Walking toward Madison's table felt like approaching a different species entirely. These girls existed in a social stratosphere where conversations revolved around whose Instagram story got the most views and which filter made their ass look most fire. Meanwhile, I was the guy who got excited about new JavaScript frameworks and considered it a social victory when someone didn't actively avoid eye contact.
"Hey, Peter," Madison said as I got within normal human conversation distance, and her voice had this sweet, almost innocent quality that immediately activated every warning system in my brain. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."
The girls at her table—Ashley, Brianna, and some sophomore who probably peaked in middle school—all exchanged these knowing looks that screamed "we definitely planned this intervention." Because nothing said "spontaneous academic crisis" like a coordinated mean girl strategy session.
"Uh, sure," I managed, trying to sound casual while internally freaking out that Madison Torres was voluntarily speaking words in my direction. "What's up?"
"Chemistry," she said, and the way she emphasized it made me think we weren't talking about the periodic table. "I'm like, totally lost on molecular bonds and stuff. Could we maybe study together? Somewhere quiet?"
Here's the thing—I'd never seen Madison in any advanced science classes, and I was pretty sure she thought ionic compounds were something you ordered at Starbucks. But I wasn't about to fact-check the hottest girl who'd ever acknowledged my existence.
"Yeah, totally. The library's probably best for studying."
Madison stood up, and holy fucking Christ, I'd apparently been missing a goddamn masterpiece this whole time.
She was maybe 5'6" but her legs went on for literal days, wrapped in jeans so tight they should probably require a prescription. Her crop top revealed a flat stomach that suggested she actually used her gym membership instead of just posting selfies there, and everything about her screamed "genetically blessed and knows it."
She had that effortless hot girl energy—curves in all the right places, skin that looked like she bathed in liquid gold, and hair that probably took two hours and seventeen products to look "naturally perfect." The kind of girl who made guys forget how to form sentences and walk into glass doors.
"Perfect," she said, slinging her designer bag over her shoulder like she was heading to a photoshoot instead of academic torture.
The walk from the cafeteria to the library was like a social experiment in real time. Every conversation stopped as we passed.
Guys were literally doing double-takes, probably wondering if I was Madison's charity case or if hell had actually frozen over. Girls were whispering behind their hands with expressions ranging from confused to deeply offended by this disruption to the natural order.
I spotted Tommy near his locker, and his face went through about seven stages of shock before settling on "what the actual fuck is happening to my friend's life."
But the real kicker was when we passed Lea. She looked up, saw me walking with Madison, and her expression shifted from neutral to something that looked like disappointment mixed with vindication. Like I'd just proved every point she made about me being shallow and predictable.
"Peter's moving fast," I heard her mutter to her friend, and it hit harder than it should have.
"..."
*
The library at Lincoln High was basically where social hierarchies went to die. It was this weird neutral territory where nerds felt comfortable and popular kids went to hide from their own drama. Madison led me to this corner section behind the reference books—probably the most secluded spot in the building.
"This should work," she said, settling into a chair and opening her chemistry textbook to what looked like a completely random page.
There were maybe six other students scattered around the library, but they were all definitely watching us. Peter Carter, professional background character, studying alone with Madison Torres, certified smoke show.
This was going to be gossip gold by tomorrow.
Madison pulled her chair closer to mine, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something expensive and floral that probably cost more than my mom made in a day.
"So," she said, pointing at a diagram of molecular structures, "I don't get any of this bonding stuff."
She leaned in further, and suddenly her hand was on my arm. Not aggressive, just this casual touch while she was "pointing" at something in the book. Her fingers traced along my forearm, and my brain immediately short-circuited.
Holy shit. Madison Torres was touching me. Voluntarily. On purpose.
"See, like this covalent bond thing," she continued, her thumb brushing against my wrist, "how do you know when atoms are... attracted to each other?"
Her voice had gotten softer, more breathy, and she was looking at me instead of the textbook. Her hand moved from my arm to my shoulder, fingers playing with the edge of my shirt collar.
That's when it hit me like a fucking freight train. Madison Torres wasn't struggling with chemistry homework. Madison Torres was trying to seduce me. In the library. During lunch period.
My virgin nerd brain was having trouble processing this development. Girls didn't touch me. Girls definitely didn't touch me while making bedroom eyes and asking about "attraction" in voices that could melt steel.
This was not how my life worked.
"I... uh..." I stammered, because apparently all my enhanced charm stats disappeared the moment an actual hot girl put her hands on me.
"You're really smart, Peter," she whispered, and now her hand was on my chest, right over my heart, which was currently beating fast enough to power a small city. "I bet you know all about... chemistry."
The way she said "chemistry" made it clear we'd abandoned any pretense of academic discussion. Madison Torres was full-on hitting on me, and my body was responding in ways that would be embarrassing if I wasn't so completely mind-fucked by the situation.
"Madison, I—"
"Shh," she said, finger moving to my lips. "We should probably continue this somewhere more private. My parents work late, so my place is usually empty after school."
The invitation was delivered with just enough innocence to maintain plausible deniability, but the subtext was clearer than a fucking neon sign. Madison Torres wanted to get me alone so she could... what exactly? My brain was cycling through possibilities, and none of them involved studying molecular structures.
"I could pick you up at your place around four?" she suggested, her hand still resting on my chest. "We could really... focus on our chemistry."
"Yeah," I managed to croak out, "that sounds... educational."
She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that probably caused car accidents. "Perfect. Don't tell anyone though, okay? I like to keep my study sessions private."
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and Madison pulled away like nothing happened. She gathered her books with the casual efficiency of someone who just conducted a successful business transaction.
"See you at four, Peter," she said, and there was definitely something predatory in her voice now.
I sat there for a moment after she left, trying to process what just happened. Madison Torres just invited me to her house. Madison Torres just spent ten minutes basically feeling me up in the library. Madison Torres, who had never spoken to me before yesterday, was apparently interested in exploring our "chemistry."
And the crazy part? I was pretty sure this had nothing to do with my sparkling personality or newfound confidence. This was about verification. Madison wanted to find out if the rumors about my equipment were true, and she was willing to seduce me to get that information.
I should've been offended. I should've felt used and objectified. But here's the thing—I needed to complete this system mission, and Madison just made it incredibly easy. She wanted to use me for confirmation about my dick, I needed to seduce someone for system mission. It was like the universe decided to eliminate all the complicated emotional bullshit and just give us both what we wanted.
As I packed up my stuff and headed to my next class, I caught glimpses of the looks I was getting. Everyone saw Madison Torres basically claim me in the library. My social status just underwent a seismic shift, and I hadn't even done anything yet.
Four o'clock couldn't come fast enough.