Chapter 4

Zach's POV

After that night, the quiet peaceful life I had envisioned for myself in college had crumbled to dust. Whispers of that night flooded every nook, cranny and hook.

Headsplash, enemies with history.

Gigi had given me an earful for my actions. Yeah, maybe I should've left immediately I bumped into Ryder but I couldn't keep running. I had to stand my ground, even if it involved shoving the middle finger first.

"Twelve minutes left," I murmured looking at my watch. I had classes in twelve minutes, I had to get there in the next five with my hoodie fully covering my head before anybody else got in.

But Brittany, being Brittany.....had to be a witch.

She arrived with her minions and they blocked my path, knowing fully well that I was rushing to class.

"Brittany."

"Zachary Jameson."

"Yes, hi. I'm rushing to class, mind if you scoot over a bit?"

They turned to each other and laughed loudly, as if I had spoken a joke.

Brittany stepped forward like she owned the damn pavement, her arms folded tight across her designer crop top like she was guarding national treasure. Her two backup dancers, sorry, friends flanked her, chewing gum like it was a competitive sport.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face after what you pulled at the party,” Brittany said, her eyes slicing through me like lasers. “You were lucky Ryder didn’t put you in your place right there.”

I adjusted my hoodie and gave her a slow blink. “Oh, believe me, he tried. But throwing smug looks from across the room doesn’t exactly qualify as combat.”

That earned a few dramatic gasps from her crew. Brittany's lips curled, like she was offended that I had the audacity to speak without shaking in my boots.

“Ryder doesn’t need to fight you. He doesn’t even see you,” she said, stepping closer. “You’ll never be on his level. You’re just sad. All that drama during your high school days with him? You obviously brought it on yourself with those cheap hoodies.”

I cocked my head. “Right. Because getting outed in the middle of a crowded hallway was totally my hoodie's fault.”

One of her minions whispered something, and Brittany let out a breathy laugh. “Cry me a river. You made a scene at the party for attention. Ryder’s the best this school has. People like you? You’re just a footnote. Try not to embarrass yourself again.”

I stared at her blankly for a second, then smiled without warmth. “Are you done, or do you need a mic to keep going?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Just wondering if this little performance comes with backup dancers and pyro technics. If not, I’ve got places to be, like class for example.”

Her expression soured. “Typical. He said you’re always trying to act tough.”

I walked past her, bumping shoulders slightly.

“Acting tough?” I muttered. “No. That was me holding back from clawing his stupid eyes out.”

I kept walking without looking back. Whatever Brittany’s angle was, Ryder’s attention probably.

I wasn’t interested.

"Feel free to bark Brittany," I chuckled, gaining her attention once more. "Ryder never kept his bitches too long."

______

By the time I arrived at class, I was seven minutes late.

"I see that by becoming the topic on every student's lips you and Mr summers have decided to string in like prawns to my class, late."

I heard a huff behind me. Apparently Ryder had walked at the same time as me.

"Mr Starks—"

"Professor Staks to you, Mr Summers."

"Well sir, I don't think that you should bash me on my….coming late. I don't know about this mess of a nerd here." He pointed to me, "but my dad just donated a 'satisfactory' amount to your 'firm', remember?"

Professor Stak’s jaw tightened, and I swear for a second he forgot how to breathe. He blinked rapidly behind his thick-rimmed glasses, as if trying to process whether Ryder had actually said what he just said.

A few students chuckled. The rest fell into a tense hush.

“Mr. Summers,” Professor Staks began, voice carefully clipped, “if you intend to bribe your way into punctuality, you may want to consider that arrogance doesn’t look good on transcripts.”

Ryder gave a slow, fake-apologetic shrug and strolled past me like we weren’t standing on the edge of a boxing ring. “Just saying, sir. Facts are facts.”

I took my seat near the back, but of course, Ryder had to slide into the desk right beside mine, smirking like it was a goddamn privilege to breathe the same air.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate drama, you always find a way to make an entrance,” I muttered, pulling out my notes.

He leaned over, low enough for only me to hear. “And for someone who cries victim all the time, you sure don’t shut up.”

I turned to him, eyebrows raised. “It’s called having a spine. You should try it sometime instead of hiding behind daddy’s cash and fanclub Barbie.”

Ryder’s jaw twitched. “At least I don’t play the poor wounded hero card. We get it, you were outed. Boo-hoo. Maybe if you weren’t such a self-righteous—"

“Alright!” Professor Staks clapped his hands sharply, drawing the entire room’s attention. “I’d appreciate it if my classroom didn’t turn into a noisy opera. Some of us came here to teach. Some of you came here to learn, or so I hope.”

He shot both of us a warning glare. I looked away but Ryder didn’t.

“To promote teamwork,” the professor continued, adjusting the marker in his hand, “we’re going to try something new this semester. A year-long group project. You’ll work closely with a partner to do research, assignments, presentations, everything. Choose your partner wisely. Or rather......” he smirked, "let me choose for you."

Groans filled the room. Some people were already sliding closer to their friends, others whispering desperate prayers not to get stuck with someone awful.

He began reading from a list. “Emma and Chuks. Tasha and Ian. Brittany and Claire. Sam and Ruby....”

Ryder leaned back in his chair like he was too good for all of it.

“Zachary Jameson....” Professor Staks paused.

My spine stiffened. I hoped it wasn't a self obsessed turd. Please God, please.

“and Michelle Jackson.”

Ouf, the gamer girl? Thank Goodness.

Professor Staks coughed.

"Sorry Michelle goes with Antonio Vonn. I meant Zachary Jameson and Mr Summers."