Ashton swerved the car into the closest available parking space near the Fine Arts building, the tires letting out one last loud complain against the concrete.
Before the car could even come to a complete halt, and well before Ashton could twist the key to cut the engine, Keegan’s hand was already on the door handle.
He unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp snap, threw the door open, and swung his legs out, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.
“Whoa, whoa, chill!
The car is still moving, man!” Ashton yelled, slamming his foot on the brake so the car gave a violent jerk as it finally parked.
He turned in his seat, grabbing the steering wheel as he watched Keegan practically tumble out onto the pavement.
“Hey!
At least say something before leaving!”
Keegan paused for a fraction of a second, gripping the edge of the car door.
His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs— Mostly from the absolute panic of being twenty minutes late for his Art History exam.
“I’m really late, Ash,” Keegan said, his voice clipped and breathless as he slammed the passenger door shut.
He leaned through the open window, his face an emotionless mask despite the chaos inside him.
“Thanks for the ride.
And for making me eat dirt in the front yard.” Ashton let out a bright, easy laugh, completely unfazed by the mud drying on his own cheek or the sheer panic of the morning.
He leaned across the center console, flashing that familiar, cheeky grin that always made Keegan’s stomach turn upside down.
“Hey, the mud adds character, Mr.
Sterling!
Gives you that tortured artist look,” Ashton called out, waving a hand dismissively.
“Go kill that exam!
I’ll be waiting when you’re done.
Don’t let the Vance smell the valley road gravel on you!”
Keegan didn’t waste another second to reply.
He turned on his heel and bolted toward the heavy glass doors of the faculty building, his sneakers pounding loudly against the concrete.
As he ran up the stairs, the cool morning air biting at his face, he tried desperately to clear his head.
He needed to forget about Chloe’s Instagram messages.
He needed to forget about the word brother typed out on a glowing screen.
He needed to forget the feeling of Ashton’s heavy, warm arm wrapped securely over his chest in the dark.
Right now, all that mattered was the exam paper waiting for him inside the hall—even if he looked like he had just survived a natural disaster.
He sprinted down the final hallway of the faculty building, his lungs burning and his mud-streaked sneakers squeaking loudly against the polished floor.
When he finally reached his lecture hall, his heart dropped.
Through the long glass windows running along the hallway wall, he could see the entire class was already inside, dead silent and hunched over their desks.
The exam had officially begun.
Keegan anxiously scanned the rows of students, his eyes searching for an empty seat, until they locked onto his own assigned desk near the middle of the room.
His jaw nearly dropped.
Sitting right there, holding a black pen over an Art History exam paper, was Kira.
What the hell?Keegan’s mind raced in pure confusion.
Kira was a psychology major, not an arts major.
God only knew how she had even found herself insode his classroom, let alone sitting at his specific desk taking a exam she wasn’t even enrolled in.
Desperate to get her attention before a professor spotted her in the class, Keegan pressed his face closer to the glass.
He started making sharp, quiet clicking and hissing sounds—psst, psst!
—hoping she would face the window side.
But it wasn’t working.
Kira remained completely oblivious, staring intensely down at the paper.
Realizing he was running out of options, Keegan decided to get the attention of the student sitting right next to the window row.
He knocked lightly against the glass pane, tapping just enough to make the guy look up.
The boy turned his head toward the hallway.
When Keegan saw his face, his stomach twisted, but desperation forced him to press on.
Leaning toward the small gap in the doorframe, Keegan whispered as loudly as he dared, pointing a finger into the room.
“Hey…
could you please help me call the girl seated by my desk?
The one with the white and dark braids.” The boy looked over his shoulder, tracking Keegan’s finger until his eyes landed on Kira.
Then, he slowly turned back to the window, looking straight at Keegan.
A slow, venomous smile spread across his face.
It was Jamie.
Before Keegan could even process the trap he had just walked into, Jamie shot his hand high into the air.
Breaking the suffocating silence of the examination hall, he shouted out to the front of the room.
His voice was incredibly loud, sharp, and intentionally laced with an ugly, mocking tone that dripped with transphobic and homophobic derision, designed to humiliate both of them in front of the entire Classroom.
“Professor!” Jamie called out sneeringly, his voice echoing off the walls.
“Keegan Sterling is outside the classroom!
And the one seated at his desk is his Transgender boy girl friend!”
Keegan let out a bitter curse under his breath, his chest tightening with a mix of blinding fury and embarrassment.
At the front of the hall, the professor immediately stopped what he was doing and stood up straight from his chair.
His stern eyes swept across the room, landing instantly on the source of the commotion.
Kira froze, her shoulders tensing up as she desperately tried to duck her head and hide her face behind her long braids, but it was entirely too late.
“Miss Smith,” the professor’s voice boomed authoritatively across the silent room.
“Please come to the front.”
The professor then turned his sharp, unforgiving glare directly toward the hallway window, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You too, Mr.
Sterling, to the front.”
Keegan slapped his palm hard against his own face, letting out a defeated, ragged breath as he gripped the heavy strap of his portfolio bag.
Fucking Jamie.
He glares through the glass pane, his knuckles turning white against his bag.
Inside the classroom, Jamie didn’t even look back at his test.
He just leaned back in his chair, giving Keegan a cruel, highly sarcastic grin, before raising a single finger to his face and slowly tracing a fake tear sign down his cheek.