Bad Boy in My DMs

Zara Kingston didn’t do drama—unless it was lip gloss, lashes, or lyrics. High school? That was just the runway. Her walk between classes was a performance. Her look today—black crop top, low-rise jeans, fresh acrylics—said don’t try me, and people listened. Except Kelsey Beaumont. “Oops,” Kelsey sneered as she walked past, knocking a full tray of orange juice onto Zara’s best friend, Luna. The table gasped. The hall gasped. Luna stood there soaked and shaking, a chorus of cackles echoing through the cafeteria. Kelsey’s minions whispered behind perfectly painted nails. Zara stood still, eyes narrowing. She was tired of this. Tired of watching Luna cry. Tired of letting these girls get away with everything. She picked up her phone, flipped the camera, and hit record. “I think it’s cute,” she said sweetly, looking dead into the lens. “How you always manage to make other girls feel small. Is that the only way you feel big?” She turned it to show Kelsey in the background, still laughing like she owned the building. “Next time you wanna be the center of attention, babe—maybe try a talent.” Post. ⸻ By 4th period, Zara had over 30,000 likes. By 6th, it was 100K. And by the end of the day, she was the name on every tongue in Harborview High. “That girl on t****k,” people whispered as she walked down the halls. “She ate. No crumbs.” Luna’s phone was blowing up with DMs. Students Zara barely knew were reposting her video, adding captions like SAY IT LOUDER, NEW QUEEN ENERGY, and Kelsey who? Zara pretended to be unbothered, but her heart was drumming in her chest. She kept checking the video views in class, biting back a smile. Her voice—calm, smooth, a little deadly—had gone viral. ⸻ That night, she lay on her bed with her LED lights set to purple, scrolling through comments. She liked a few, ignored the rest, and was about to log off when she saw it: DM Request: @WavyGod verified account Zara blinked. She didn’t follow him. Didn’t know who he was. No profile pic. No bio. She tapped the message. “You’re the girl who said that, right?” She stared at it. One minute passed. Two. She locked her phone. Maybe it was a troll. Then it buzzed again. Voice Note (00:08) Her finger hovered. She hit play. “Zara Kingston,” a deep, smooth voice rumbled, “I like girls who speak with their chest. You’ve got fire. I want more.” She sat up straight. Who the hell was that? She clicked the username. @WavyGod — 1.7 million followers. Underground rapper. Anonymous face. All his videos were from the neck down, his voice wrapped in bass and smoke. His fans called him The Voice You Feel. His bio only said: Wavy. Don’t drown. ⸻ Next day, Zara strutted into school like she owned it. Because, honestly? She did. The cafeteria went silent when she walked in. Even Kelsey was quiet. That never happened. Luna ran up beside her, eyes wide. “You’ve seen the comments, right? Everyone’s obsessed. Even—” she dropped her voice—“guys. Like real guys.” Zara smirked. “Let them obsess.” She wasn’t even hungry. She just needed to be seen. But just as she turned toward her locker, her phone buzzed again. DM: WavyGod — “Meet me. Courtyard. After school.” She didn’t respond. Five seconds later: Voice Note (00:06) “Come through. Or keep playing pretend.” Her breath caught. That voice again. Dark velvet. Daring her. Zara licked her glossed lips, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and whispered to herself: “I don’t pretend.” She slid her phone into her pocket. Courtyard. 4PM. Game on. ⸻