My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 187

Chapter 187 Finding The Ruined Practice Test

I stepped back. The blood on his hand demanded attention.

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“Sit down, I instructed. I pointed to the wooden chair tucked beneath my desk. ‘Do not make a sound. My mother is asleep down the hall.

I will get the first aid supplies.”

Ryder nodded. He moved across the small room. He lowered his massive frame into the hard wooden chair.

I slipped out the bedroom door. I walked down the dark hallway. I found the white plastic box in the bathroom cabinet. I carried the

supplies back to my room.

I kneeled on the floorboards in front of him. I opened the plastic box. I pulled out a sterile wipe.

I took his right hand. I pressed the damp cloth against his split knuckles. The antiseptic stung the open skin, but he did not flinch. He

watched my face.

“Why did you punch a mirror?” I asked.

‘I saw my reflection,” he said. His tone carried a heavy burden. “I saw the heir to the Steinmann empire. I saw the boy who dragged you into a massive scandal. I despised the image.”

My chest ached. I wiped the dried blood away.

“You did not drag me into anything,” I reminded him. I signed the blue ink contract. I walked onto the senior terrace. I chose to stand

beside you.”

I should have protected your record.”

“You walked miles in the dark just to check on my well-being, I pointed out. “You surrendered your trust fund yesterday. You offered to take the full blame in Miller’s office this morning. Your protection is flawless.”

I wrapped a clean white gauze bandage around his hand. I secured the fabric with medical tape.

I sat back on my heels. I closed the plastic box.

Ryder leaned back in the chair. He looked around the cramped room. He took in the faded paint, the narrow closet, and the heavy canvas backpack resting near the door. He embraced the reality of my life without judgment.

His gaze shifted to the surface of the wooden desk.

The pale light from the streetlamp streamed through the blinds, illuminating the cluttered wood.

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Chapter 187 Finding The Ruined Practice Test

My neat stack of blank index cards sat near the lamp. Next to the cards lay a thick packet of stapled paper.

The biology practice test.

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Mr. Harrison handed the packets out last Friday. He expected us to use them for weekend review.

I used my packet for a different purpose. I took the practice test on Sunday night. I needed to map out my failure. I needed to calculate the exact point drop required to surrender the Valedictorian rank without failing the entire semester.

I crossed out the correct chemical formulas. I wrote the wrong cellular structures in heavy dark ink. I created a precise, mathematical blueprint for my own academic destruction. I pulled the packet out of my bag earlier today to torture myself with the visual proof of my

sacrifice.

Ryder shifted his weight in the chair. He rested his left elbow on the desk.

He looked down at the stapled paper.

A massive spike of panic hit my veins.

I scrambled to my feet. I reached for the packet. I needed to hide the evidence. I needed to maintain the lie that the midterms

overwhelmed me.

Ryder reacted with immense speed. He lifted the packet out of my reach. He turned his broad shoulders, shielding the paper from my grasping hands.

He read the bold heading at the top of the page.

“Give that back to me, I demanded. I kept my voice to a harsh whisper.

Ryder ignored my request. His hazel eyes scanned the front page. He saw the thick red ink marks. He saw the heavy blue ink scribbles replacing the correct printed answers.

He possessed a brilliant, calculating mind. He understood covalent bonds. He understood cellular division. He recognized the deliberate, systematic errors written in my cramped handwriting.

He flipped to the second page.

He read the specific margin notes I wrote to myself.

Miss question four. Change ATP yield to incorrect integer. Drop overall score to sixty-five percent.

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