Chapter 2: The School Beauty, Chloe (2)

Chapter 2: The School Beauty, Chloe (2)

Mr. Vance looked me up and down like I was a joke, let out another dismissive grunt, and turned on his heel to walk back to the whiteboard, the disdain radiating off him.

I watched his back as he walked away, then slowly sank back into my chair. I took a slow, deep breath, trying to force down the rage boiling in my chest. That's when the throbbing in my hand finally registered. I unclasped my fist and saw my palm was slick with fresh blood.

I didn't wipe it off. Instead, I stared at the red lines across my skin, wanting to burn this exact moment of humiliation into my brain so I’d never forget it.

I hated Mr. Vance. I hated how he could just stand there and tear me down in front of everyone. And more than anything, I hated myself for giving him the ammunition.

"Are you... okay?"

The voice was soft, gentle, and sitting right next to me.

I turned my head. It was Chloe Prescott.

I stared at her blankly, a wave of bitter irony washing over me. The school's star student and its biggest slacker, forced to share a double desk. Talk about a cruel joke.

Under any other circumstance, I would have been thrilled to have her talk to me. Chloe was the undisputed dream girl of the entire senior class, and honestly, she was mine too. But right now, the gap between us felt like a canyon. I actually found myself resentful of how perfect she was, how effortless her success seemed.

I gave her a flat look and turned away without saying a word.

"Here," she murmured, ignoring my brush-off. "Use this to clean that up before it gets infected."

A pastel pink handkerchief was gently pushed into my line of sight. Honestly, carrying a handkerchief in this day and age was incredibly retro—almost old-fashioned. But somehow, in Chloe’s hands, it just worked. She had this effortless grace that made even the most old-school things look incredibly chic.

A faint, clean scent drifted from the fabric. I couldn't help but look back at her. Despite sharing a desk all semester, she rarely spoke to me. I had no idea why she was suddenly throwing me a lifeline now.

The look in her eyes made it impossible to say no, so feeling self-conscious, I reached out and took the handkerchief from her hand.

Of everyone in that classroom, she was the only one who hadn't joined in on the joke.

Something shifted in my chest. "Thanks," I muttered, the words quiet but genuine.

She gave me a soft smile, then reached into her backpack and pulled out a thick, leather-bound notebook, sliding it across the desk toward me.

"These are my study and prep notes," she said. "I think they might help you."

I froze, staring at the notebook. Chloe was practically guaranteed to be the nation's top student, a future Ivy Leaguer. If she put her personal AP study guides and test-prep notes online, kids would pay hundreds of dollars for them. Giving something this valuable to a guy like me felt completely wrong.

"I... I can't take this," I said, pushing it back. "You need it for your own prep. I don't want to get in your way."

It was a pride thing, too. You don't just accept charity from the school's golden girl when you barely even know her. We sat next to each other, sure, but we weren't friends.

"Take it," she insisted, her smile brightening as she firmly pressed the notebook into my hands. "Seriously, I've already memorized everything in here. It won't affect my prep at all."

A sharp pang of envy hit me. We sat at the exact same desk, but we lived on completely different planets.

It wasn't just the grades, either. Our entire lives were lightyears apart. Chloe was brilliant, drop-dead gorgeous, and came from an incredibly wealthy, influential family. She was the classic golden girl, born with a silver spoon, destined for greatness no matter what she did.

And then there was me. Average-looking, from a working-class family that scraped by. I’d somehow lucked my way into the city's top magnet high school, only to end up dead last in the academic rankings. I was the ultimate invisible student—the kind of guy who vanished into the background the second he walked into a room. My teachers hated me, my classmates thought I was a joke, and the administration had practically begged me to transfer to an alternative school more than once.

But I couldn't do that to my parents. I didn't want to break their hearts. I wanted to stick it out, even if it was just to walk across that stage and get my diploma.

I leaned back, resting my chin on my arms, my mind racing. Around here, college admissions felt like a massive, life-altering fork in the road. If you got in, you made something of yourself. If you didn't, you were left behind to struggle.

I was no exception. I wanted to make something of myself, too. I wanted to be the smart kid, the one everyone looked up to.

But when it came to academics, it felt like I just didn't have the DNA for it.