My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42 Choosing a Different Seat at the Rally

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The Friday afternoon pep rally was mandatory, which meant all eight hundred students were packed onto the folding metal bleachers. The

enclosed space trapped the chaotic, echoing roar of the marching band tuning their brass instruments and the stomping of hundreds of

leather loafers against the aluminum seats. The air was thick, heavy, and suffocatingly hot. It smelled of aerosol hairspray from the

cheerleaders on the floor, rubber floor mats, and the sharp, nervous sweat of teenagers.crammed too close together.

I hated pep rallies.

Normally, I spent these mandatory forty-five minutes hiding in the very top corner of the north stands, wedged between a group of sophomores playing games on their phones and the concrete wall. I would keep my head down, plug my ears, and mentally review my

calculus formulas until the dismissal bell finally shrieked.

Today, there was no hiding.

I sat on the third row from the bottom, dead center. It was prime real estate, completely exposed to the entire gymnasium. Jenna and Liam sat a few feet to my left, maintaining a polite but distinct physical distance since the cafeteria incident.

The heat in the gym was oppressive. I had taken off Ryder’s heavy leather jacket the moment I walked through the double doors, folding it carefully and resting it across my lap. Even without wearing it, the thick, worn leather radiated his scent-cedarwood and peppermint- cutting through the stale, sweaty air of the gym and anchoring me to the metal bench.

The snare drums cracked a sharp, deafening rhythm. The student section erupted into a massive, synchronized chant.

I flinched, my shoulders drawing inward. The noise vibrated straight through the aluminum bleachers, rattling my teeth and making a dull ache throb right behind my eyes. I gripped the thick collar of the leather jacket in my lap, digging my short fingernails into the material.

Just breathe, I told myself, staring blankly at the polished hardwood floor. Thirty more minutes.

A sudden shift in the crowd’s energy pulled my attention away from the floor.

The heavy metal double doors at the far end of the gymnasium swung open, crashing loudly against the brick wall. A slice of cold, gray afternoon light cut through the stuffy gym.

Ryder walked in.

The bad kids, the burnouts, and the dropouts usually filtered in through those back doors and immediately climbed to the highest, darkest corner of the bleachers to sleep through the rally. Bax and a few other guys were already up there, slouching against the railing.

But Ryder didn’t look up at them.

He stepped onto the hardwood, the heavy tread of his combat boots soundless against the deafening roar of the marching band. He wore a plain, fitted white t-shirt and faded black jeans. The stark white fabric contrasted sharply against the fading yellow and purple bruises on his jaw and knuckles. He looked incredibly out of place among the sea of navy blazers and plaid skirts-a dark, jagged crack in a perfectly

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Chapter 42 Choosing a Different Seat at the Rally

painted porcelain plate.

He scanned the crowded bleachers. His eyes were sharp, sweeping over the hundreds of faces until they locked directly onto mine.

My pulse jumped, a sudden, erratic flutter at the base of my throat.

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He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight across the perimeter of the basketball court, heading directly toward the center stands.

The people sitting in the first two rows noticed him coming. Conversations died. A group of freshmen practically scrambled to pull their backpacks out of the aisle, clearing a path for him.

He climbed the three metal steps. He didn’t ask the junior sitting to my right to move. He just stopped, crossing his arms over his chest, and stared down at the guy. The junior took one look at Ryder’s bruised knuckles, grabbed his water bottle, and practically sprinted to a

different section.

Ryder dropped into the empty space.

The aluminum bench groaned a metallic protest under his weight. He didn’t leave a polite gap. He sat so close that the entire right side of his body pressed flush against my left. The thick, solid muscle of his thigh rested heavily against mine. The heat rolling off his skin was instantaneous, a dry, burning warmth that completely swallowed the suffocating humidity of the gym.

“You look miserable,” he murmured.

He leaned in to speak, his mouth hovering just inches from my ear so I could hear him over the deafening blare of a trumpet solo. His breath brushed against my skin, making the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“It’s too loud,” I admitted, keeping my voice low. I turned my head a fraction toward him. “And it smells like cheap cologne and floor wax.”

The corner of his split lip curved up into a dark, knowing slant. “We could leave.”

“We can’t,” I reminded him, staring at the side of his face. “Attendance is mandatory. The doors are locked from the outside until three

o’clock.”

“Doors are only locked if you care about breaking the handle,” he pointed out smoothly.

A tiny, genuine smile slipped past my defenses. I looked down at the jacket in my lap, my thumbs tracing the heavy metal zipper. “Mrs. Gable is standing right next to the home bench. If she sees us walk out, my scholarship goes up in smoke.”

Ryder shifted his posture. He leaned back against the knees of the student sitting in the row behind us, completely unbothered by the lack of space. He stretched his right arm out, resting it along the aluminum bench directly behind my back. He didn’t wrap his arm around my shoulders-that would be too cliché, too high school-but the heavy, protective cage he created with his body was undeniable.

Every single person sitting within a twenty-foot radius was watching us.

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