The Corruption of the Good Girl

Chapter 3: Maths With the Bad Boy

Lillys POV:

As we entered the classroom, I made sure to secure one of the front tables – ideal for note-taking and significantly less distracting. Hailey took her seat right beside me. This arrangement was quite typical for us. As consistent straight-A students, we usually found ourselves in the top classes. Unless we opted for different subjects, we were more often than not in the same class together.

The lesson began, and our teacher, Ms. Dirkwood, an assertive woman with a compact frame, sharp features, and a commanding posture, strode confidently into the room. "Alright, class, there's no room for slacking off this year. You either invest effort and earn good grades, or you don't and risk falling behind and failing. Either way, it's not my concern. You're adults now, and this year is all about learning responsibility. If you miss a class, it's your responsibility to obtain notes from either me or your classmates. Falling behind again... not my concern. I'll provide all the notes, formulas, practice tests, and mock exams you could possibly need to excel. If you follow my instructions and put in the effort, passing without question is within your reach. If not, it's on you. No coddling this year. Understood?" she stated in a brisk and matter-of-fact manner mere seconds after entering the room.

"Yes, Miss," we all responded promptly, and she immediately launched into the lesson. Since today marked our first day, she had prepared a mock test encompassing everything we should have learned last year. It covered at least one question from each subject that was taught last year. This was designed to gauge our current knowledge level and ensure the foundational subjects from the previous year were still fresh before we progressed. Many of the concepts from the previous year would intertwine with this year's curriculum, so putting forth our best effort was crucial. If the test revealed any weak points, we were assured a few days to review before moving forward.

I was elated with everything Ms. Dirkwood had conveyed. I had spent some of my summer vacation voluntarily tackling math quizzes for the sheer joy of it, so I felt confident that her test wouldn't pose a challenge. She distributed mock tests to each student and then took her seat.

I grabbed my pen and calculator, diving into the test with fervor. Question after question fell before me as I whizzed through them. I was well into the last page of the 15-page test when… "f**k you, you stupid prick!" a voice echoed down the hall, disrupting my concentration. My head snapped up to witness the door being forced open by none other than Mr. McMadan, another math teacher. He moved swiftly, narrowly dodging a math textbook hurtling through the air, propelled by none other than OakRidge High's resident bad boy, Carson Ownes.

"Mr. Ownes, calm down," Mr. McMadan's voice resonated sternly, attempting to diffuse the situation.

"Apologies for the disruption, Ms. Dirkwood," he said, addressing our teacher. "But would you mind if Mr. Ownes here joined your class for the remainder of the school day? The young man has been consistently disrupting my lesson and preventing his classmates from working."

"Not at all," Ms. Dirkwood responded calmly. "Mr. Ownes, please take a seat here," she directed, gesturing to the desk adjacent to mine and Hailey's.

"Yeah, yeah, go and f**k yourselves, you fat pricks," Carson retorted with a defiant sneer as he begrudgingly took his seat. Mr. McMadan returned to his classroom, and our class began to settle, the mock test resuming as the atmosphere gradually regained its composure.

About twenty minutes later, I found myself finished with the test, double-checking my answers. I was just about to raise my hand to request some self-study time for the remaining duration of the class when I heard a faint "pst, pst, hello? Do you speak English?" The voice came from the bad boy sitting beside me. I looked up to see Carson smirking at me.

"What's up?" I replied, my gaze returning to my desk.

"Nothing, just bored," he sighed, an air of exhaustion tinging his voice.

"You can't be bored when you haven't done any of your work," I shot back, indicating his untouched jotter.

"I mean, you haven't even cracked open your textbook," I continued.

"MIND YOUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS!!" he snapped back, his outburst drawing the attention of both Ms. Dirkwood and the rest of the class.

"Hey, settle down," Ms. Dirkwood interjected firmly. Just as things began to calm, Carson's anger flared once again. "You know what? Screw this! I'm out of here!" he declared with vehemence, springing up from his seat and storming out of the classroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Carson's exit from the classroom had been so tumultuous that he left his textbooks and bag behind. The rest of the lesson unfolded calmly, and I was granted the self-study time I had requested. During that period, I delved into the projects for my other classes. The final bell rang, and the classroom quickly emptied out as my classmates dashed to their next destinations. Hailey, who took the school bus home, had also departed.

I became so engrossed in tackling my Chemistry homework that I barely registered the bell's chime. It wasn't until the corridor outside echoed with stern voices and Carson's boisterous yelling that I realized the school day had concluded. I swiftly packed my belongings and headed towards the exit. In my haste, I accidentally collided with Carson. My body was propelled through the air until I landed with a jolt on the floor. Meanwhile, Carson remained coldly immobile, his gaze fixed upon me.

His voice laced with a hint of irritation, he asked, "Are you dumb or something? School's over, you know. Why are you still here?" Terrified, I stammered, "Eh, eh, I-I...". As my body trembled, Carson extended his hand and helped me to my feet. Just then, Mr. McMadan and Ms. Dirkwood returned to the class, entering almost as if they were preparing for a battle.

"Carson, I understand your frustration," Mr. McMadan began, "but I'm left with no alternative. You're not paying attention in class, you're already lagging due to your absenteeism last year, and it's only the first day, yet you've managed to disrupt the lesson. You have two choices: either pay for a tutor and catch up, or drop out. I won't expend more energy on someone who shows no effort."

Carson fired back without missing a beat, "Firstly, you ignorant prick, I don't want my problems or my situation broadcast in front of some chick I barely know," gesturing toward me. "Secondly, where am I supposed to find money for a tutor? It's like $100 a lesson, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly rolling in cash. Your job is to teach me, for f**k's sake! You're not going to make me drop out!"

The situation left me profoundly uncomfortable. Before I could fully think through the consequences, I blurted out, "I could tutor you." The room fell silent, and Carson halted abruptly, his gaze locked onto me. Both teachers exchanged a satisfied look before turning to us. "Perfect, that's settled then," they chimed in unison.

Carson was about to object when Mr. McMadan interjected firmly, "You'll face a test at the end of each week, covering the material from the past two years. Pass these tests and keep up with your current workload, and you'll remain in the class. Fail, and you're out. No more second chances."

The weight of my own suggestion rendered me momentarily speechless. Just as I was about to collect my thoughts, Ms. Dirkwood addressed me, "If Carson performs well this year, I'll provide you with an exemplary report for your college applications." With those words, both teachers exited the room, leaving Carson and me alone, the unexpected alliance hanging in the air.

"Why the f**k did you do that?!" Carson's voice lashed out at me, his frustration palpable.

"I-I don't know," I stuttered, my voice barely above a whisper. Panic welled up within me. What had I done? This boy terrified me, and now I was about to spend a significant amount of time with him. But why? What had gotten into me? I'm the kind of person who thrives in solitude, cherishing my moments of quiet productivity and indulgent n***********g. And Carson? Of all people, why did it have to be him? I'm usually the master of staying invisible, the queen of not drawing any attention. If there's one person's radar I desperately needed to dodge, it's Carson's.

He's the embodiment of chaos. Anger courses through his veins, and even the school's most daring souls are afraid of him. Some teachers are, too. I heard stories last year – he flew into a violent rage over a single glance from some poor kid. That guy ended up battered, with a pair of black eyes, a crooked nose, and a broken arm, all for a mere look. Just before the summer, he squared off with a teacher, and come morning, the teacher's car had been savagely vandalized with a crowbar. Windows shattered, doors dented, tires punctured – a complete mess orchestrated by an unidentified figure wearing a black mask. The audacity escalated as this enigmatic figure embarked on a daring chase through the school's corridors, mounted on a roaring motorbike, the teacher being pursued, a fleeing figure amidst the echoing chaos. Everyone in the school knew it was Carson behind it, but the school couldn't prove a thing. And still, he returned for senior year, leaving the school's hands tied.

"Oh my god, I can't believe I've put myself in this situation," I muttered to myself, snapped from my thoughts by Carson's harsh tone.

"Just so you know, I'm not paying you, dork. And I won't be studying with you today," he declared. "You can come to my place tomorrow after school. But let me make this clear – if you breathe a word about why you're coming, we'll have a problem. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," I mumbled faintly in response. With that, Carson packed his belongings, brushed past me, and quickly exited the classroom. I followed suit, embarking on the short walk home, my thoughts swirling in a mixture of dread and confusion.