My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63 A Secret Life Beyond the Bad Reputation

:))

The dismissal bell shrieked through the hallways of Crestview Prep at exactly 3:15 PM, signaling the official end of midterm week.

Normally, the sound would release a massive, crushing weight from my shoulders. I would pack my perfectly organized binders, walk to the bus stop, and calculate my projected GPA in my head. But today, the bell just made the dull, persistent ache behind my ribs throb a

little harder.

My nerves were completely shot. The memory of yesterday was playing in a continuous loop in my mind.

I pushed through the heavy oak double doors and stepped out into the crisp, biting April air.

The courtyard was a chaotic sea of navy blazers and plaid skirts. I hugged my canvas backpack to my chest, my eyes scanning the crowd entirely on instinct. I was looking for the worn black leather. I was looking for the dark, messy hair.

I spotted him near the edge of the faculty parking lot.

Ryder wasn’t walking toward the South Lot where his matte-black motorcycle was usually parked. Instead, he was heading toward the wrought-iron pedestrian gates that led to the public transit station. He had his heavy leather jacket zipped halfway up against the wind, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head ducked low.

He moved with a fast, deliberate stride. He wasn’t slouching. He wasn’t putting on the bored, arrogant swagger he wore in the B-wing. He looked like a guy who was late for something important.

A sudden, sharp spike of curiosity completely overrode my logical brain.

Where was he going?

The rumors about Ryder Steinmann were legendary. They claimed he spent his afternoons in underground pool halls, or stripping stolen cars at chop shops, or getting into bare-knuckle fights in the city. For three years, I had believed every single whisper. But after yesterday, after the incredibly gentle way he had talked me down from a panic attack, the rumors didn’t fit the boy I was beginning to know.

I wanted to know the truth. I wanted to see where the bad boy went when the audience was completely gone.

Before I could talk myself out of the terrible, reckless idea, I adjusted the strap of my backpack and started walking.

I kept my distance, staying about fifty yards behind him. The sidewalk leading away from Crestview was lined with towering, manicured oak trees. My loafers scuffed softly against the pavement. My heart was hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against my collarbone. If he turned around and caught me following him, I had absolutely no excuse.

Ryder reached the transit station. He didn’t look back. He swiped a faded plastic card and walked through the turnstile, heading down the concrete stairs toward the subway platform.

I waited thirty seconds, my palms sweating in the cold air, before I swiped my own student pass and followed him down into the

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Chapter 63 A Secret Life Beyond the Bad Reputation

underground tunnel.

:))

The air down here was thick and stagnant. It smelled heavily of ozone, hot metal, and stale urine. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered,

casting long, jittery shadows against the grime-coated tiled walls.

I peeked around the edge of the stairwell.

Ryder was standing near the edge of the platform, the yellow warning strip glowing dully near the toes of his combat boots. He had his

headphones in, completely oblivious to the world around him.

A heavy, metallic screech echoed through the tunnel as the silver train rattled into the station. A gust of warm, foul-smelling air blew past my face, whipping loose strands of my dark hair across my eyes.

Ryder stepped onto the train.

I hurried forward, slipping into the adjacent subway car just as the sliding doors hissed shut.

I grabbed a metal pole near the door, my knuckles turning stark white. The train lurched forward, gaining speed. I kept my back pressed against the plexiglass divider, peering through the connecting windows into Ryder’s car. He had taken a seat in the corner, staring blankly out the window at the dark, rushing tunnel.

We rode for six stops.

With every stop, the demographic of the passengers shifted. The pristine prep school uniforms vanished, replaced by exhausted commuters in stained work clothes and teenagers in faded hoodies. We were leaving the pristine, wealthy bubble of the Crestview district and crossing deep into the city’s east side. It was a neighborhood made of cracked asphalt, chain-link fences, and faded brick buildings.

The automated voice overhead crackled. Next stop, Elm Street and 9th. Ryder stood up.

I quickly turned my back to the connecting window, holding my breath as the train screeched to a halt. The doors opened. I stepped out onto the crowded platform, keeping a large group of people between me and Ryder’s tall frame.

We walked up the concrete stairs and emerged onto the street.

The sky above the city was a hazy, washed-out gray. The noise here was aggressive.

Ryder walked three blocks down Elm Street. He didn’t look like a guy looking for a fight. He navigated the cracked sidewalks with an easy, familiar grace, completely unbothered by the grit of the neighborhood.

He turned the corner onto a narrow side street.

I hurried to the edge of the brick building, pressing myself flat against the rough masonry, and peeked around the corner.

Halfway down the block stood a squat, two-story building made of faded red brick. The paint on the front doors was peeling in large, flaky

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