My Favorite Distraction

EPISODE ONE

"You're seriously doing this to me?" I frowned.

I stared at my mother through the rearview mirror, hoping the look on my face was enough to make her change her mind, but it wasn't working.

She kept her eyes on the road, one hand resting calmly on the steering wheel.

"Doing what?"

"Sending me away."

"I'm not sending you away, Alex," she protested. She glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "You're going to school."

"An all-boys boarding school." I muttered, my voice dropping into a bitter, resentful whisper. "It’s unnatural. I’m going to lose my mind in there. I'm going to turn into a monk."

"A sports academy, Alex."

"It's the same thing, Mom," I blurted, folding my arms across my chest and staring out the car window.

Mom sighed from the driver's seat. "No, it isn't. We've had this conversation a hundred times, and I don't want to go on about it again."

I sank lower into the seat. I basically don't care how many more times we have to talk about it until she changes her mind.

I had spent the entire morning arguing with her. I'd tried pleading. Complaining. Sulking. Even promising that I'd improve my swimming grades, but none of it had worked.

Mom had already made up her mind.

"Your grades have been falling for the past year," she said. "And every time I ask you why, you give me the same answer."

I crossed my arms.

"You're eighteen, and you're smart enough to know when you're wasting your potential."

I rolled my eyes. "Here we go again."

"Yes, here we go again." Her voice remained surprisingly calm. "You're handsome, popular, and get easily distracted. Every time I check your phone, there's another girl messaging you."

"Am I not allowed to have friends?"

"Of course you can, but you spend more time worrying about who likes you while becoming too interested in girls, parties, and everything else than you do worrying about your grades."

I stared out the window. "That's not true."

"Then prove me wrong," she said.

I ignored her.

Then, the car turned through a massive iron gate.

Beyond the gate stood an enormous campus surrounded by football fields, basketball courts, tennis courts, a running track that seemed to stretch forever, and several buildings.

At the center stood a huge stone building with bold letters carved above the entrance.

SILVERCREST ELITE SPORTS ACADEMY

To me, it didn't look like an entrance to a prestigious athletic school; it looked more like the entrance to a maximum-security prison.

I hated it already.

"We're here," Mom said, her voice entirely too calm as she shifted the car into park. She didn't look at me, choosing instead to check her reflection in the rearview mirror, patting a stray strand of hair back into her perfect bun.

I groaned and sank lower into my seat.

Silvercrest Elite Sports Academy was supposed to be different from my former school. According to Mom, it had some of the best academic and athletic programs in the country.

It was also an all-boys school. Apparently, that was Mom's brilliant solution for me to focus on my grades. No girls. No distractions. Just sports, studying, and discipline.

"I'm not getting out," I said. I slammed my back against the seat, crossing my arms so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Mom let out a sharp, exhausted sigh, finally turning her sharp eyes toward me. "Alex, stop being dramatic."

I looked away.

"You're staying here," she continued firmly. "At least until you learn to take your future seriously."

She reached across the console, grabbing my chin gently, forcing my face toward hers.

"Six months, Alex. Prove to me you can focus without a girl holding your hand, and we will talk about you coming back for college."

She smiled brightly at me, but somehow, it annoyed me. "Now, get your bag out of the trunk. President Vance is waiting."

I ripped my chin away from her grip, my jaw clenched so hard it ached. I didn't say another word before shoving the door open, stepping out, and slamming the door behind me with enough force to make the car rattle.

The moment I stepped outside, the first thing I heard was the sound of a whistle.

A group of boys sprinted across the field while another group practiced football drills nearby. A basketball bounced repeatedly against a court somewhere behind the building.

I marched to the back, yanked my heavy duffel bag out of the trunk, and threw it over my shoulder.

After a quick wave at me, the car rolled away, leaving me standing alone in front of the massive iron gates. I swallowed the lump of rage in my throat.

A few minutes later, I was standing in the office of President Vance after I completed my registration at the reception.

Principal Vance was a stern-looking man with a military-style haircut and eyes that looked like they hadn't blinked since 1995.

He was currently flipping through my transcript with a frown so deep it looked permanent.

"Alexander Mercer," Principal Vance murmured, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together. "A three-point-zero GPA. Middling athletic participation. And a disciplinary record that reads less like malice and more like... a total lack of focus."

"I have focus, sir," I said, flashing the charming smile that usually got me out of trouble back home. "I just focus on people. I'm a social creature." It was supposed to sound funny but I guess it didn't sound funny to him.

Vance slowly lowered my file and leveled a glare at me that completely wiped the smile off my face.

"This is Silvercrest Elite Academy, Mr. Mercer. We do not cultivate 'social creatures.' We cultivate discipline, academic excellence, and athletic dominance. Your mom sent you here because you are coasting. In this institution, if you coast, you drown."

I swallowed hard, the collar of my shirt suddenly feeling way too tight. "Right. Loud and clear."

"Because you are joining us mid-semester, you are already behind," Vance continued, leaning back in his chair. "I am placing you under the direct supervision of our student council vice president and varsity swim captain. He has volunteered at my request to show you the campus, explain our code of conduct, and ensure you do not become a liability to our academic average."

Vance reached for the telephone on his desk. "Xavier? Please come to my office."

A second later, the heavy oak door behind me clicked open. I turned my head, expecting some nerdy, power-tripping student council member with thick glasses and a clipboard but like Vance.

But instead, my brain hit the wall.

The guy who walked in didn't look real.

He was tall—easily a few inches over me—with a sharp jawline. His dark hair fell perfectly around his face and then almost to his shoulder.

He was in the school’s formal blazer, but he carried himself with an intimidating, effortless grace that made the uniform look like high fashion on him.

But it wasn't his appearance that caught me. It was his expression. His dark eyes settled on president Vance, cold and almost emotionless.