Saturday morning began with me staring at my phone screen in nauseating dread.
"Don’t look at the comments," Priya warned, pacing the length of our kitchen island with a mug of coffee clutched in both hands. "Nora, seriously. Close the tab."
But I couldn’t.
My thumb scrolled down the Briar Gossip Page, each word hitting me like a physical blow. The high-resolution photo of me sitting on Knox’s lap at the bonfire was already the top-trending post on campus.
— Is she actually tutoring him, or is she just signing his compliance sheets in exchange for benefits?
— Classic scholarship climber. She threw a puck at his face on Tuesday and she’s on his lap by Friday. That’s sus.
— RIP Knox’s eligibility. He’s failing class and his tutor is distracted.
— Tutor? Nope. Puck Bunny? Definitely.
"They’re calling me a fraud, Priya," I whispered as I threw the phone onto the marble counter. "My academic reputation, my transcript... everything I’ve spent three years building is being dragged through the mud."
Priya sighed, stopping her pacing to wrap her arms around my shoulders. "The people who matter know you’re a 4.0 student, Nora. This is just campus noise. It’s jock drama. It’ll blow over."
"Not if the Academic Compliance Board decides to audit us," I muttered, burying my face in my hands.
My phone buzzed against the counter and the screen lit up. I picked it up, expecting another text, but it was from Walking STD.
Walking STD: Library Study Room 4C. Noon. Don’t be late. We need to work.
I stared at the screen with a tight jaw. ’Oh, we’re going to work, Sheridan,’ I thought grimly. ’But first, we’re going to talk.’
The walk across campus at noon was humiliating.
Every time a group of students passed me, I felt their eyes slide over me, followed by hushed whispers and sidelong glances. By
the time I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the university library, my teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached.
I marched up to the fourth floor, located Study Room 4C, and shoved the door open.
Knox was already there. He was sitting at the wooden table, a black notebook open in front of him, lazily twirling a blue pen between his fingers. He looked completely unbothered, wearing a black Briar Hockey hoodie and a backwards cap.
"You’re late, Bennett," Knox said in a cool, indifferent voice without looking up. "We’ve got two weeks before midterms and..."
"We have a contract, Sheridan," I cut him off, slamming the door sharply. I walked up to the table, tossing my canvas bag onto the wood. "And that contract doesn’t include my name being dragged through the campus gossip page."
Knox stopped twirling the pen. He leaned back in his chair, looking at me with a calm, lazy expression. "You’re talking about the forum post."
"Yes, I’m talking about the forum post!" I snapped, crossing my arms. "People think I’m helping you cheat. They’re calling me a compliance fraud. I worked my ass off to get a full scholarship to this university. If the administration decides to review my tutoring records because of that gossip..."
"They won’t," Knox said flatly.
"How do you know that?" I challenged. "Your father is on the board, Knox. If Vanessa or anyone else decides to make a compliance report..."
"I said they won’t, Bennett," Knox repeated, his jaw tightening.
He stood up, his massive frame instantly making the small study room feel tiny. He looked down at me, the lazy smirk completely gone from his face. "I talked to Brennan this morning. I told him the photo was just bonfire games. If the compliance board even hints at auditing your scholarship, I’ll handle it. I promise. I won’t let them touch your waiver."
I blinked, momentarily silenced by the quiet intensity in his voice. There was no arrogance in his eyes, no mocking tilt to his mouth. For a split second, he looked genuinely apologetic.
"Fine," I muttered, looking away to hide the sudden flush on my cheeks. I pulled out my chair and sat down, opening my bag. "Let’s just work. We have a seventy-five percent target on the midterm, and right now, you’re sitting at a twelve."
Knox sat back down, a trace of his lazy smirk returning. "Seventy-five is easy, Bookworm. I’m a quick study."
"We’ll see," I said, opening the massive macroeconomics textbook and sliding it toward him. "Turn to page eighty-four. Price elasticity of demand. Read the first paragraph out loud so I know you’re actually paying attention."
Before Knox could even move, his phone buzzed and lit up on the table. From where I sat, the text was blurry, but I could see a long list of notifications popping up.
He glanced at it, tapped the screen to dismiss it, and twirled his pen. "I don’t need to read it out loud. I’ll just scan it."
"No scanning," I insisted. "Read the paragraph, Sheridan."
Before he could answer, the phone buzzed again. And again. The screen lit up three times in a row with a relentless stream of notifications.
I leaned forward, my patience wearing thin. "Do you ever stop? Rule number seven of tutoring: silence your phone."
Knox rolled his eyes, but flipped the phone face-down on the table. "You’re real strict, Bookworm. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"Yes. It’s why my students pass," I countered. "Now, page eighty-four. Price elasticity."
Knox stared at the closed textbook but still didn’t open it.
Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and looking at me with a lazy, calculating expression.
"Look, Bennett," his voice dropped. "Let’s be practical. You want the cash, and I want the eligibility. How about I double the double rate? I’ll transfer the extra money today. In exchange, you write up the summary sheets, highlight the answers, and let me scan them before the exam. You get paid to do zero work, and I don’t have to sit here reading this dry garbage. Deal?"
My blood ran cold.
The sheer arrogance of the offer made my hands tighten into fists on my lap. The Bennett pride, the same pride that had made me refuse his father’s sixty thousand dollars, flared up in a hot, angry rush.
"Double the double rate?" I asked in a quiet voice.
"Yeah," Knox smiled, thinking he had won. "Easy money, right?"
"You’re offering me a bribe to cheat, Sheridan," I hissed, leaning in close so he could see the fury in my eyes. "And if I recall correctly, term number two of the contract you signed less than seventy-two hours ago says you show up and actually try. You’re already in breach of contract before we’ve even finished the first page of Chapter four."
Knox’s smirk didn’t waver. "It’s not a breach, Bennett. It’s a renegotiation."
"I’m not taking your hush money," I snapped. "And I’m not cheating for you. I earned my reputation on this campus. If you think you can buy my compliance just because you’re a rich athlete who is too lazy to read a book, you’ve got the wrong girl. Sit down, open the book, and do the work. Or walk out that door right now and explain to Coach Brennan why your hockey career is over."
The smirk slowly vanished from Knox’s face. He stared at me, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in the seriousness of my threat.
For a long, tense beat, neither of us broke eye contact.
"You’re stubborn, Bennett," Knox muttered, finally breaking the silence.
"I’m professional," I corrected, tapping the cover of the textbook. "Page eighty-four."
Knox reached out and flipped the book open, slowly turning the pages in an uncharacteristically stiff movement.
He finally found the page and stared at the block of text. His eyes moved across the lines, but his brow furrowed, and a sudden, tight line of frustration appeared between his eyebrows.
"Price... elasticity," Knox began, his voice halting and unusually stiff. "Measures the responsiveness of... quality... quantity demanded to a change in..."
He stumbled, mixing up the next few words, reading "surplus" as "supply" before stopping entirely.
He stared at the page, his knuckles turning slightly white where he gripped the edge of the desk. A bead of sweat had formed at his temple, his breathing turning slightly shallow.
"This is stupid," Knox suddenly growled, slamming the textbook shut with a loud wooden bang.
He stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking over to the window, turning his back to me. "I’m not doing this elementary reading-hour bullshit. I’ll scan the Chapters later. We’re done for today."
I watched him go.
The angry, defensive reaction was typical of a slacker, but the physical signs of anxiety... the white knuckles, the sweat, the stumbling over simple terms... that didn’t fit his cocky persona.
I stared at his rigid back, wondering if there was more to his academic struggles than just laziness, but I kept my mouth shut.
Suddenly, a heavy, prolonged vibration rattled the wooden table.
Knox’s phone was buzzing face-down. He turned, walked back, and flipped it over to check the screen.
I was packing my markers back into my bag, but because I was standing right beside him, my eyes instinctively darted to the screen.
A preview notification from Vanessa was displayed in bold text: I’m at your place. We need to talk.
Knox’s entire body went rigid. He swiped the screen to dismiss the notification, shoved the phone into his pocket, and grabbed his gear bag.
"I have to go," he said in a clipped voice, entirely devoid of any warmth. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Bennett."
"Tomorrow," I murmured, watching him shove the door open and march down the hallway.