Mr. MacAllister's gradebook cracked against Dylan Rhodes' forearm like a gavel. The sound froze Honors Track 7's muffled laughter.
"Penelope Crumbly: class rank 69, overall 901." MacAllister's voice dripped acid as he marched through rankings. Tension coiled tighter with each name.
"Bryce Sterling: rank 51, overall 678." MacAllister's glare could've melted steel. Bryce smirked, tracing dust patterns on his broom handle. Everyone knew the Sterling family's political dynasty shielded him like Kevlar.
"Roxy Song: rank 30, overall 439." MacAllister paused. "Absent?"
"Was here for calc," someone muttered.
As if summoned, Roxy materialized in the doorway, cheeks flushed. "Field hockey tryouts ran late, sir."
"Detention. Back wall. Now."
Roxy squeezed between Zane and Vivian, whispering, "Mac's on a warpath today."
Vivian eyed Roxy's rumpled jersey. "Where'd you vanish, Bombshell?"
"Code red emergency." Roxy mimed overflowing waves. "Needed tampons stat—"
"SONG! VAUGHN!" MacAllister's roar rattled chalk dust from the ceiling. "Separate! Or shall I find you brooms too?"
Roxy scurried left as MacAllister resumed his grim roll call.
"Zane Blackwood: rank 13, overall 333."
"Amber Liu: rank 12, overall 325."
"...Priscilla Wang: rank 7, overall 261."
Vivian stiffened. My turn. Panic flickered—Dylan's frantically scribbled answers during the placement exam suddenly felt like grenades in her memory.
"Holy shit," she breathed. "He skipped me."
Bryce snorted. "And Dylan. Did you two cheat off the valedictorian?"
Their eyes snapped to Yueling Shan's threadbare cardigan. The transfer student sat rigid in the front row, her thrifted blazer swallowing frail shoulders. Last week, Dylan had marveled at her moonlight studying: "Works like friggin' Marie Curie! Guaranteed A+!"
"Vivian Vaughn." MacAllister's pause was theatrical. "Rank 3. Overall 157."
Silence. Then chaos.
"No way!"
"Vixen cracked top 200?!"
"Pay up, Rhodes! Told you she copied!"
Before the shock faded, MacAllister dropped his bomb. "Dylan Rhodes. Rank 2. Overall 97."
Dylan choked on air. At the chalkboard, Yueling's pencil snapped.
MacAllister saved his only smile for the trembling girl. "Yueling Shan. Rank 1. Overall 57."
The revelation detonated. Whispers crescendoed: "Beat half the Cohort kids!" "That sweater cost less than my latte!"
Vivian's ears burned crimson. Dylan's "generous" exam-sharing now felt like flashing a stolen trophy. She caught Yueling's anxious glance—the girl knew.
Cheat off the prodigy, Bryce mouthed, chuckling.
Vivian kicked his shin. "Eat dirt, Sterl."
"Care to share the joke?" MacAllister loomed over them. "Delighted to see our top performers celebrating." His gaze skewered Vivian and Dylan. "While some question these miraculous scores... I choose faith. Prove me right next month."
The bell tolled like a death knell.
MacAllister hadn't cleared the doorway before the room erupted.
"Rank 3? Bull-shit, Vixen!"
"Did Yueling write your essays too?"
"Dylan Rhodes beat Ivy League legacies? Apocalypse now!"
Vivian hurled her trig textbook. "Screw you, Parker! At least I'm not failing chem!"
Roxy slumped at her desk, groaning. "Mac's 'faith' speech? Passive-aggressive nuke."
Zane adjusted his glasses. "Statistically improbable spikes. They'll audit our exams."
"They?" Bryce snatched the broom Vivian had abandoned. "We didn't copy genius girl!"
Dylan shouldered through hecklers toward Yueling's desk. "Hey! Uh... thanks."
Yueling recoiled as he loomed over her. "For what?"
"For..." Dylan scratched his neck, suddenly noticing her delicate collarbones. "The answers? You saved my ass!" He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Dad owns Rhodes' Royal Bakery. Been around since Queen Victoria's days! I'll bring you eclairs tomorrow—"
"No!" Yueling shrank into her cardigan. "Please."
Dylan blinked. "But they're legendary! How'd your folks pick 'Yueling' anyway? Sounds like martial arts—"
"My father admired The Smiling, Proud Wanderer." The words slipped out icy-sharp.
"Swordfighting novels?" Dylan grinned. "Sick! I—"
The bell drowned him out. Yueling clutched her books like armor, fleeing.
Vivian watched Dylan deflate. Across the room, Yueling hunched at her desk, a sparrow among peacocks. MacAllister's "faith" felt like barbed wire tightening around Vivian's conscience.
Rank 3. The number glowed like neon shame. She'd coasted on Cs for years—why did this fake victory sting?
Bryce slung an arm around her shoulders. "Forget Mac's mind games. Party at my place Friday. Stone's coming."
Vivian's pulse spiked. "Adrian?"
"Debate team fundraiser." Bryce's smile didn't reach his eyes. "His kingdom, his rules. Play nice, Vixen."
As calculus equations bloomed on the smartboard, Vivian stole one last glance at Adrian through the window. He was annotating Kant in the courtyard, sunlight gilding his profile.
Untouchable. Unknowable.
Your rules, she vowed silently, but my game.
Chapter End Note: Academic fraud exposes class divides, while Dylan's clumsy overtures foreshadow unlikely connections. Vivian's moral discomfort hints at character growth beyond her troublemaker facade.