My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 2

My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy

Chapter 2 No One Is On My Side

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The fourth-period bell screamed through the hallway. I stood just outside the girls’ bathroom, my back pressed flat against the cool,

painted cinderblock wall. The corridor transformed instantly from an empty, echoing tunnel into a suffocating river of navy-blue blazers

and plaid skirts.

The air grew thick. It smelled of floor wax, aerosol deodorant, and the heavy, expensive vanilla perfume half the senior class wore.

Lockers slammed shut. Sneakers squeaked against the linoleum. Laughter bounced off the ceiling, sharp and jagged. I kept my eyes locked

on the scuffed toes of my black loafers, willing my heart to stop hammering against my ribs.

I needed to know how far the poison had spread. I pushed off the wall and merged into the crowd, keeping my head down but my ears

straining. Every whisper felt like a needle.

“Did you see…”

…totally bombed the…”

“…heard she was…”

My shoulders pulled up toward my ears. Ahead of me, I spotted Jenna, a girl I sometimes shared notes with in AP Biology. We weren’t

friends, not really, but we survived the lab periods together. She was standing by the water fountain, zipping up her bag. I walked toward

her, my throat tight, desperate for a normal interaction. Just a single thread of normalcy to prove my world wasn’t actually collapsing.

“Hey, Jenna,” I said. My voice sounded thin, scraped raw.

Jenna looked up. For a fraction of a second, her eyes widened. It was a micro-expression, a tiny flinch, but in the social ecosystem of

Crestview Prep, it was a siren. Her gaze darted from my face to a group of girls whispering near the trophy case, then back to me.

“Oh. Hey, Raisa.” She grabbed her backpack strap, her knuckles pale. She didn’t offer a smile. She didn’t ask about the homework

assignment. She took a half-step backward, putting a clear, physical distance between us. “I, um, I have to get to the cafeteria. Study

group.”

She turned and hurried away before I could reply.

My stomach dropped, leaving a hollow, freezing ache in its wake. She knew. Or at least, she had heard enough to know that standing next

to me was a liability. Social contagion. If she stood too close, the rumor would infect her, too.

I didn’t go to the cafeteria. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting under those bright fluorescent lights, surrounded by hundreds of

pairs of eyes dissecting me. Instead, I headed for the library.

The library was situated on the second floor, a massive room with vaulted ceilings and rows of towering mahogany bookshelves. It smelled like aging paper, dust motes, and the faint, bitter scent of black coffee from the librarian’s desk. It was my sanctuary.

I found an empty carrel in the deepest corner, shielded by the reference section. I dropped my heavy backpack onto the carpeted floor. It

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Chapter 2 No One Is On My Side

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landed with a heavy, dead thud. I sank into the wooden chair and pulled out a blank sheet of loose-leaf paper and a black pen.

Damage Control. I wrote the words at the top of the page. The ink bled slightly into the paper.

I needed a strategy. I was an honor student. I solved complex equations. I analyzed classic literature. I could dissect a frog and map its

nervous system. I could solve this.

I drew a line down the middle of the page.

Option A: Tell the truth.

I stared at the words. The truth was that Mr. Harrison gave me a folder of extra-credit grading. The truth was that I was alone in his room. The truth was that Sarah, Harper’s spy, saw exactly what she claimed to see, but completely misinterpreted the context.

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Who would corroborate my story? Mr. Harrison. But if Harper’s mother went to the Dean, Mr. Harrison would panic. He was a middle-aged man with a mortgage and a pregnant wife. If the board accused him of an inappropriate relationship with a student, he wouldn’t defend me. He would distance himself. He would say I lingered after class. He would say I made him uncomfortable. He would throw me to the

wolves to save his own career.

I crossed out Option A with a thick, dark line.

Option B: Find an ally.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. Who? Jenna had just practically run away from me. My other ‘friends’ were just study partners. We bonded over flashcards, not secrets. They couldn’t fight Harper Vance. Harper had a trust fund; we had bus passes. If they stood up for me, Harper would destroy them, too. I had zero social capital. I was a ghost who only materialized on the honor roll. I

couldn’t ask anyone to sink with my ship.

I crossed out Option B. The pen nib dug into the paper, tearing a small hole in the blue line.

My chest grew tighter. The air in the library felt thin, as if the massive air conditioning vents were sucking the oxygen out of the room instead of pushing it in. I pressed the heel of my hand against my sternum, trying to rub away the pressure.

A shadow fell over my desk.

I flinched, snapping my head up.

Mrs. Gable’s student aide, a junior named Thomas, stood there. He held a small, neon-pink slip of paper. His eyes avoided mine, fixing instead on the spine of a dictionary on the shelf beside me.

“Mrs. Gable wants to see you,” Thomas mumbled, sliding the pink slip onto my desk. “Now.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked away quickly, his sneakers making soft padding sounds on the carpet.

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Chapter 2 No One Is On My Side

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