My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8 I Asked the School’s Most Dangerous Boy

The syllables of my name hung in the stifling air beneath the bleachers, thick and heavy.

Raisa Petrova

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I stopped breathing. My lungs locked up entirely, the stale scent of motor oil and hot dust trapped in my throat. I stared at him, my mind

spinning its wheels on slick ice, trying to find traction. We had never spoken. We didn’t travel in the same circles, didn’t sit in the same

classrooms, didn’t exist in the same version of Crestview Preparatory Academy. To him, I should have been just another navy-blue blazer

passing in the hallway. A blank face. A nobody.

But he had said it with total certainty. No hesitation. No upward inflection of a question.

“How do you know who I am?” The words scraped past my dry lips. They sounded incredibly small, swallowed instantly by the cavernous

space of steel beams and shadows above us.

Ryder didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes locked on mine, his expression completely unreadable. The harsh, angled lines of his face

were perfectly still. Only the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest under the faded charcoal shirt gave any indication that he was alive. He

didn’t look like a high school junior. He looked like a storm waiting to break over the coastline.

Behind me, the guy with the cigarette let out a low, harsh laugh.

“Look at her shaking,” the guy sneered. His boots crunched on the gravel as he hopped down from the rusted electrical box. “What’s the

matter, honors? Get lost on the way to the library? Why don’t you scurry back to the main building before you get dirt on your little

skirt.

My shoulders hiked up toward my ears. The instinct to run was so powerful it made my knees ache. I wanted to turn around, sprint back

into the bright, safe sunlight, and hide in a bathroom stall until graduation.

But Ryder shifted.

It wasn’t a big movement. He just dropped his right foot from the bumper of his car to the dirt, the heavy heel of his combat boot hitting

the ground with a dull, final thud.

“Bax, Ryder said.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t even raise his voice. But the single syllable cut through the heavy air like a steel blade.

The guy behind me-Bax-stopped mid-step. The crunching gravel ceased instantly.

“Take the others and take a walk,” Ryder commanded, his eyes never leaving my face. His tone was flat, bored almost, but there was an

undercurrent of absolute authority that made the hairs on my arms stand up. It wasn’t a request.

I heard the sharp intake of breath behind me. A second of tense, heavy hesitation. Then, the sound of boots shuffling in the dirt.

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12:37 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 8 I Asked the School’s Most Dangerous Boy

“Yeah. Whatever, man, Bax muttered.

The three sets of footsteps retreated, moving away from the shadows and back toward the cracked asphalt road. I didn’t turn around to

watch them leave. I kept my gaze anchored to Ryder, terrified that if I looked away, I would lose the tiny sliver of courage keeping me

rooted to the spot.

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The silence that followed was entirely different from the noise of the school. It was thick. Oppressive. The distant, muffled sounds of a

physical education class shouting on the athletic fields only emphasized how completely isolated we were beneath the steel grandstands.

Ryder leaned back slightly, resting his palms on the matte-black hood of his car. The metal was burning hot from the sun, but he didn’t

seem to notice.

“You have two minutes, Petrova,” he said. His voice was a low, rough rumble. “Before I get bored and leave you standing in the dirt.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. I dug my fingernails into the fleshy part of my palms, using the sharp

sting of pain to force my brain to focus.

This is a negotiation, I told myself. Just treat it like a debate. Present the problem. Offer the solution.

“I need a favor,” I started. My voice shook on the first word, but I forced my jaw tight, swallowing the tremor. “I need… I need something from you, and I am willing to compensate you for your time. In whatever way you think is fair. Homework. Test answers. I can write your

essays for the rest of the year.”

Ryder’s left eyebrow twitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. The hazel of his eyes caught a thin slice of sunlight cutting through

the bleachers, flashing with sharp, golden heat.

“You think I care about essays?” he asked slowly, as if the idea genuinely confused him.

“Everyone cares about passing,” I countered, my defense mechanisms kicking in. I was an honor student. Logic was my weapon. “You just got suspended for three days. Your record is a disaster. You’re barely scraping by in your core classes. If you fail out of Crestview, your father is going to cut you off. The whole school knows he threatened to do it last semester.”

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