Aria Blake sat at the back of the library, wrapped in the comforting silence of books and the soft whispers of pages turning. Her sanctuary. The one place where high school didn't feel so loud—where everything was black and white, and she could focus on what really mattered: her grades.
Her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen.
Email from the school counselor.
Subject: Tutor Assignment
Message: You've been assigned as a tutor for Jace Carter. Report to the library during lunch.
Aria groaned softly.
Of course. She should've seen this coming.
Jace Carter—resident disaster. The boy who turned detentions into an art form. Always late, always trouble, and never caught caring about anything academic.
He wasn't her problem.
Until now.
She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, sighing as she closed the email. This wasn't her usual kind of challenge. She didn't need distractions. Especially not in the form of a leather-jacket-wearing, rule-breaking bad boy.
But Aria never said no. She always followed the rules. Always did what was asked—even when it didn't make sense.
"Hey," a voice interrupted her thoughts.
She looked up—and there he was.
Jace Carter.
The leather jacket. The messy hair. That unreadable expression that screamed I don't care... except he looked nervous, like he didn't quite know what to do with himself.
"You're Aria, right?" he asked, voice low and rough, like it hadn't been used much that day.
"Yeah." Her heart skipped for no good reason. Clearing her throat, she tried to sound steadier. "I'm your tutor."
He snorted and leaned against the nearest bookshelf. "Lucky me."
Aria folded her arms, trying to keep her cool. "I'm not here to entertain you. We have work to do."
"Yeah, I figured." He slid into the chair across from her, running a hand through his hair. His eyes flicked toward her stack of textbooks. "So, what's first?"
"Calculus," she replied, placing a notebook in front of him. "You're behind."
He grunted. "Shocking."
"Not if you care about passing," she said, opening the textbook.
"Sounds like a lot of effort," he muttered.
"Not if you show up and actually try," she said, tapping the page.
He looked at her, then smirked. "You really are Miss Perfect, huh?"
The nickname stung more than she wanted to admit. She wasn't perfect—just careful. She didn't mess up. And Jace Carter was a walking reminder of everything she tried to avoid.
"Think whatever you want," she said evenly. "But if you want to pass, this is how it starts."
He didn't reply right away. Just stared at her, like he was trying to read a language he didn't speak.
Then, slowly, he leaned in—just a little—and said, "Maybe I care about other things."
Her breath caught.
The air shifted—charged, confusing. But she held her ground.
"I'm not here to talk about other things," she said firmly, sliding a pencil toward him. "Let's begin."
Jace didn't reach for it immediately. His gaze lingered on her a second longer, something unreadable in his eyes.
Then he picked up the pencil and said, "Alright. Let's see if I can survive this."