly.”
I scoff, though the effect of his words isn’t lost on me.
I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, and it’s definitely not because of the jacket.
“You really are a pain in the ass, you know that?”
He smirks, unbothered, like my words don’t faze him in the slightest. He steps closer, his breath brushing against my ear as he leans in, just close enough to make me feel it.
“I know you can’t resist me, even if you won’t admit it. I saw that the other night.”
The boldness of his words hits me harder than I expected, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
He doesn’t back away, his gaze locking onto mine with a confident, almost predatory look, like he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me.
Just then, Atlas walks up, his voice briefly cutting through the tension between us.
“Alright, students, we need you all to pair up for our activity. Same as last time—one rowing member and one Oceanic Reflection student per team.”
Coach Barkley stands off to the side, arms crossed, his face clearly saying he couldn’t care less about the group exercises.
Atlas, however, is full of energy as always.
I can still feel Bishop’s presence lingering too close behind me, and I can’t ignore the frustration building inside me.
Trying to get a grip on my composure, I fire back at him, not missing a beat.
“You really think I can’t resist you? You must be delusional. I’m pretty sure I’ve had enough of you in my life already.”
The smile lines around Bishop’s mouth only deepen, totally unfazed by my words.
He leans in again, his tone dropping to a self-assured, almost arrogant drawl.
“Nah. You’re just playing hard to get, but I’ve never shied away from a challenge. It’s fine, I know you’re curious.”
I raise an eyebrow, glaring at him.
“About what? Your endless ego trip?”
“You know, I think it’s cute when you pretend you’re not into me.” He leans in just enough to make sure I feel every word.
I scoff, crossing my arms. “Your intimidation tactics might work on everyone else, but not on me.”
Bishop chuckles softly, as if it’s the best thing he’s heard all day.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He pauses for a moment, eyes locking with mine.
“But don’t worry. I won’t bite…unless you ask nicely.”
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the way his words make my chest tighten.
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath.
He just shrugs. “You say that now, but I’m still waiting on that apology—for my camera, you know.”
I freeze for a split second, caught off guard.
An apology? Was he serious?
After everything he’d done to me?
“I mean, not that I’m in any rush,” he adds, eyes narrowing slightly, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second—just enough to make me realize it’s more than a camera to him.
“It’s just weird. You’d think if someone had the guts to steal something from me, they’d at least have the nerve to bring it up.”
His arrogance rings through, and the way he says it—like it’s impossible anyone would dare do such a thing— only reassures me.
It was a good choice.
I don’t regret it for a second.
I smirk, crossing my arms. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t exactly feel the need to apologize for giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
As Atlas continues explaining the rules, I glance around at the students already pairing up.
My gaze flicks back to Bishop—he hasn’t moved an inch, still standing far too close.
I scan the shoreline again.
Everyone’s already teamed up.
Except for us.
My stomach sinks, realizing what’s happened.
Bishop distracted me long enough that I couldn’t make a choice in time.
I shoot him a sharp look.
“You tricked me,” I hiss, barely able to keep my voice level.
He raises an eyebrow, the smirk still in place.
“Tricked? No. I just took advantage of the situation. Looks like you’re stuck with me, troublemaker.”
Bishop’s smirk deepens, and I can’t help but feel like he’s enjoying the situation just a little too much.
“Sucks, doesn’t it? When things don’t go our way, huh?”
I lift my chin, matching his smugness.
“I don’t know, Bishop. You tell me. Things always seem to work out for you.”
His eyes flicker with something dark and confident as he tosses my words right back at me.
“Yeah, they do. Funny how that works.”
As we approach the water, rows of boats are already lined up along the shoreline, each one ready for the activity.
The other students are already climbing in, pairing off quickly and moving with a practiced ease.
I can hear the faint sound of their chatter, the occasional splash of oars dipping into the water.
I glance around, noticing the eyes of my classmates on me.
It’s nothing new. I’ve always been the outcast, the one who never quite fit into the neatly organized boxes they put people in.
But it’s almost like the usual stares are a little more pointed today, a little more…
curious.
Then I spot her—Ophelia.
She’s glaring, but not at me.
No, she’s fixated on the jacket Bishop casually tossed over my shoulders.
The black fabric is sleek, with a bold white stripe running down the arms, and the school’s logo—a proud eagle—is embroidered on the front.
It’s unmistakably his.
Her eyes burn into the jacket with barely concealed rage, and the realization hits me all at once: it’s not me she’s angry at, well not directly this time.
It’s the fact that Bishop’s jacket is on me.
Is that why everyone else is staring too?
He steps forward, offering his hand with a smirk.
I can’t ignore the red wristband wrapped around his wrist, the same one I’d seen the other night.
Does he ever take it off?
I climb into the boat without his help, maneuvering myself in with a bit of awkwardness, but my pride won’t let me take his offered hand.
As I settle in, I glance over to see Bishop watching me with an amused expression, clearly finding my stubbornness more entertaining than anything.
“Alright, everyone,” Coach Barkley’s voice booms across the shoreline after everyone settles in on their own boats.
“Today, we’re going to be practicing some basic water rescue techniques. Each pair will take a boat out to the designated buoy, retrieve the object and head back.”
Everyone’s paired off, and I’m stuck with Bishop.
And I hate how effortlessly he made climbing into our boat look, his movements smooth and practiced.
He stepped in without hesitation and took the seat directly behind me, not so much as rocking it, making it look like second nature.
And then—of course—he scooted in closer than necessary, his knees brushing up against my back as he tugged me toward him just slightly, under the pretense of adjusting our balance.
I let out a sharp breath, pretending to be annoyed, but my body doesn’t quite get the message.
We’re practically touching now, and the space between us feels way too small.
He’s fine. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here, half-worried I’ll tip the boat just by breathing too hard.
I hate the water. Always have.
The idea of being out on it, especially when I can’t swim, makes my stomach churn.
If I fall in, I might as well start drowning right there.
I know how to survive on land, but this—this is a whole different kind of hell.
“You will be in charge of deciding who gets to row, and you can switch off if desired at each checkpoint,” Atlas chimes in, his usual enthusiasm ringing through the air.
“There are three objects to grab in total. First team back wins.”
I feel my face go pale.
Me? In charge of rowing?
That was Bishop’s thing; he was on the rowing team.
And now, not only am I stuck with him, but he’ll be watching my every move.
This is a disaster waiting to happen.
There’s no way I’m going to look graceful or competent.
But then I remember— Bishop’s on the rowing team .
He’s practically made for this.
I should be stressed, but instead, I feel a strange sense of relief.
If anyone can make this look easy, it’s him.
I have no doubt he’ll take charge and get us back on dry land fast.
The bastard.
This is exactly what he loves: being bossy, taking charge, and making everyone else feel like they don’t know what they’re doing.
And now, he gets to do it with me.
Perfect.
“On your mark…get set…go!” Atlas calls, just as Coach Barkley blows his whistle, the sound cutting through the air.
Bishop’s already ahead as the whistle barely finishes.
His strong arms move in perfect synchronization, the oars slicing through the water with barely any effort.
The boat glides forward, cutting through the surface like it’s nothing.
I can’t help but notice how effortlessly he handles it.
His biceps flex with each stroke, the muscles of his arms working with fluid precision.
It’s…actually really attractive.
And if I weren’t so uncomfortable being this far out on the water, or stuck in this stupid boat with him , I might even be able to focus more on it.
There’s something about how natural and confident he is, how in control of everything.
But then, the nausea hits.
I focus on the oars instead, determined not to think about his muscular arms and that attractive knowing look on his face.
It’s hard to ignore how smooth he makes it look though.