The loser, the bully and the pop star

Chapter 5

5: AIDAN’S POV

The locker room felt like a tomb.

The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning and the distant, muffled shouting of the students on the field outside.

Ethan walked toward me with a slow, predatory grace. He’d taken off his blazer, his white gym shirt clinging to his shoulders.

He looked even bigger in the confined space, more dangerous.

"So," Ethan said, stopping just a few inches from me. "No teachers. No grandma. Nobody around to watch and take notes. Just us."

"What do you want, Ethan?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

I backed up until my spine hit the cold, hard metal of the lockers.

"I want you to understand how things work here," Ethan said.

He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck.

It wasn't a choke, but his grip was firm, possessive and a clear reminder of who held the power.

"You think you’re special because you’ve got a scholarship? You’re nothing. You’re a bug that got caught in the wrong house."

"Let go of me," I said, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened.

"Or what?" Ethan hissed, leaning in until I could see the flecks of grey in his eyes. "You’ll call me a prick again? Go ahead. Say it. I want to see if you’re as brave when there’s no one around to save you."

I stared at him, my heart hammering.

I couldn’t fight him off even if I tried. Even if I could, his friends would beat me up.

On top of that, I would still get the blame and end up getting expelled.

He could crush my scholarship, my future, and my ribcage without even breaking a sweat.

“Go on, scholarship, say something!!!”

The door to the locker room groaned, then flew open with a bang that shook the walls.

"He doesn't have to say anything to you, Ethan."

Damian was standing in the doorway, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, looking like he’d just stepped off a stage.

He walked into the room like he didn’t care that Ethan and his goons were right there.

"Get out, Damian," Ethan growled, his hand still clamped on the back of my neck. "This is between me and the scholarship trash."

"Actually, it isn't," Damian said, walking right up to us.

He didn't look scared; he looked bored.

He reached out and pushed Ethan’s hand off my neck with a casual, dismissive flick.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable for a second before he reached out and took my hand in his.

His skin was warm, his grip firm and public.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asked, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl.

"Taking what's mine," Damian said, his voice loud and clear.

“What the hell are you talking about, Vae?”

Damian looked Ethan dead in the eye, his grip on my hand tightening.

"Let’s be clear for everyone watching. Aidan is with me now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ethan demanded.

“It means I’ve taking a liking to him and that means if you touch him, you bother him, or you even look at him the wrong way, and you’ll have to deal with me. And you know how much the press loves a scandal involving the Crawford family."

Ethan’s face went pale with pure, unadulterated rage.

He looked like he was about to swing, but Damian didn't wait. He pulled me toward the door, my hand still locked in his.

As we passed Weston, who was standing wide-eyed in the hallway with the rest of the class, Damian didn't even acknowledge him.

But I did. I looked Weston right in the eye, and for the first time, I didn't feel like the one who was small.

Damian led me down the hall, not letting go until we were well away from the gym.

“Are you okay?” He asked when we had finally stopped

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, breathless. "You don't even know me."

Damian stopped and looked at me, a playful smirk on his face.

"Because, Aidan. I’ve been looking for a reason to ruin Ethan’s day for a long time. And I think you’re going to be the best reason I’ve ever had."

Chapter One: Aidan’s POV

The rain was relentless.

It felt like the heavy downpour was actively trying to wash me right off the pavement.

I stood on the curb outside the theater, my cheap hoodie already soaked through to the skin.

Beside me, the engine of a sleek, black Porsche idled away.

My boyfriend, Weston sat behind the wheel, staring right at me but wouldn’t let me in.

He didn’t even care that I was getting drenched.

It was so unlike him.

“Wes, can you at least let me in the car? It’s raining cats and dogs out here”

"I can't do this anymore, Aidan," he said, "It’s just... it’s a lot. More than I bargained for."

I wiped a stream of water from my eyes, my heart beginning to sink.

What was he saying right now?

" What does that even mean, Wes? I’ve been the one taking three buses just to see you for an hour.“

"Exactly!" He finally snapped. "The buses, the cheap hoodies, the way you look at the menu when I take you out... it’s exhausting.”

“But, Wes…..”

“Look, Aidan. Truth be told, this was just a summer thing. A fun distraction."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"A distraction? We’ve been together for a year. I told you I loved you."

Weston let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"And I let you say it. But look at where we are. Next week, I start at Aurelian Heights. My life is about to get very big, very fast. My father expects me to be seen with…..well, a certain type of person.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean, People who don’t have to check their bank balance before ordering a coffee."

"But I got the scholarship, Weston," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I’m going to Aurelian Heights too. I was coming here to tell you. We’re going to be in the same school. We don't have to be apart."

Weston’s eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they went colder.

"You got the scholarship?" He repeated, his lip curling in a way that made my stomach turn. "Aidan, do you have any idea how that looks? You’re going to be the charity case. If you show up there and tell people we were together, My reputation won't survive being linked to someone like you."

That’s when the reality finally hit.

"You’re ashamed of me," I realized, the words tasting like copper.

"I’m being realistic," he retorted. "Aurelian Heights is a fresh start. I need you to stay away from me. Don't call me, don't text me, and for the love of God, don't look at me in the hallways.”

“But…..”

“We were a mistake, Aidan. A summer slip-up."

"You’re a horrible person, Weston."

"And you're the one standing in the rain," he said, reaching for the gear shift. "Check the bus schedule. I’m sure there’s one coming eventually."

He rolled up the window and drove away.

I stood there alone, hands shaking, utterly devastated and crying in the rain.

**Monday Morning**

Aurelian Heights Academy looked more like a five-star resort than a high school.

Ivory pillars, manicured lawns, and a gate so large it felt like it was designed to keep the "wrong" people out.

I stood at the entrance, my heart hammering.

I was wearing the uniform but I felt like a fraud.

Every other student getting out of their chauffeured cars looked like they belonged on a runway.

I unfortunately saw Weston almost immediately.

He was standing near a marble fountain, surrounded by a group of guys who looked like they were born with silver spoons in their mouths.

He caught my eye for a fraction of a second.

I ducked my head, trying to focus on finding the admin block.

The sting of the humiliating breakup was still fresh and seeing him was not the best thing for me right now.

I just needed to survive the first hour and I’d be fine.

CRASH.

I slammed into something solid.

My bag flew open, and my books tumbled across the walkway.

"Are you blind, or just looking for someone to punch you in the face?"

The voice was deep, dripping with a casual, practiced cruelty.

I looked up and felt the air leave my lungs.

Ethan Crawford.

At least, that’s what his name tag said.

I’d seen his face in the school’s 'Legacy' brochure. He was the grandson of the Headmistress.

Plus, judging by the way people were already backing away, he may also be the undisputed king of the campus.

He was tall, bigger than me with shoulders that blocked out the morning sun and eyes that looked like ice.

"I….I'm sorry," I stammered, dropping to my knees to scramble for my things. "I didn't see you."

"Clearly."

Ethan didn't move.

Instead, he stepped forward, his polished leather shoe pinning my biology notebook to the pavement.

He ground his heel into the cover, leaving a jagged, ugly scuff mark across the title.

"You know,” he began, “The school really needs to check the locks on the gate. It seems like the local trash is blowing onto the lawn again."

The guys behind him laughed.

I looked up, and for some reason, Weston watching from the distance, was laughing too and that made me snap.

Gathering my things finally, I stood up and faced him.

“I got in fair and square, you prick," I said, my voice shaking but loud enough for the circle of onlookers to hear. "The only difference is that I actually have the brains to be here. You just have a last name."

The silence that followed was terrifying.

People gasped; looking from Ethan to me and back again.

Ethan’s smirk didn't just fade; it turned into something dark.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his presence so overwhelming I could smell his woody, expensive cologne.

"What did you just call me, scholarship trash?"

"A prick," I whispered, the adrenaline finally hitting my system. "I called you a prick. Now get your foot off my book."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

He reached out, his fingers twitching as if he were about to grab the front of my shirt, when a sharp, authoritative voice called my name.

"Mr. Aidan Green!"

A tall woman in a severe, charcoal-grey suit was marching toward us.

Her eyes were like lasers, and they were fixed directly on me.

"The headmistress’ office. Right now!”

Great.

Just, f*****g great.

2: Aidan’s POV

The Headmistress’s office didn’t just smell like expensive leather; it smelled like the kind of wealth that had been sitting in the same spot for three generations.

Mrs. Crawford, the headmistress, didn’t sit down.

She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her silhouette sharp against the morning sun, looking out at the sprawling green campus she ruled with what I heard was an iron fist.

Auerlian heights was more than a school; it was an ecosystem of influence, and she was the apex predator.

I sat on the edge of a velvet chair.

I tucked my hands under my thighs, pressing them against the underside of the seat to hide the fact that they were now trembling.

First day here and I’m already in trouble.

How was I going to explain this to Mom?

I could see her face—the tired lines around her eyes, the way she’d spent all summer working overtime shifts just so I could have the right blazer and the right shoes.

She would have been so disappointed.

"Aidan Green," she said. Her voice didn't carry warmth; it carried the thin, stinging precision of a paper cut.

She finally turned, her movements slow and deliberate. Her eyes scanned me with a clinical kind of disgust, as if she were inspecting a smudge on a white shirt.

“Ye…yes, ma’am,” I stammered.

“I spent my morning reviewing your academic record,” she began, pacing toward her mahogany desk.

Each click of her heels on the hardwood floor sounded like a countdown.

“Yes, ma’am”

“It’s quite impressive. Top of your class at your previous institution, perfect scores in mathematics, and a personal essay that apparently moved the board to tears. They called you a 'shining light from a neglected corner of the city.'”

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't thank me," she snapped.

I flinched, my shoulders hunching toward my ears.

I felt a familiar heat of embarrassment crawling up my neck.

What did I do this time? Being smart was supposed to be my shield, but here, it felt like it had just made me a more visible target.

“Sorry for thanking you?” I whispered, the words sounding ridiculous as soon as they left my mouth.

She didn't find it funny.

She walked around the desk, leaning over me until I was trapped in her shadow.

I could see the fine lines of age around her mouth, frozen into a permanent sneer of disapproval.

The air between us felt heavy with the weight of things left unsaid.

"Do you know how many students applied for the Aurelian Scholarship this year, Aidan?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Three thousand. Three thousand students from families who would have given everything—their homes, their legacies, their very souls to have their child sitting in that seat."

She tapped the velvet chair I was currently occupying.

"Children who understand the value of the air they breathe in these halls."

"I know, ma'am. I’m grateful for the oppor……”

"Grateful?" she interrupted, her voice dropping to a low hiss that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You’ve been on this campus for less than thirty minutes and you’ve already started a public altercation with my grandson."

Started?

What the hell did I start?

"He was the one who stepped on my notebook," I argued. The injustice of it briefly overrode my fear, a spark of stubbornness lighting up in my chest. "He was the one who insulted me. He called me…..”

“I DO NOT CARE!”

“Huh?”

"Let me be very clear with you, Aidan. You are here as a gesture of goodwill. You are a 'diversity' metric for our annual report.." She leaned in closer, "A charity case designed to make our donors feel like they are saving the world”

“But he started it,” I insisted, though my voice was becoming smaller, drowning in the sheer scale of her authority.

"Ethan is a legacy. He is the future of this institution, a bloodline that has funded these libraries and these labs for a century. You? You are a line on a tax return. If I hear your name mentioned in a disciplinary report again, your scholarship is revoked. I will personally see to it that you are back in that 'neglected corner' by sunset. Am I clear?"

All of this? Because of some arrogant i***t who couldn't help but bully me?

Because I dared to defend the only things I owned?

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered. My face was burning with a shame so hot.

It wasn't just the threat; it was the realization that I wasn't a student here.

I was a guest who was being told to stay in the basement.

"Good. Get to your classes. You’re already late, and I despise tardiness as much as I despise insolence."

“Yes, ma’am.”

I scrambled out of the chair, my legs feeling like lead.

I was halfway to the door, desperate for the oxygen of the hallway, when her voice cut through the room one last time.

“And Aidan?”

I stopped, my hand on the heavy brass handle. “Yes?”

“Stay away from Ethan. You are at the bottom of the food chain here. Try not to make yourself a target. It’s a long way down if you fall.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I practically dove out of the office, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind me with a finality that felt like a prison cell locking.

I leaned against the cool wall for a second, my lungs burning as if I’d just run a relentless marathon.

My vision blurred for a moment.

I felt small. Smaller than I’d felt when Weston dumped me but that had been a heartbreak, but this was different.

This was being told that my entire existence was a footnote in someone else's story.

"She’s a real ray of sunshine, isn't she? A regular Mary Poppins."

I jumped, nearly hitting my head against the wall. I hadn't even noticed I wasn't alone.

Leaning against a pillar across the hall was a guy who looked like he’d stepped directly off a movie poster or a high-end fashion catalog.

He had perfectly styled brown hair that caught the light from the clerestory windows, looking like it cost more to maintain than my mom’s monthly rent.

His uniform was tailored to perfection, and he wore his tie with a looseness that suggested he didn't fear the Headmistress in the slightest.

"Who are you?" I wiped my eyes quickly with the back of my hand, praying that I didn't look like I was about to cry.

I couldn't handle another witness to my humiliation.

"Damian Vae," he said, pushing off the wall with a graceful, feline movement.

He walked toward me, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. "And I saw the courtyard show. Bold move, scholarship. Nobody’s called Ethan a prick in ages. Mostly because nobody likes stating the obvious."

"I’m going to get expelled if I do that again apparently," I muttered, hugging my backpack to my chest like a shield. "She made it very clear where I stand."

"At the bottom?”

That word stung and I visibly recoiled a little.

“Yeah”

“Yeah, the old hag likes that metaphor. Sorry about that. Simply the game of elite school politics" Damian said.

He stopped right in front of me, invading my personal space in a way that was entirely different from Ethan.

Ethan had been aggressive, a physical threat.

Damian was... observant. He looked at me like I was a puzzle he was interested in solving.

“I don’t want to play any games.I just want to graduate in peace and get out of here,” I said, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

Damian chuckled.

"Too late for that, scholarship. You’ve already been noticed."

“It’s Aidan,” I corrected him, trying to reclaim some small shred of my identity.

“Well, Aidan, pleasure to meet you. I’ll see you around. Try to stay alive until lunch, okay? The sharks get hungrier as the day goes on."

He turned and strolled down the hall. He walked with the easy gait of someone who owned the air he breathed.

Almost immediately, a group of girls in pleated skirts swarmed him, chirping his name, but he didn't stop.

He looked back over his shoulder one last time, winked at me and disappeared around the corner.

3: Aidan’s POV

The rest of the morning was a blur of high-ceilinged classrooms and students who avoided me like a plague.

Not that I could blame them. I did kind of expect it.

Didn’t make it any less shitty having people snicker and point at me at every turn.

A part of me began to regret why I even applied here. What exactly did I think they would do? Roll out the red carpet?

My third-period class was Advanced Literature. I walked in and headed straight for the back corner.

At least, this way, I could find a seat where I could blend into the shadows.

"b***h, you do realize you’re allowed to sit anywhere you like don’t you? What are you doing all the way back here?"

I looked at the person in the seat next to mine.

He had purple-dyed hair styled into a perfect, shimmering pompadour and was currently busy filing a nail with a gold-plated emery board.

“I guess I don’t want anyone looking at me” I replied softly and turned away.

"Hmm hmm. You’re too cute to be hiding though,” he dropped the nail file, “you’re the scholarship kid right?”

“Yeah, I guess”

“I’m Poppy," he said, "And before you ask, yes, I am the only person in this entire academy with an actual personality. These other sluts might as well be human robots”

“They don’t like me much”

“So? Bitches will be bitches. What’s your name?”

"I’m Aidan," I said, cautiously setting my bag down.

"Cute name. Anyway, I already knew who you were darling," Poppy said, excitedly looking at me.

His eyes were bright, sharp, and rimmed with a subtle bit of eyeliner.

“You did?”

"b***h, yes. Your Ethan-Slayer. The Scholarship Boy with the Big Mouth. The group chats have been buzzing since you got here."

"Great," I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Just what I wanted."

"Don't be like that! Publicity is power, even if it’s the bad kind," Poppy said, leaning in close.

“Is there anyone else I should avoid? Asides, Ethan that is. Wouldn’t want to have an extra target on my back”

"Well, you’re not wrong to ask. I’m nice so I’ll give you the run down. This shark tank of a school has a bunch of top kids.”

“We’ve got the princes and the princesses. But you don’t have to worry about those chicks”

“Okay. Tell me about the princes”

“Wellll, You’ve got Ethan Crawford on one side. He’s the grandson of the old dragon”

“Old dragon?”

“The headmistress, baby. Keep up will ya”

“Oh yeah. Sorry. Go on”

“And on the other end, you’ve got Damian Vea on the other."

"Damian? The guy I met in the hall?"

“You? Met Damian Vae. b***h, stop lying”

“No, I swear, I’m not. He seemed nice enough”

"The guy you met in the hall is a teen idol in training, Aidan," Poppy said, smiling a little. "He’s a pop star. He has three million followers and a record deal that’s probably worth more than this building. He’s the other 'Prince' of the school.”

“Sooo, I’m guessing Ethan is the muscle, Damian is the face?”

“Ding ding ding”

"And what about Weston?" I asked, the name feeling like a bruise on my tongue.

I know I shouldn’t have asked and even now it hurt to think of him but I had to know.

Poppy’s expression turned sour for a split second.

"Weston? Oh, that moron is just a climber. He’s trying so hard to fit into Ethan’s circle that he’d sell his own mother for a seat at their lunch table. You know him?”

"We used to be... something," I whispered.

"Oh, honey. You dated that?" Poppy asked.

“I guess”

Poppy patted my hand like a friend trying to offer comfort.

"Don’t ever go back there. Anyway, you should stick with me. I like underdogs, and I especially like people who make Ethan Crawford look stupid. We’re going to be best friends, I can already tell."

“Ummm…..yeah, thanks I guess”

The teacher walked in then, and Poppy went back to his nails.

As the lesson started, I looked out the window.

Damian was sitting in a courtyard below, surrounded by fans, but he was looking up toward the classrooms.

For a second, I could have sworn our eyes met.

He waved a bit and then went back to signing an autograph.

4: AIDAN’S POV

The gym at Aurelian heights wasn't just a gym; it was a cathedral of physical perfection.

It looked more like a high-performance facility where Olympic athletes might spend their off-seasons training for gold, and even that felt like a gross understatement.

The floors were a polished, high-grip maple that didn't just shine; it glowed under the recessed LED lighting.

The air was climate-controlled, filtered to a crispness that lacked even a hint of the usual adolescent sweat found in a normal high school locker room.

Here, even the scent of exertion was expensive.

I was changing in the furthest corner of the locker room, wedged between a row of sleek, slate-gray lockers and a concrete pillar.

I was trying to occupy as little physical space as possible, keeping my head down and my eyes glued to the laces of my sneakers.

I knew how these places worked. At a school like this, eye contact was a challenge.

If I looked at someone for a second too long, I was "looking at them funny."

If I looked away too fast, I was "being shifty."

It was a lose-lose game, and I had already used up my lifetime supply of luck in the Headmistress’s office.

The last thing I needed was to be summoned back to that office because I’d accidentally offended some sensitive heir.

"Aidan. May I have a word with you?"

The voice hit me like a bucket of ice water.

I pulled my gym shirt over my head, the fabric catching briefly on my ears before I smoothed it down and turned around.

Weston was standing there. He looked sickeningly perfect.

He was dressed in designer athletic gear that featured moisture-wicking technology I probably couldn't afford for the next decade.

He looked like he’d been plucked straight out of a luxury activewear campaign, all lean muscle and effortless grace.

The sight of him made my stomach do a slow, painful flip.

Even though he had shattered my heart into a million jagged pieces on the side of a dusty road just weeks ago, I couldn't help the Pavlovian response of my own heart.

I was still painfully, embarrassingly attracted to him.

We were supposed to be together.

We were supposed to be the exception to the rule.

Looking at him now, the breakup felt like a fever dream I wasn't quite ready to wake up from.

"I thought you said we shouldn't talk," I said.

I kept my voice flat to mask the fact that I still wanted to reach out and touch the sleeve of his shirt.

I couldn't let him hear the sadness; I couldn't let him see the cracks in my foundation.

"We shouldn't," he hissed.

He didn't look at me with longing; he looked at me with panic.

He glanced nervously over his shoulder at a group of his friends who were laughing near the benches, making sure they were sufficiently distracted.

"But I heard what happened with the Headmistress. My God, Aidan, are you trying to get expelled? On day one?"

“What’s it to you?” I asked, leaning back against the cold metal of the locker. “That should be something that would make you happy, right? If I disappeared, you wouldn't have to worry about the 'mistake' you made this summer.”

“What the hell is your problem, Aidan?” he snapped, his eyes flashing with a mix of guilt and irritation.

“Excuse you?”

“No, excuse YOU, Aidan. You’re already making a scene, and it’s only Monday. Do you have any idea how much weight the Crawford name carries here? You can’t just go around picking fights with Ethan.”

"I wasn't the one who started it, Weston. Ethan was the one who stepped on my things.”

"I don't care about Ethan!" Weston stepped closer, invading my space.

For a second, I smelled his cologne.

It was the same one he wore when we’d watched the stars from the hood of his car and it nearly broke me.

But his voice was a low, desperate whisper, stripped of any warmth.

"What I care about is my reputation. If people find out I was dating a 'diversity' kid who gets called into the office on his first day, I’m done. My social standing will be tanked”

“Oh, poor Weston,” I said, the bitterness finally bubbling over. “Life must be so hard for the boy with the designer shorts and the sterling reputation.”

“Now you listen here, Aidan. My dad is already breathing down my neck about making the right 'connections.' This year is about networking. It’s about building a future with people who actually matter.”

"Connections," I repeated, a bitter, jagged laugh escaping my throat. "Is that all I was to you? A bad connection?"

"Aidan, be realistic. We aren't in some indie movie where the rich guy and the scholarship kid walk off into the sunset.”

“What the hell, Weston”

“Just... lay low. Don't mention us. Don't even look at me. If you see me in the hall, keep walking. If you ruin this for me, I swear to God, Aidan……”

He stopped abruptly.

The heavy double doors of the gym swung open with a violent, metallic bang that echoed off the high ceilings.

The chatter in the room died instantly. It was as if someone had flipped a master switch, cutting the power to every conversation.

Ethan Crawford walked in.

He moved with the entitlement of a king entering a vassal state. He wasn't alone, either.

He