The Bad boy's Secret Tutor

Bookwarm and the Quaterback

The library suddenly felt smaller.

Rain tapped against the tall windows in quick, impatient bursts, like it was trying to get in. Mia could hear it over the ticking of the old wall clock. 3:15 PM. Tutoring was supposed to end at 4.

Jake kicked his sneakers up under the table, making her neat stack of notes wobble.

"You know I only signed up for this because Coach said I’d be benched if I failed Calc, right?" He spun a pencil between his fingers. "I don’t do homework. I don’t do study groups. And I definitely don’t do... this." He gestured at her, glasses and all.

Mia didn’t flinch. She’d spent 16 years being invisible. She was used to boys like Jake — loud, golden, and allergic to effort.

"Good," she said, sliding a worksheet across to him. "Then we won’t waste time. Question one."

He stared at it like it was written in another language. Then he looked up at her, and that smirk softened, just a little.

"You’re serious, huh?"

"I’m always serious when it comes to grades." She pushed her glasses up. "And you’re going to be serious too, Mr. Bennett. Because if you fail, I fail. They paired us."

For the first time, Jake actually read the problem. He frowned. Erased something. Tried again.

Outside, thunder rolled.

Mia pretended not to notice how he kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Or how, when the lights flickered from the storm, he leaned forward like he was about to say something... and then didn’t.

The bell for after-school activities rang. Neither of them moved.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jake finally muttered, shoving the worksheet in his bag.

Mia nodded, heart doing something stupid she refused to name.

"Same time tomorrow, bookworm."

He left. The door slammed again.

And Mia sat there, in the quiet, with rain on the windows and trouble sitting right across from her in the empty chair.

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