Physics class – another battlefield where failure wasn't an option. Dad's voice echoed in my mind: "Second place is just first loser, Marcus." The memory made my jaw clench.
Professor Marshall's announcement about the group project cut through my thoughts. A significant portion of our final grade.
Perfect. Just what I needed – another thing that could make or break everything I'd worked for.
"We're obviously pairing up, right, baby?" Stacey's voice dripped with assumption as she leaned closer, her hand finding my thigh under the desk.
I exhale slowly, rubbing a hand down my face. Yeah, no.
I already know how this will go. We’ll meet up, pretend to work, and within minutes, she’ll be crawling into my lap, completely ignoring the fact that my grades are hanging by a thread.
I can’t afford distractions—not with Coach breathing down my neck.
And there’s also no way airheaded Stacey could handle most of the work for me.
Coach's warning about my grades rang in my ears, mixing with Dad's constant demands for perfection. I couldn't afford to fuck this up.
That's when I remembered something Stacey had said earlier, probably meant as another cruel joke about her stepsister. About how Betty and her "loser" best friend had been top of their class back in high school.
My eyes found her across the room – she was scanning faces anxiously, looking for a partner. When her gaze met mine, she froze like a deer in headlights.
Time seemed to slow as we locked eyes. I could see the fear there, the way she wanted to look away but couldn't.
Good. Fear was familiar. Fear was something I understood pretty well.
The decision crystallized in my mind with the sharp clarity of survival instinct. "You," I called out, my voice carrying across the classroom. "You're my partner."
Betty's eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. “I— I think maybe Stacey—”
“I’m not asking.” The words came out hard, final. Like Dad's decisions. Like the choices that had shaped me into what I was. "You're my partner."
Stacey's nails dug into my thigh, a warning wrapped in false playfulness. "Marcus," she hissed, "what are you doing?"
I ignored her, watching Betty instead. She'd shrunk back into her seat, but there was something else in her expression now – a flicker of defiance beneath the fear.
It made something twist in my gut, a feeling I couldn't quite name.
Professor Marshall droned on about project requirements and deadlines, but I barely heard him. My mind was already several moves ahead, calculating odds, planning strategies.
Like game plays on the basketball court, but this time the stakes felt different. Personal.
When class ended, Betty moved like she couldn't get out of there fast enough, shoving books into her bag with trembling hands. I watched her bolt for the door, noting how she kept her head down, trying to make herself invisible.
"Baby, let's go for a walk," Stacey suggested, her voice honey-sweet but her eyes sharp with warning. "We need to talk about this."
"Not now." I brushed past her, following Betty's retreat. I heard Stacey's sharp intake of breath behind me, knew there'd be hell to pay later, but I couldn't care about that right now.
Betty's footsteps echoed down the hallway, quick and uneven. She was fast despite her weight, but I was faster.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I caught up to her easily, my shadow falling over her like a predator's claim.
"Listen carefully," I said, my voice low enough that only she could hear. "I’m not letting you screw this up for me."
I expected her to cower, to stammer out some meek agreement. Instead, she whirled around, her eyes flashing with unexpected fire.
“I wasn’t planning on doing that,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. “But you don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
For a second, I just blink at her. Did not expect that.
I recovered quickly, letting my lips curl into a smirk that I knew would unsettle her.
“We’re meeting at the library after class,” I said, my tone making it clear this wasn’t a suggestion. “Don’t be late.”
I turned and walked away before she could respond, but I could feel her eyes on my back.
My heart was pounding harder than it should have been. Something about that flash of defiance in her eyes had sparked a response in me I wasn't prepared for.
It was easier when she just acted afraid, when she fit neatly into the box I'd put her in.