My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 100

Chapter 100 Crashing My Class

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The lights of the classroom emitted a constant hum. The noise grated against my frayed nerves. Wednesday morning brought a fresh wave of exhaustion.

I sat in the second row. I gripped my black pen. My knuckles turned white. Mr. Peterson stood at the front of the room, writing complex integrals on the whiteboard with a thick marker. The numbers blurred into meaningless shapes. The math offered no comfort. Equations

required logic. My life possessed none.

The rumors thrived in the sterile air of Crestview Prep.

Harper Vance sat two rows behind me. I felt the weight of her stare pressing against my spine. Trent Lawson occupied the desk to my left.

He spent the first twenty minutes of class whispering to the boy across the aisle. They cast side-glances in my direction. They shared

cruel, satisfied smiles.

I chewed the plastic cap of my pen. I tasted bitter ink.

We need to make them believe I’m obsessed with you.”

His promise from the abandoned drama corridor echoed in my skull. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe the new contract could fix the damage. But the memory of his truck driving away in the rain remained a fresh, bleeding wound. He possessed the power to walk away. He proved his ability to shut me out. The fear of another rejection sat heavy in my stomach.

Trent leaned across the aisle. He tapped his pencil against his notebook.

“Hey, Petrova, Trent whispered. His voice carried a mocking lilt. “Do you need help with question four? You look lost. I guess your

personal tutor quit.”

I did not turn my head. I kept my posture rigid. I refused to grant him a reaction. I stared at the whiteboard and copied a polynomial

equation. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm. I needed a shield. I needed the rumor to die.

A sharp, heavy knock struck the solid wood of the classroom door.

Mr. Peterson paused mid-sentence. He lowered his marker. He turned toward the noise. The disruption broke the suffocating quiet of the room. At Crestview, students did not interrupt AP classes. We followed strict schedules. Chaos did not belong in the A-wing.

The brass handle turned. The heavy door swung inward.

Ryder Steinmann filled the frame.

He wore his scuffed leather jacket over a fitted black shirt. His dark hair fell over his forehead in a wild, untamed tangle. The silver rings

on his fingers caught the harsh overhead light.

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Pencils stopped moving.

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Chapter 100 Crashing My Class

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Mr. Peterson frowned. He adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Steinmann. You do not belong in this period. The bell rings in fifteen minutes.”

Ryder ignored the teacher. He stepped into the room. He let the heavy door click shut behind him. The sound sealed the trap.

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He carried a massive arrangement of flowers in his left hand. They were not traditional red roses. They lacked the generic, predictable

romance of grocery store bouquets. The arrangement consisted of dark, velvet-petaled dahlias, blood-red calla lilies, and deep green vines.

The rich, striking colors contrasted against the harsh leather of his jacket. They looked wild. They looked dangerous.

The silence in the classroom turned heavy. It pressed against my eardrums. Every head swiveled. Every set of eyes tracked his movement.

Ryder walked down the center aisle. He moved with a slow, predatory grace. He did not rush. He let the tension stretch. He let the

spectacle burn into the minds of the audience. He bypassed the front row. He reached the second row.

He stopped beside Trent Lawson.

Trent froze. The lacrosse player shrank back into his molded plastic chair. The memory of Ryder’s crushing grip at the bake sale remained

fresh. Ryder did not speak to him. He did not throw a punch. He delivered a single, deadpan look that promised total destruction. Trent

swallowed hard and averted his eyes.

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