My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 131

Chapter 131 The Dance Ticket Problem

((

76

The weekend offered no comfort. Saturday and Sunday dissolved into a blur of textbook pages and silent meals. My mother worked double

shifts at the diner. I stayed in my small bedroom. I built my emotional walls. I stacked facts and figures to block out the memory of his hazel eyes. I needed the cold distance. The cold protected my lungs. I refused to bleed for a boy who dismissed my heart to protect his

own fear.

Monday morning brought a harsh, bright sun. The light exposed the cracks in my armor. I rode the transit bus to the Crestview Prep gates. I clutched the heavy strap of my canvas backpack. The campus buzzed with a frantic, electric energy.

The noise in the A-wing felt deafening. Students clustered in tight circles near the beige metal lockers. They shoved their phones into each other’s faces. They pointed to the digital bulletin boards mounted on the cinderblock walls. A collective, breathless anticipation

consumed the student body.

The warning bell shrieked. I walked into my homeroom. I took my assigned seat near the windows. Mr. Gable stood at the chalkboard, holding a stack of attendance slips.

The wall speaker crackled.

“Good morning, Crestview,” Principal Miller announced. His voice echoed through the sterile room. “The administration is proud to announce the date for the annual Crestview Spring Formal. The event will take place next Friday evening in the main gymnasium. Tickets go on sale during the lunch period in the cafeteria.”

The classroom erupted in cheers.

The Crestview Formal represented the pinnacle of the high school social calendar. For the affluent student body, the dance was a battleground of wealth and status. It meant imported silk gowns, tailored tuxedos, and rented luxury cars. It meant securing the perfect date to elevate a social standing. Photographers roamed the venue. The local society pages covered the arrivals.

For me, the dance represented a massive problem.

I stared at the wood grain of my desk. My chest tightened. The original parameters of our arrangement flashed in my mind. We drafted the rules in the chemistry lab weeks ago. We agreed to maintain a unified front. We agreed to attend major school functions to sell the lie to the administration.

The Formal stood as the biggest function of the year. I could not skip it. If I stayed home, the entire school would know the arrangement was a fraud. Trent Lawson would win. Julian Hayes would spread rumors. The principal would investigate Ryder’s attendance record and reinstate the threat of expulsion. I promised my mother I would clear his path. I promised to guard his gates.

I needed to attend the dance. I needed to attend with Ryder Steinmann.

The thought sent a sharp spike of pure panic straight through my ribs. I froze him out in the library on Friday. I offered him a blank stare. I used a cold, professional tone. I punished him for his rejection in the parking lot. He accepted the punishment. He kept his distance. He looked miserable, but he did not stop me from walking away.

1/3

13:12 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 131 The Dance Ticket Problem

The school schedule demanded a collision.

A haze of dread covered the morning classes. Calculus felt meaningless. European History dissolved into static noise. I dreaded the lunch

period. I dreaded the cavernous space of the cafeteria.

The bell rang for lunch. I gathered my heavy textbooks. I walked down the long corridor toward the massive double doors of the dining hall. The scent of baked bread and floor wax hit my nose. I stepped into the room.

The noise level pounded against my skull. Hundreds of students scrambled to form lines at the folding tables near the entrance. The student council sold the silver foil tickets. I bypassed the lines. I possessed zero cash for a ticket. I possessed zero desire to join the

frantic crowd.

I found an empty circular table near the back windows. I sat in a blue plastic chair. I pulled a thick biology textbook from my canvas bag. I opened the cover. I rested my pen on the page.

I did not read the text. I watched the room.

Harper Vance stood near the center aisle. She held a silver ticket in her manicured hand. She laughed. Her designer uniform skirt swayed with her movements. Trent Lawson stood next to her. He wore his blue and gold letterman jacket. They scanned the room. Their eyes locked onto my isolated table.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify