My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 33

Chapter 33 A Study Session Behind Closed Doors

“Yeah?” he answered, his tone completely bored.

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Mrs. Albright crossed her arms, her sharp gray eyes narrowing into two angry slits. “Since you find the side of Miss Petrova’s head so much more fascinating than the agricultural shifts of the eighteenth century, perhaps you’d like to explain the enclosure movement to the

rest of the class?”

A few kids in the front row snickered.

My face burned. The blush started at my collarbone and swept upward, staining my cheeks a deep, humiliating red. This was exactly what

I had wanted to avoid. I hated being the center of attention. I hated being a disruption.

Ryder’s jaw tightened. The muscle beneath his dark purple bruise ticked sharply.

“No,” he said flatly. “I wouldn’t.”

The snickers died instantly. The room went dead silent. You didn’t talk back to Mrs. Albright.

The teacher’s face hardened. She picked up her grading pen and tapped it aggressively against the wooden podium.

I am well aware of the… sudden shift in social dynamics currently sweeping the hallways, Mrs. Albright said, her voice dripping with absolute disdain. She looked directly at me. The disappointment in her eyes felt like a physical slap. “But I will not tolerate my classroom being used as a staging ground for teenage soap operas. If you are in my room, you are here to work.”

“We are working,” I managed to say, my voice trembling entirely too much.

“Clearly,” she snapped, looking at Ryder’s completely empty desk. “Which brings me to the midterm project. I was going to let you choose your own partners, but considering the severe lack of focus displayed today, I think I need to intervene.”

My stomach plummeted. No. The midterm project was worth thirty percent of our final grade. I needed a perfect score to maintain my GPA. I needed to work with Liam, or someone who actually read the textbook.

Mrs. Albright grabbed her clipboard. “You will be working in pairs to present a comprehensive twenty-minute lecture on a specific European conflict. And since you two are completely incapable of ignoring each other, you can channel that endless distraction into something productive.”

She leveled a severe glare at us. “Petrova. Steinmann. You are partners. Your topic is the French Revolution. I expect a full bibliography and a detailed visual aid by next Monday.”

The blood rushed out of my head, leaving a loud, static ringing in my ears.

A project. A massive, heavily weighted presentation that required hours of research, planning, and coordination. I stared at the dark blue slash ruining my perfect notes. I couldn’t do this. Faking a relationship in the hallways for five minutes between classes was one thing.

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Chapter 33 A Study Session Behind Closed Doors

Spending hours alone with him, trying to build a presentation, was something else entirely.

The warning bell for the end of the period rang, a harsh, grating sound that broke the tension in the room.

The class immediately erupted into chaotic movement, books slamming shut and chairs scraping against the floor.

I sat perfectly still.

Ryder didn’t rush to leave. He slowly uncrossed his arms. He finally shifted his leg, breaking the physical contact between us, and stood up. He grabbed the edge of my desk, his large, scarred fingers gripping the metal.

“I can’t fail this project,” I whispered, staring down at my ruined paper. My throat felt incredibly tight. “If I lose my A in this class, the scholarship board will see it on my transcript.”

“You’re not going to fail,” he said quietly.

I looked up at him. “You don’t even have a notebook, Ryder. How are we supposed to do this? The library is a fishbowl. If we sit in there for three hours trying to build a slide deck, Harper’s spies won’t leave us alone for a single second. We won’t get any actual work done.”

“I know,” he agreed, his hazel eyes darkening.

“Then where are we supposed to go?” I asked, my voice rising with a frantic, desperate edge. “I can’t bring you to my house. My mother already saw the motorcycle. If you walk into our living room, she’ll lock me in my bedroom until graduation.”

Ryder looked down at me. The harsh, indifferent mask he wore for the rest of the school slipped just a fraction. He reached out, his knuckles grazing the edge of my open binder, incredibly close to my trembling hand.

“We’re not going to the library,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, heavy register that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “And we’re not dealing with your mother.”

He leaned down, his face hovering just inches from mine. The smell of cold rain and mint washed over me again, completely overriding my panic with a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline.

“My house,” he said. The words were a quiet, absolute command. “Today. After school.”

The remaining air completely vanished from my lungs.

His house.

Clause two of my ruined contract flashed brightly in my mind. Zero private contact. Under no circumstances will we be alone in an

unmonitored environment.

I had written that rule to protect my lie. To ensure we never crossed the line from a public performance into private reality. But Ryder had crossed out that rule with thick, angry black ink. And now, thanks to Mrs. Albright, the boundary was completely obliterated.

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