CHAPTER 3: OPERATION MAKE THEM OBSESS

Via

Friday's here, and man, this week's been dragging.

"V!"

I glance over at Mr. Beaumont, who's looking pretty ticked off. "Did you even start that book I told you to read?"

Book? Reading? I had no idea I was supposed to read anything, especially something he assigned.

"Nope, didn't even know I was supposed to—" My answer turns heads in the classroom. Kol saunters in, late as usual, but Mr. Beaumont ignores him.

"You mean to tell me you didn't grab 'The Great Gatsby' from the library on Wednesday after school?" Mr. Beaumont's tone is anything but forgiving, and I shake my head while Kol settles into his seat.

"I had no clue you wanted me to read that, sir. I thought we were sticking with 'Fahrenheit 451' this year," I explained, pulling out a copy of the wrong book from my bag.

"So you thought I'd let you off easy?" Mr. Beaumont's not buying it.

"No, sir, I just—" 

"Get a pass from my desk, head to the library, and bring back 'The Great Gatsby.' If not, it's an automatic F," he cuts me off, pointing towards his desk. I quickly pack up and stand, Kol does the same, but Mr. Beaumont stops him.

"Mr. Cooper, where are you off to?" Mr. Beaumont asks Kol. "I was gonna tag along with V-"

"You feel like playing guardian for Via? You think she can't handle stuff solo?" Kol shakes his head. "Then get back to your own work. She can manage just fine."

"Alright, sorry, sir," Kol says, sitting back down, shooting me an apologetic glance.

"Ms. Hawthorne, what's holding you up?" I grab a pass from Mr. Beaumont's desk and leave the classroom in a hurry.

I head to the school library, taking my time walking across the campus. "GOD, can't deal with him," I mutter as I enter the library.

The librarian quickly asks, "Got your pass?" I show her the one from Mr. Beaumont, and she nods. "Thanks. Got a book in mind?"

"Yeah, 'The Great Gatsby' by F. Scott Fitzgerald," I say, and she points me to where it might be. "Just one left should be along that wall. Good luck." With that, she heads back to her desk. After about 10-15 minutes of searching, I finally spotted it on the fifth shelf.

As I reach for the book on the fifth shelf, I find myself stretching on my tiptoes, struggling to grab it. But then, I start to tip backward, almost taking a tumble.

"Whoa!" Just in time, a hand reaches out and steadies me.

I look up at the person who saved me—a young guy with dark hair and kind hazel eyes, his face showing genuine concern.

"Thanks," I mumble, feeling a bit sheepish after almost falling.

"You were about to take a spill there," he notes, helping me steady myself.

"Yeah, almost did," I admit, noticing the tattoos on his arms and hands.

"Watch your step next time, love," he advises, his British accent catching my ear. He picks up the book I dropped and hands it to me.

"Y-yeah, I will," I reply, feeling a bit flustered.

The school bell blared, signaling the end of our quick chat.

"Cool, catch you later," he said, shooting me a warm smile before heading off.

Trying to figure out why I stumbled over my words so much, I muttered to myself, "Why'd I stutter so bad?"

I made my way over to the librarian, who greeted me with a smile.  "You found it, that's great. Now, can I have your first and last name, please?"

"Via Rosalind Hawthorne," I replied. She punched the info into her computer, scanned the book, then asked, "Hey, who was that guy who came in earlier?"

She studied me for a moment before nodding. "I'm not sure; I haven't seen him here before. He did have a visitor pass on his shirt, though."

"Oh," I said, giving a thankful smile. "Well, thanks for everything." She nodded, and I left the library.

The bell rang again, loud as ever.

Cursing under my breath, I realized I was late for my next class and still had to swing by Mr. Beaumont's room. I groaned and hurried there.

As I walked in, the whole class glanced at me before quickly looking away. Mr. Beaumont motioned for me to come closer.

"Why are you always late, Ms. Hawthorne?" he asked, and I sighed.

"Sorry, sir. The librarian only had one copy left, and she wasn't sure where it was—"

"You always have excuses," he cut in, pulling my backpack from under his desk. "Off you go to your next class. You're already quite behind."

"Yes, sir," I replied, grabbing my bag and leaving with a muttered, "Asshole," as I exited.

Finally, the last bell of the day rang, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Ms. Hawthorne, can you come up here for a sec?" My art teacher waved me over and handed me a pass. "Mr. Montgomery wants you to swing by his class after mine. Third period's done, so you can head over there now, okay?"

Mr. Montgomery wanted to talk to me?

I glanced at the pass, then back at my art teacher. "Sure thing, I'll go over there right away," I said before leaving her room.

At my locker, I unloaded my books, lightening my backpack's load. It was a small relief, and I felt a bit more relaxed.

With my books stashed away, I shut my locker and headed to Mr. Montgomery's class. As I walked in, I saw him chatting with Mr. Beaumont, which made me internally groan.

Clearing my throat, I focused on Mr. Montgomery, ignoring Mr. Beaumont for the moment. "Hey, Mr. Montgomery, you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, let's talk about your recent assignments," Mr. Montgomery said, handing me a sheet with our week's stats. "Most of the work's off. If this keeps up, you might fail my class, and it's only the first week." I felt my face flush with embarrassment. 

Was I really performing so poorly?

"And about me, your last essay wasn't great. Got a D," Mr. Beaumont added, passing me the essay on Fahrenheit 451. "You claimed that's all you remembered me teaching. Doesn't seem like it from this."

It seemed like I was really struggling in my classes. The urge to cry started creeping up on me. What was the point of being here if I couldn't keep up?

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was doing so bad. I-" I stumbled over my words, feeling embarrassed and lost for what to say. It felt like anything I said would just make things worse.

"Don't apologize too much; that's why we wanted to talk to you," Mr. Montgomery reassured me, and I heard someone else come into the room behind me.

Turning around, I froze when I saw the guy standing there, about 12 feet away. It was the same British guy from the library who caught me.

"This is Mr. Thorne; he'll be your tutor from now on," Mr. Beaumont announced, and I quickly looked away from Mr. Thorne.

"You've set me up with a tutor?" I glanced at the papers in my hand, getting confirming nods from both Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Beaumont. Then I turned to Mr. Thorne.

"Well, now I can fail, but at least I'll do it stylishly," I joked, setting the papers on Mr. Montgomery's desk. Honestly, the last thing I wanted was a tutor. No matter who tried to help, I just couldn't seem to get it. I'd even tried tutoring before.

"I don't need a tutor; they don't really work for me. I'll figure out how to pass on my own. Thanks, though," I forced a smile.

"Ms. Hawthorne, we're doing this to help you. We want to see you—" Mr. Montgomery started, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

"No, you're doing it because you feel sorry for me," I said. As Mr. Everhart walked in, I added, "I'll figure it out on my own. Thanks, but I'm out of here."

"No, that's not why–-" I didn't stick around to hear the rest. I practically ran out of the room.

Heading to the cafeteria for a snack, self-doubt started clouding my thoughts. "Am I really this slow and dumb?" I muttered to myself, the worry gnawing at me.

After finishing my snack, I hurried to the girls' locker room to get ready for cheer practice.

"Hey, V, Coach wants to see you. She said to come get you right away," Stephanie said urgently, and I nodded.

"I hope it's not bad news," I said as I quickly changed into my white tee and black shorts. "Let's go."

I headed straight to Coach, who greeted me with a disappointed look.

"Via, I've got your weekly grade report," she began, setting the stage for another round of criticism. "I'm not happy with your grades for 1st and 7th period." She handed me a slip, sounding regretful. "You have two weeks to bring them up, or I'll have to take you off the team. I'm sorry, but the dean's left me no choice."

The dean? Could it be Mr. Everhart, the guy who seemed to hold a grudge against me for losing my temper in front of him and accused me of having anger issues?

"I understand, Coach. I'll do everything I can to improve," I promised sincerely, and she nodded, looking relieved that I was taking it seriously.

"Good, now get into formation. Remember, today's the last day for new recruits," she reminded me, gesturing toward the newcomers waiting to be officially cleared.

"Got it, Coach," I replied, falling into position with the team.

It seems like those three assholes are ganging up on me. They're all hot, but it's like they each have their own grudge against me. And they even dragged that handsome British guy, who seems to be one of their gang, into it. If they won't listen to reason, I'll just have to use some charm.

I can't be removed from the team, especially as the cheer captain. I've worked hard to maintain my reputation as the cheer captain, and I won't let those four assholes ruin it.

After all, I'm one of the most beautiful girls on the whole campus. Looks like I'll need to resort to forbidden techniques to win over the four assholes.

"Just you wait and see, I'll have each one of you utterly obsessed with me," I whispered seductively, a mischievous smirk playing on my lips.