The Sweet Taste of Malice

Chapter 5

Ryan

"Hey, man, you even listening?"

Tyler’s voice broke through the low hum of the crowded hallway, accompanied by a heavy smack to my shoulder. I blinked, pulling my gaze away from the empty space near the AP lockers where Klara had stood just seconds ago.

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m listening," I lied, adjusting the strap of my gym bag. "What were you saying?"

"Coach wants us in the film room twenty minutes early today before practice," Tyler said, rolling his eyes as we started walking toward the varsity hall. "Something about fixing our blocking schemes. But honestly, who cares? We're playing Oak Ridge on Friday. They haven't won a game all season."

"We care," I muttered, my voice sharper than I intended. "Oak Ridge is a trap game if we don't take it seriously. I'm not dropping our streak because we got lazy."

Tyler raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, chill, QB1. Save the speech for the locker room."

I muttered an apology, but my mind was completely elsewhere. Specifically, it was stuck on the way Klara had just looked at me—or rather, the way she had looked through me.

Last night, when I climbed over her balcony railing, she had been a breathless, trembling wire of nerves. Her skin had been warm, her pulse racing so fast I could feel it against my own thumb. I had gone there intending to mess with her, to remind her of her place after she humiliated me by passing out in class. But the moment I saw her standing there in nothing but a towel, looking so fragile and yet so entirely out of my league, the script had flipped. I had lost control. I had said things I shouldn't have. I had wanted things I shouldn't want.

And today, she looked at me like I was a ghost. Like I didn't even exist.

It infuriated me. No one ignored me. Especially not the quiet girl who usually shrank into the background whenever I walked by.

"Hey, baby."

A pair of manicured hands slid up my chest, and the sickeningly sweet scent of vanilla perfume filled my nose. Sophie smiled up at me, stepping perfectly into my space and brushing a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Hey," I said, forcing a faint smile. Normally, having the head cheerleader on my arm felt like the natural order of things. Today, the weight of her hands just felt suffocating.

"So, I ran into your little charity case by the lockers," Sophie chuckled, leaning against my side as we walked. "I told her she better keep her head down and actually do her job tutoring you. Honestly, Ryan, it's so cute that you're letting her feel useful, but she was looking at you weirdly in class yesterday. I just had to remind her where she stands."

I froze in the middle of the hallway. The casual, cruel amusement in Sophie's voice made something hot and ugly flare up in my chest.

"What did you say to her, Sophie?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave.

Sophie blinked, her perfect smile faltering slightly at my tone. "Just... that she shouldn't get any ideas. That you think the whole thing is a joke anyway. Because it is, right?" She looked at me, a sudden flash of insecurity in her eyes. "I mean, you're Ryan Fitzgerald. You wouldn't actually care about what some invisible nobody thinks."

A joke. That’s what Klara thought it was. She thought the balcony, the words, the way I had practically begged her to look at me last night was all just a setup for a punchline. That’s why she had looked at me with so much cold, quiet hatred.

"Drop it, Sophie," I said, pulling away from her touch. "Just leave her alone. I don't need you managing my business."

"Ryan—"

"I have to get to class," I interrupted, not waiting for her to finish. I turned on my heel and walked away, ignoring Tyler calling out after me.

My chest felt tight, the anger burning a hole through my focus. I didn't care about Klara. I shouldn't care. She was just the quiet girl who was supposed to fix my grades so I could get my scout tokens and get the hell out of this town.

But as I walked into AP English and saw her already seated in the back corner, her chin resting in her hand as she stared fixedly out the window, a dark, possessive urge took root in my chest.

She thought I was playing a game? Fine. But she was dead wrong if she thought she could just opt out. I was going to make her look at me again, even if I had to burn down both of our worlds to do it.