Betty
I sat cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on my knees, staring at my reflection in the dark screen. I opened my secret vlog folder, the one no one would ever see, and hit record.
Vlog Entry: Private – OFFLINE ONLY
My face appeared in the small window, glasses off, hair falling messily around my shoulders.
"Day one at Riverside Prep," I began quietly, "and I've already made the biggest fool of myself possible." I touched my cheek self-consciously. "Am I even... am I even sexy? Would he notice me if I looked like Stacey?"
The question hung in the air. I got up and walked to the mirror, studying my reflection critically. My body wasn’t like the other girls here, not perfectly toned, not magazine perfect. I’d never thought much about it before, but now...
I dimmed the main light and turned on my desk lamp, casting softer shadows. Almost without thinking, I pulled my oversized hoodie over my head, standing there in just my simple cotton bra and jeans.
"I don’t even know what sexy is," I whispered to my phone camera, angling it toward the mirror. I touched my collarbone tentatively, then lower, my breath catching slightly. "Is this what guys want to see?"
I took a few photos, deleting most immediately, keeping one where the lighting made me look almost... pretty. Maybe.
Then, a sharp knock at my door made me jump.
"Shit," I muttered, scrambling for my hoodie. "Coming!"
I threw the hoodie on and rushed to the door, completely forgetting about my phone still recording on the bed.
Marcus stood in the hallway, looking annoyingly perfect in dark jeans and a fitted gray t-shirt, a biology textbook tucked under his arm.
"Ready to work on that project, partner?"
I stared at him in shock. "You... what are you doing here?"
"Biology. Muscular structure. Ring any bells?" He stepped past me into the room without waiting for an invitation. "Nice place. Very... modest."
My room suddenly felt smaller with Marcus in it. He dominated the space, his presence making everything else seem insignificant.
"How did you even know where I live?"
"I have my ways." He settled onto my desk chair, stretching his long legs out. "So, about this project. I've been thinking."
I perched nervously on the edge of my bed, very aware that my phone was still recording somewhere behind me. "Thinking what?"
"We need to understand muscle structure, right? Theory only gets you so far." Marcus pulled his textbook onto his lap, flipping through pages of anatomical diagrams. "Sometimes you need a more... hands-on approach."
Something in his tone made my pulse quicken. "What do you mean?"
Marcus stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I mean," he said, reaching for the hem of his shirt, "if we’re going to draw the human muscular system, we should probably have a proper reference."
He pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion.
My breath caught. I’d seen him shirtless in the locker room, but that had been chaos and panic. This was different. This was deliberate, intimate, and I couldn’t look away.
His body was perfect, carved muscle and smooth skin, the kind of physique that came from years of dedicated training. Water droplets from his earlier shower were long gone, replaced by the warm glow of my desk lamp.
"Your textbook shows the major muscle groups," Marcus said conversationally, as if he wasn’t standing half-naked in my dorm room. "But it doesn’t show how they connect, how they move together."
He picked up a washable marker from my desk and held it out to me.
"Draw them. Use my body as your canvas."
I stared at the marker like it might bite me. "I can’t—"
"You can." Marcus stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne again. "Start with the pectorals. You know where those are, right?"
My hand shook as I took the marker. This was insane. This was my biology project. This was Marcus Mitchell, who’d humiliated me that morning and demanded I kiss his shoes.
But my body wasn’t listening to logic.
"Here," Marcus guided my hand to his chest, right over his heart. "Feel the muscle structure first. Understand what you’re drawing."
My palm pressed against his warm skin, and I could feel his heartbeat—strong and steady. My own heart was racing.
"Now trace it." His voice was lower now, rougher. "Follow the line of the muscle."
My fingers moved almost involuntarily, tracing the contours of his chest. Marcus inhaled sharply at my touch, his abs contracting.
"The marker," he reminded me, his voice strained.
I uncapped it with trembling fingers and began to draw, following the lines I’d just traced with my hands. The marker glided across his skin, marking the boundaries of muscle groups in neat anatomical precision.
"Lower," Marcus instructed. "The abdominals."
My hand moved down, over the ridges of his stomach. Each touch made him tense, made me more breathless. I could barely hold the marker steady.
"Betty." My name on his lips sounded different than it had in the classroom. Less mocking, more... something else.
I looked up at him, marker poised over his skin, and found him staring down at me with an intensity that made my knees weak.
"You have no idea what you’re doing to me," he whispered.
The marker slipped from my fingers.
The door burst open.
It was Stacey.
"Betty, I forgot my—what the fuck?"