The Class President and the Bad Boy

"All women are bitches." "Excuse me?" I stared at Brooke like she'd just recited that out loud in church. "She's voicing Ace's personal philosophy," Jess said flatly, sipping her apple juice like this was totally normal breakfast conversation. "Only idiots think like that," I said, rolling my eyes hard enough to pull a muscle. "Facts," Alex muttered into his sandwich. Liam leaned back in his chair and scanned The Commons — Northside Academy's cafeteria, all cream walls and squeaky linoleum floors. "Speaking of — where is Ace?" Every single one of us turned toward the far corner at the exact same time. Force of habit. That table. You know the one. Three years, same corner, and nobody — nobody — sat within a ten-foot radius of it. Rumor had it a freshman once wandered too close and left with a bloody nose and zero memory of the previous forty-five minutes. Probably an exaggeration. Probably. That table belonged to the Trouble Triggers: Mason, Dev, and Blake — a.k.a. Ace — three guys who moved through this school like weather systems. Loud, unavoidable, and capable of serious damage. They were everywhere together, always, like some cursed package deal. Except right now, it was just Mason and Dev sitting there. Blake was MIA. "Maybe he's on a classified mission," I joked, scanning the room. "Without his shadow crew?" Jess shook her head. "Impossible. Those three are surgically attached." ❖❖❖❖❖ 'Jade Wilson, please report to the main office.' Four pairs of eyes landed on me. I shrugged. "Festival stuff, probably." "Being class president is literally a punishment," Jess declared. "You have no idea." I grabbed my bag, waved them off, and headed toward Mrs. Ford's office — our headmistress, the human equivalent of a red pen, who found fault in students the way other people found parking spots: constantly and without mercy. I heard her before I even knocked. "—you have the ability and the knowledge, and you choose not to use either. If I see another B on your record, you will be suspended." I froze outside the door, wondering which poor soul was getting flambéed in there. "Whatever." One word. Low, bored, completely unbothered. My stomach dropped. Blake. Of course. That's why his seat was empty. He was in here getting a whole sermon while looking like he couldn't care less. I could picture it perfectly — that infuriating blank expression, those dark eyes aimed anywhere except at the person talking to him — and despite everything, I almost smiled. Almost. I knocked. "Come in." Mrs. Ford sat behind her desk, radiating barely-contained fury. Blake sat across from her, angled in the chair like he owned it, studying the family photo on her wall instead of her face. All I could see was the back of his neck, the edge of the tattoo curling above his collar, his dark hair going in seventeen directions at once. I kept my eyes there. Safe zone. "Miss Wilson." Mrs. Ford gestured to the chair beside Blake. I took the one farthest from him. Obviously. "Mr. Michael Carter doesn't study," she announced. I blinked. "Michael?" A beat of silence. I felt heat crawl across my left cheek and knew — knew — he was looking at me. "Ace," Mrs. Ford said simply, pointing at him. "Right. Yeah." Blake Michael Carter. I'd literally forgotten his government name. "Got it." "He needs a tutor." She folded her hands. "Liam is strong academically but can't explain Newton's laws without making them worse. Jess is excellent — both smart and articulate — but her dance schedule conflicts with the sessions I have in mind. Which leaves you." I opened my mouth. "Okay, so Jess has Tuesdays and Thursdays, but maybe we could work around that, and honestly if we sat down with her schedule we could probably find a window that works because I have the festival prep and my own coursework and I'm already spread pretty thin and—" "You'll be his tutor, Miss Wilson. Five months. Through finals." Silence. "...I'm sorry, what?" "I also," she continued, steamrolling my crisis, "have decided that Blake will assist you with the school festival. It's time he contributed something to this institution other than chaos. Together you should be able to move faster, especially with student volunteers helping." "WHAT." We both said it at the same time. I still didn't look at him. "Working with a female?" Blake said it like the word tasted bad. "No." "I'm not exactly thrilled either," I snapped. "I don't want to tutor someone who clearly thinks I'm beneath him." "I'm not talking to you." His voice dropped. "Watch your mouth." "Who said I was talking to you, you walking red flag?" "You little—" "No swearing in my office." We both ignored her. "You mouthy little lizard—" "Oh, that's rich coming from someone with the emotional range of a traffic cone—" "Enough." The room went dead quiet. Even the air conditioner seemed scared. Mrs. Ford pressed two fingers to her temple and stared at us like we were a nature documentary she hadn't signed up for. "What is happening right now?" From my peripheral vision, I caught the corner of Blake's mouth twitch. Just barely. Gone in half a second. I stood up before she could yell again. "Understood, Mrs. Ford. I'll make it work. Bye." ❖❖❖❖❖ I leaned against the hallway wall and exhaled like I'd been holding my breath underwater. The door opened. Of course it did. "So." Blake stepped out, one hand sliding into his pocket, a smirk already loaded and ready. "How's life, Tutor?" I stared at him. This boy — who had just called me out of my name thirty seconds ago — was now leaning against the doorframe looking like a cologne ad, all dark eyes and easy confidence, asking me how's life like we were old friends. "It was going great," I said. "Right up until five minutes ago." "Rough." He didn't sound sympathetic. "You PMSing?" My hands curled into fists at my sides. "No. Are you?" I turned to walk away. "Tomorrow. After school. My place." I stopped. Turned back slowly. "Excuse me?" "For the tutoring." He shrugged, like he was doing me a favor. "We'll do festival stuff first, then head over." "I didn't agree to your place—" "You didn't agree to any of this. Neither did I." Something shifted in his expression, just for a second — something almost honest. "But here we are." He turned and walked away before I could respond. Classic. I stood there watching him go, absolutely furious, absolutely not noticing the way he moved in that white t-shirt and dark jeans like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. Not noticing. At all. He glanced back right before the hallway turn. "Wear something cute, Muffin." He winked. "Just a suggestion." My jaw hit the floor. Muffin. He called me Muffin. By tomorrow morning, this hallway, this moment, that wink — all of it would be headline gossip at Northside. I could already see it: Trouble Trigger Ace Bags Class President with Nickname. Someone was definitely going to add that we eloped. I pressed my palm flat against my forehead and groaned. ❖❖❖❖❖ "He called you what?" "A muffin," I repeated, slumping against Liam's car in the parking lot. "That's it, Mrs. Ford has lost her mind," Jess announced. "I never even knew he needed tutoring," Liam said. "When does he go to class?" "He doesn't," Brooke said, crossing her arms tight. "He smokes behind the gym and picks fights and somehow that counts as attendance apparently—" "Why do you hate them so much?" I asked, watching her. Her eyes went wide. Just for a second. "I don't — they just irritate me. That's all." "Sure?" "We should go." She turned toward her car too fast. Too clean of an exit. I looked at Jess. Jess looked at me. We both looked at Liam. None of us had answers. ❖❖❖❖❖ "Can you actually handle Blake Carter?" Jess asked in my passenger seat, Taylor Swift barely audible between us. "What do you mean?" "I mean—" She twisted to face me. "He's dangerous, Jade. Not dangerous like criminal dangerous. Dangerous like... he's him, and you're you, and you're going to be alone at his place, and he already gave you a nickname on day one." I laughed. "I'll be fine." I hope, said the small, traitorous voice in the back of my head.