Semua Bab The Football players Feisty Girl: Bab 1 - Bab 10

EMERSON Dread coils low and tight in my stomach the second my boots hit the scuffed linoleum of Westheart College’s main corridor. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz like dying insects, washing everything in that sickly institutional glow that makes even the lockers look hungover.I keep my chin level, shoulders back, but the air already feels thicker—charged with the particular kind of malice only packs of bored, self-important girls can manufacture before nine in the morning.I shouldn’t even be here.Mid-semester transfer. One phone call from my dad three weeks ago and my entire life got uprooted like it weighed nothing. *We’re moving, kid. Westheart needs a new football coach and they want me. Pack light.* That was it. No discussion. No warning. Just the familiar sound of my father’s voice deciding for both of us again.So here I am, walking the halls of a school that looks more like a castle than a college—stone facades, iron gates, and the kind of money that makes the air it

EMERSON All three of them let their gazes drop, slow and deliberate, dragging down my body like they have every right. I force myself to stay still. Free show, apparently. The one on my right looks at me with open, hungry interest. His eyes linger on the curve of my hips, the full swell of my chest, the way my jeans sit on my ass. He doesn’t even try to hide it. His tongue flicks across his lower lip. The one on my left is different. His gaze moves over me with something colder. Not just assessment—disdain. His mouth tightens into a faint sneer. There’s no heat in it. Just quiet, arrogant judgment. The third hangs back half a step, arms loosely crossed, watching with lazy amusement. I keep my eyes on the one on the left. He’s the one who matters. And judging by the way the other two stay slightly behind him, he’s the one who runs this place. The self-appointed king. "You three done measuring how small you can make me feel, or is this the part where you tell me the rules?” The s

EMERSON I walk away from them without looking back, chin up, spine straight, every step deliberate — Somewhere behind me, I hear people already whispering. I can't make out most of it, but I catch "new girl" a couple times. “So I fucking stood up for myself. Big fucking deal.” Let them talk. I didn't come here to win a popularity contest, collect approval points, or audition for a place in the school’s little social hierarchy. If refusing to bow to some bully football player means I’m suddenly the girl everyone has something to say about? Fine. They can talk. Besides, if they’re already talking about me before lunch, I must be making an impressive first impression. I pull my schedule out of my bag — a crumpled printout I've already folded and unfolded a dozen times since orientation — and squint at it like it might rearrange itself into something legible. Wilder Hall, Room 214. Great. Wonderful. I have no idea where Wilder Hall is, and the campus map app on my phone has app

EMERSON I'm halfway through convincing myself the salad was a mistake when a new shadow falls across our table, and a girl I don't recognize drops into the seat beside Tessa. She's got dark hair pulled into a messy bun, ink stains on two fingers. "This is Priya," Tessa says, not missing a beat. "Priya, this is Emerson. The new girl who apparently doesn't believe in self-preservation." "Oh, I know who she is." Priya drops her bag, already grinning. "Everyone knows who she is." *"Great." I stab my fork into my salad. "My reputation precedes me."* "I just got back from chemistry, and I swear to god, it was like being trapped in a live radio broadcast. Everyone. All talking about the same thing." Priya leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright with the specific delight of someone who lives for gossip and has just been handed the story of the semester. "You." "Really? What a surprise. It's only been half a day and the rumor mill's already running at full speed. What exactly

**RIVER**“No.”The word comes out sharper than I mean it to. “After this morning’s insult, she’s not yours to handle. She’s mine. I need her obedient. I need her to understand exactly where she stands.”“Yours?” she repeats, voice quieter now, sharper. “Since when do you become so obsessed with the new girls, River? You usually fuck them and forget them by lunch.”She lets out a short, humorless laugh.“What’s so special about this one? She talks back once and suddenly she’s your personal project?” Her gaze flicks toward Emerson’s table, then back to me, something ugly and possessive flashing across her face.“I thought I was the special one.”She’s still watching me, waiting for the usual reassurance, the soft look, the reminder that she’s the exception. Today she doesn’t get it.“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I say finally, voice flat. “You’re still the special one. That hasn’t changed. But this one is different. She doesn’t get to walk around this campus thinking she can talk to