My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87 A Bake Sale Turning Into a Power Move

The door pushed inward. The brass hinges creaked a warning.

I threw my weight against the window sash. I shoved the glass down. It hit the sill with a heavy thud. My mother stood in the doorway. She wore her faded uniform, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand. The dark circles under her eyes mirrored my own.

‘It feels freezing in here, Raisa,” she said. Her thick eyebrows knit together.

“I needed fresh air, I lied. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “I woke up feeling stifled.”

She scanned the room. The shadows hid the scuff marks of combat boots on my carpet. The dark concealed the rumpled mess of my

bedsheets.

Get dressed. You have that bake sale setup at seven-thirty,” she reminded me. She pulled the door shut.

I let out a ragged breath. I sank to the floor. My knees hit the carpet. I looked out the glass. The front lawn was empty. The dark blue

truck was gone.

Two hours later, the Crestview Prep gymnasium smelled of industrial floor wax, stale sugar, and concentrated teenage anxiety. The Student Council Spring Bake Sale represented a mandatory nightmare for scholarship students. We had to prove our dedication to the community. We had to earn our place among the elite.

I stood behind a long folding table. A cheap white plastic tablecloth covered the scratched wood. Dozens of plastic containers sat stacked near my feet. I hauled a heavy box of pink-frosted cupcakes onto the table. The corrugated cardboard edge dug into my palms. My shoulders ached from a lack of sleep. My mind remained anchored to the dark hours of the morning. I felt the phantom trace of his fingers sketching patterns across the back of my hand.

The double doors of the gym banged open. The first wave of students flooded the floor.

I arranged the cupcakes. I set up the metal cash box. Harper Vance walked past my table with her clique. She did not stop. She kept her eyes fixed on the opposite wall, a tight, pinched expression twisting her features. The threat I issued in the cafeteria held firm.

The noise swelled. Music blared from a set of speakers near the bleachers. I managed the table alone. I handed out brownies. I collected crinkled dollar bills. The chaotic energy drained my limited reserves. I rubbed my temple, trying to ease a budding headache.

A shadow fell across my display.

I looked up, expecting another customer.

Ryder stood on the other side of the folding table.

He waite his heavy leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt. His dark hair was a windblown mess. The fading bruises on his jaw caught the harsh gymnasium lights He looked entirely out of place. He was a dangerous, brooding figure standing in a sea of pastel frosting and

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Chapter 87 A Bake Sale Turning Into a Power Move

student council banners.

The ambient chatter in the immediate vicinity died. Heads turned. Students stared.

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“You look exhausted, he stated. His voice carried a low, gravelly rasp.

“I carried four boxes of baked goods across the parking lot,” I said. My pulse jumped. The memory of his mouth against mine in that same

lot burned in my chest.

He did not offer a sarcastic remark. He walked around the edge of the table. He stepped into the narrow space behind the display.

claiming the empty spot right next to me.

My breath stalled. “What are you doing?”

“Helping, he replied.

He reached past me. He picked up a pair of plastic tongs. He grabbed a pink frosted cupcake and dropped it into a small paper bag. He handed it to a stunned freshman standing on the other side of the table.

“Three dollars, Ryder commanded.

The freshman fumbled with his wallet. His hands shook. He handed Ryder a crumpled five-dollar bill. Ryder tossed it into the metal cash

box and handed back two singles.

“Next, Ryder said.

I stared at him. The school’s most notorious outcast stood behind a bake sale table. He handed out cookies. He made exact change. He did it with a cold, terrifying efficiency. He kept the line moving. No one dared to linger. No one dared to whisper. They bought their sugar and

fled.

The sheer absurdity of the situation bubbled up in my chest. A laugh escaped my throat.

Ryder glanced down at me. The rigid line of his jaw softened. The golden shards in his eyes shone with a private, warm light. He bumped his shoulder against mine. The heavy leather of his jacket provided a solid, grounding weight.

“You are ruining your bad boy reputation, I pointed out. I handed a napkin to a sophomore girl.

My reputation survived worse than a cupcake stand,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the table. Besides. I told you I am not hiding anymore.”

The morning dragged on. The stacks of plastic containers dwindled. I felt a profound, swelling ache in my chest. He belonged in the shadows, fighting his own demons. Yet, he chose to stand under these blinding lights just to make my morning easier. He stood by my side, an impenetrable shield against the exhaustion and the judging stares.

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Chapter 87 A Bake Sale Turning Into a Power Move

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