Chapter 6
1288 Words
The class hasn’t even started.
We’ve been here for approximately twelve seconds.
And somehow I’m already being publicly humiliated.
Again.
I spin back around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash and sink into my chair while the room erupts in laughter.
I can practically feel Landon smiling behind me.
I hate him.
I hate him so much.
By lunch, I’ve decided two things.
One: I absolutely cannot survive a whole school year like this.
And two: I am definitely sitting with Alexis and Jasmine forever.
The second I reach their table, Alexis grins.
“Well, well, well,” she says. “You look like you’ve either had a very bad day or a very good one.”
Jasmine narrows her eyes at me.
“Why do you look like you just escaped a hostage situation?”
I drop into the seat with a groan.
“Because your school is a psychological experiment.”
“Specific,” Jasmine says.
I point at them dramatically.
“Your friend Landon Baxter is a menace.”
Alexis perks up immediately.
“Oh my God. What happened?”
I should not tell them.
I know I should not tell them.
But unfortunately, I’m weak.
And also in desperate need of emotional support.
So I tell them.
Everything.
The “princess” comment.
The boyfriend misunderstanding.
The teacher interruption.
The public humiliation.
By the end of it, Jasmine is wheezing.
Alexis has tears in her eyes.
“I hate both of you,” I mutter.
“Oh, he likes you,” Alexis says immediately.
I nearly choke on my water.
“What?”
“He definitely likes you,” Jasmine agrees. “Landon does not act normal around girls he doesn’t care about.”
“Maybe he’s just deeply committed to making my life miserable.”
“That too,” Alexis says. “But in, like, a flirty way.”
I glare at both of them.
They only grin wider.
The rest of the school day passes peacefully after that.
Blessedly, I have no more classes with Landon.
Which means I can actually focus for the first time since arriving at Pacific Sands.
By the time the last bell rings, I head straight to the auditorium for debate club.
Except “auditorium” feels like a dramatic understatement.
This place looks less like a school theater and more like a concert hall.
Tiered seating.
Polished wood.
Stage lights.
Acoustics that probably cost more than my car.
Actually, more than my parents’ car.
Combined.
At the front stands Mr. Jackson.
Otherwise known as the teacher who interrupted my near-death-by-flirting experience earlier.
Fantastic.
“Ah,” he says as I walk in. “Miss James. I was wondering if you’d be joining us.”
Something about his tone makes me immediately suspicious.
Like he’s already decided I’m one of those girls who giggles in the back row and contributes nothing.
Which, respectfully, is offensive.
Because if there’s one thing I will never be accused of, it’s not caring.
I quickly take a seat and make myself as small as possible.
“Now,” Mr. Jackson begins, clasping his hands behind his back, “as most of you know, the state competition will be held in Boston this year.”
A quiet buzz moves through the room.
“For some of you, this is just another school trip,” he continues. “But for our seniors, this is your chance to prove to Ivy League scouts exactly why they should choose you.”
Now that gets my attention.
My spine straightens instantly.
This.
This is why I’m here.
Not boys.
Not drama.
Not social survival.
This.
“For some of us,” Mr. Jackson says, his gaze flicking briefly to me, “this is not a game.”
I almost laugh.
Because if there is anyone in this room taking this too seriously, it is absolutely me.
But I keep my mouth shut.
I don’t need to defend myself.
I’ll let my work do that.
“Most of you already know each other,” he says. “But we have a new student joining us. Nessa will need to be added to a team. Any volunteers before I choose for you?”
A voice from the middle row answers immediately.
“We’ll take her.”
I look over and recognize him instantly.
He was friends with Landon.
Blonde hair, warm brown eyes, expensive watch, very obvious golden retriever energy.
“Thank you, Ricky,” Mr. Jackson says. “Nessa, you’ll be joining Team Muse.”
Ricky gives me a quick smile and gestures for me to move over beside him and the rest of his team.
I gather my things and sit down, trying not to look as nervous as I feel.
The meeting goes on for another half hour, mostly focused on regions, state prep, and the fact that by tomorrow we’re expected to begin brainstorming for a mock trial.
Which, honestly?
Kind of thrilling.
My phone buzzes in my lap while Mr. Jackson is wrapping up.
A text from my parents.
Traffic accident on the highway. Can you get a ride?
My stomach tightens.
Technically, I could walk to the bus station.
It wouldn’t be ideal, but I could do it.
And I definitely don’t want anyone here seeing me take public transportation like I’m starring in some tragic after-school special.
So I text back:
Yes! I’m good.
A lie.
But a practical one.
“So, Nessa,” Ricky says once we’re split into teams, “what ideas do you have?”
I blink.
Oh.
Right.
Participation.
Love that.
“Well,” I say, sitting up straighter, “I think we could do something around public versus private education. Like how access to funding impacts educational quality, long-term opportunity, and even career outcomes—”
“As if she could come up with a good topic.”
The interruption cuts through me like a paper slice.
I look over.
And there she is.
The girl from the hallway.
The one glued to Landon on day one.
Of course she’s here.
Ricky nudges her with his elbow.
“Kasey. Knock it off.”
So that’s Kasey.
Good to know.
I smile sweetly.
The kind of smile that says I was raised with manners, but I can still ruin your day if necessary.
“Actually,” I say calmly, “I think I’m uniquely qualified to speak on the difference between public and private education, considering I’ve attended both.”
Silence.
Then Ricky nods slowly.
“I really like that idea.”
Kasey rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything else.
Good.
Because while I may not have trust fund confidence, I do have one thing she clearly underestimated:
I am not stupid.
And I am definitely not easy to embarrass twice.
“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Jackson says from the front. “Do your research and come back tomorrow prepared.”
The room starts to clear out.
I wait.
Deliberately.
Carefully.
Because the last thing I want is anyone seeing me walk toward the bus stop.
Once the room is nearly empty, I gather my things and head for the exit.
Only to stop short in the doorway.
Because there he is.
Landon.
Still here.
Waiting.
Leaning against the wall like he has nowhere else in the world to be.
Like he knew I’d come out eventually.
My heart does something deeply inconvenient.
I tighten my grip on my bag.
He pushes off the wall and takes a slow step toward me.
Then he looks at me with those impossible blue eyes and says:
“Need a ride?”
(Chapter Theme song: I Wanna Be Yours by Artic Monkeys)
- Writer
