Mr. Graves entered Honors Track 7 like a specter materializing through fog. His skeletal frame seemed to float beneath tweed, fingers interlaced behind his stooped back. Students nicknamed him "The Cadaver"—not for cruelty, but for his sepulchral monotone that could narcotize caffeine addicts.
Vivian Vaughn propped her chin on a history textbook, eyelids heavy as Graves dissected the Treaty of Versailles with funereal cadence. Beneath the desk, her phone vibrated—a lifeline in the drone.
Bryce: Lunch? Szechuan Palace. Dylan's buying. "Thanking" Yueling.
Vivian: Did she agree?
Bryce: His delusion. Just be there.
She glanced backward. Bryce lounged in the last row, a panther disguised in school blazer. Their seating arrangement was MacAllister's tactical strike—Vivian exiled near the chalkboard, Dylan marooned mid-room, Bryce and Zane anchored as far apart as geometry allowed. Only Roxy Song remained nearby, forehead pressed against cool laminate as she fought cramps.
"Pot roast?" Vivian whispered. "Extra gravy? No carrots."
Roxy groaned. "You're an angel."
As Graves pivoted to outline Alsace-Lorraine's mineral deposits, Vivian's gaze drifted to Yueling Shan. The scholarship student sat arrow-straight, thrifted blazer swallowing narrow shoulders. Her uneven ponytail—honey-brown strands escaping—triggered Vivian's fingers to twitch with hair-tie reflex.
Focus, Vixen, she chastised herself. Her eyes dropped to the Eldenwood Chronicle hidden beneath her text. Page 7 showcased Adrian Stone accepting the National Mathlete medal—jawline sharp as cut glass, eyes focused on some distant equation.
A shadow fell across her desk. Anya Song, Honors Cohort spy and class vice-captain, hissed: "Graves' class isn't naptime, Vaughn."
Vivian bared teeth. "Worried I'll outrank you again, Song?"
Anya flushed, recalling Vivian's fraudulent #3 placement. Before she retaliated, Roxy lifted her head, voice frayed: "Chill, Song. Even corpses need coffee breaks."
The exchange earned Graves' glacial stare. Silence calcified.
Roxy slumped back. "Why provoke her? She's Bryce's fanclub president."
"Jealousy stinks worse than Mac's cologne." Vivian flipped the Chronicle open. "Look—Stone's collar's crooked here. Cute, right?"
"Cute?" Roxy snorted. "He's Eldenwood's friggin' Excalibur in human form. Girls line up just to breathe his hallway air."
Vivian traced Adrian's printed cheekbone. "So?"
"So?" Roxy gaped. "You versus Ivy-bound golden boy? That's like... a firecracker trying to ignite a glacier."
"Watch this firecracker melt Antarctica." Vivian snapped the Chronicle shut.
Roxy grabbed her wrist. "Seriously. Bryce likes you. Like... likes you."
Vivian recoiled. "Bryce is war-tested comrades! He'd barf hearing that!"
But Roxy's eyes held knowing pity. Vivian remembered Bryce shoving Dylan aside to hand her his blazer yesterday. How he always ordered her extra chili oil at Szechuan Palace. The way his knuckles whitened when Adrian walked by...
"No," Vivian said too sharply. "Never."
Roxy sighed. "Just... don't nuke Stone's future. He actually deserves it."
The bell shattered the tension. Students flooded corridors—a riot of plaid skirts and blazers. Roxy vanished toward dorms while Vivian joined Bryce's orbit near the lockers.
"Yueling bailed," Dylan announced, kicking a trash can. "Said she 'prefers the library.'"
Zane adjusted his glasses. "Translation: you terrify her."
Bryce slung an arm around Vivian. "Szechuan still? Dylan's paying for phantom gratitude."
As they turned, Vivian caught Bryce's gaze lingering on her history text—where she'd doodled Mrs. Vivian Stone in looping script. His smile tightened.
"So," he said lightly, "still stalking Camelot?"
Vivian shrugged. "Every knight needs his wildfire."
Dylan choked. "You're his wildfire? More like toxic spill— Ow!" He rubbed his shin where Vivian kicked him.
Zane muttered, "Emotional damage incoming."
They pushed through oak doors into autumn sunlight. Vivian inhaled crisp air laced with diesel fumes from idling town cars. At the curb, a black Bentley glided to a stop—Adrian Stone slid into the backseat without glancing at the rabble.
"See?" Bryce's voice cut through her stare. "Different galaxies, V."
The Bentley vanished. Vivian squared her shoulders.
Galaxies collide, she thought.
At Szechuan Palace, Bryce snagged Vivian's pot roast container. "For Roxy. Extra gravy, no carrots—right?"
Dylan groaned. "Since when are you her butler?"
"Since she looked like death warmed over." Bryce flagged the waitress. "Add hot ginger tea."
Zane smirked. "Smooth."
Vivian dumped chili oil on her mapo tofu. "So what's Stone's damage? Parental divorce? Secret meth habit?"
Bryce stiffened. "Why assume damage?"
"Nobody's that perfect. It's creepy."
"Maybe," Bryce said slowly, "he just... is." He pushed Roxy's food toward Vivian. "Take this up later. Her cramps won't wait."
Dylan slurped noodles. "Cramps? Explains the demon mood! Last month my sis—"
Zane kicked him under the table. "No period tales during lunch, Rhodes."
As Vivian left, Bryce watched her stride toward campus—container clutched like a battle standard. Dylan nudged him. "Give up yet? She's Stone-struck."
Bryce stirred his tea, watching leaves swirl. "Wildfires burn out."
But his knuckles whitened around the porcelain cup.
Chapter End Note: Vivian's fixation intensifies as Bryce's unspoken affection simmers. Roxy's vulnerability reveals deeper bonds within the group, while Yueling's avoidance signals coming social clashes.