Contos sobre Hot-Blooded e Romances com Independence e Campus

I'm not naturally academically gifted. No matter how hard I push myself—staying up until three in the morning only to drag myself out of bed at six—I can barely keep my grades somewhere in the middle of the class. For most of my school life, no one pays much attention to me. That changes three months before the college entrance exam. One day, my homeroom teacher, Victoria Bennett, calls class president Ethan Sterling and me into her office without warning. She looks at me sternly, asking, "Did you cheat off Ethan during this month's exam?" I shake my head. "No." Victoria turns to Ethan. "What do you have to say?" Ethan quietly chuckles. "I was focused on my own test, so I didn't really notice what he was doing." He pauses, then adds, "Although… I did get the feeling that someone kept turning around to look at me." I stare at him in disbelief. "Me? Looking at you? I never even looked your way!" Victoria's expression hardens, and her voice rises. "You're still going to argue with me? "You ranked 23rd in the class on the last exam, and now, all of a sudden, you're in the top ten?" Before I can respond, she picks up my exam paper and casually draws a thick line through my score. "Since you cheated, I'm giving you a failing grade on this exam." She looks at me coldly. "And you'll write a 3,000-word self-criticism." My heart sinks. "Otherwise, you can forget about staying in school."

In this baseball-obsessed city, Leo Adams was the home run king who never missed. Every time he stepped up to bat, he'd start with the same gesture. Two fingers tapping his right wrist, then a steady point in my direction. The whole city spent two months trying to figure out who it was meant for. No one ever did. No one knew it was meant for me, a team doctor still on probation. And no one knew about the stream of comments only I could see, always drifting across my vision and calling the outcome of the next swing before anyone else. Bottom of the ninth, down by one, bases loaded, two outs. Forty thousand people were on their feet, screaming his name. The comments suddenly flashed blood-red, all at once, with a single message. One more swing would destroy his right wrist on the spot. So just before he raised his hand to make that gesture, I stood up and reversed our signal.

I was a genius with an IQ of 180. Even so, I had always kept a low profile. Standing out just made me a target, so I never did. I was good at math, physics, chemistry, biology, astronomy, programming, quantum entanglement, and computer science. I spoke twenty-seven languages. I had mastered everything. When it came time for the SATs, I controlled my score precisely. I finished exactly ten points above the cutoff for an elite university. By “sheer luck,” I snagged the last spot. My classmates were all top students from every corner of the country. All of them looked down on me. They called me the “waitlist wonder,” the “lucky leftover,” and the “bare minimum.” I just smiled and never took their words to heart. That was until the top student in my class, Victor Holloway, announced, “Some people here don’t deserve to be in this class! “I propose that we cut the weakest link after this exam. “I dare whoever comes last to drop out voluntarily.” I was provoked by his words. Was he talking about me? Fine. It was time for me to stop holding back.

The whole school thought I was using my family's money to treat Lucas Reid, the broke campus heartthrob, like a dog. When I went shopping, he trailed behind me carrying dozens of bags. Whenever I complained about the heat, he'd stand motionless in the sun for two hours holding an umbrella over me, until one shoulder burned and peeled. Countless girls at school felt sorry for him. Then Celine Lawson, the department's new it girl, turned everyone against me. Suddenly, the spoiled rich girl was public enemy number one. While Lucas was at the lab, Celine and her crew cornered me in a classroom and knocked the latte out of my hand. Coffee splashed all over my shoes. She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at me. "Oops. My hand slipped. "I figured you only drank human blood anyway." Then she slapped a photo on the desk. Lucas's arm was streaked with blood. The students crowding around us pointed and whispered. Celine scoffed. "Get a good look? "Because of you, he comes to class covered in injuries every single day. "You've got a little money, so you think you can walk all over people? You really think nobody can stop you?" She shoved a withdrawal form in front of me. It read, "I voluntarily withdraw from school and publicly apologize for bullying Lucas Reid." "Sign it. Now." She held up her phone and played a video. "Or I'll post this video of you making him stand in a downpour as punishment, and you'll be ruined." I looked at the familiar figure in the photo. Are these people out of their minds? My dad pays ten million euros a year for a top bodyguard from the Middle East. Since when is it a crime to make him do his job?