The Quarterback and The Nerd

Sloane's Pov

The first bell hadn't even rung and I already knew today was going to be terrible.

Lana Rhoades stepped right in front of me, smirking like she owned the hallway. “Well, look who decided to show up late. Try not to roll into class, fatty.”

I ignored Lana. I’d always avoided her like the plague, and she returned the favour but something tells me she is not going to ignore me this year.

Lana was the queen bee of the school. Well, mostly because she used to date the hottest guy alive. Somewhere along the way, she'd mistaken being someone's ex for being untouchable. And with that title came her favourite hobby : bullying people she thought were beneath her

Her hand grabbed my arm, shoving me into the lockers.

“I’m talking to you, fatty.” Lana glared into my eyes.

A crowd had gathered around, each glaring at me like their queen bee.

“Don’t call me that! ” I told her.

The kids snorted.

Lana still wore that fake, wide smile on her face. “Why not? You look like one — a fat, stinking pig!”

She nodded to her friends, and they wrenched my backpack off my shoulders, chucking it down the hall.

“No one wants you here. So why don’t you run back to your wretched mother’s house and hide like you did all weekend?” She yanked me away from the lockers and pushed me.

Someone stuck her foot out at the exact moment and I tripped, sliding across the newly-waxed floor like a wet mop.

Laughter burst through the halls as well as the sounds of clicking phones. Let them take pictures and videos. Let them post them online. I don’t give a damn. Nothing will break my resolve.

I bent down, my face heating up from more embarrassment and started grabbing them up as best as I could.

That's when I heard excitement squeals. My head snapped up and I saw him, the King of St. Ivy's Academy — Alexander Hamilton or Alex for short.

He walked down the hallway like he owned the place. Everyone stepped aside automatically. The girls screamed and swooned.

Lana's smirk widened for a second and she tried to go close to him but he didn't look impressed. Alex shoved her lightly aside with the ease of someone brushing away a fly and she didn't even bother protesting. Instead, she smiled sheepishly, happy that he had touched her arm. I sighed pitifully. Heartbreak did that to her. After all, Alex was her ex and had broken things off between them barely a month ago. But Lana still doesn't get the memo. She's still obsessed with him.

His eyes locked on mine and he smirked. “Look, guys, it's Peppa Pig.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

It wasn't the first time he'd said it. He'd always said it since middle school. He never missed a day in reminding me how fat or short I was or how much space I took up. I remembered every cruel nickname, every shove, every insult he'd whispered to me over the years, each one staking itself nearly on top of the memories of who we used to be.

Before Alex became famous, before the girls orbited him like planets, him and I had been close.

Alex Hamilton used to sit next to me in class. He used to walk me home and laugh at my dumb jokes. He was the boy who shared his crayons with me and who defended me when other kids were cruel. That was until middle school happened.

Sometime along the way, he decided I was something to be ashamed of.

Now, here he was again, standing in the middle of the hallway and reminding me exactly why I had to hate him

My face burned. I wanted to snap, to scream, to do anything but let him see how humiliated I felt. I hated Alex Hamilton. I hated him with every fiber of my being. And the worst part?

He probably knew it and liked having that power.

Alex bent close to my ear, his smell of body mist and heat seeping into my nose.

“Get the hell out of this school, fatty. I won't warn you again.” he whispers.

I didn’t take my eyes off him as he straightened up and turned toward his first class. His best friends, Martin Holloway and Vincent Cardenas, follow him, with Martin kicking my notebook down the hall.

The bell rang and all the students fizzled out to their classrooms. I took a few minutes retrieving my stuff and dumped them in my backpack before zooming to algebra.

After class, I picked up my bag to leave when Mr. Dwayne stopped me by the doorway.

“Miss Kensington, the principal would like to see you.” He said with a small smile.

“The principal?” My brows furrowed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Only one way to find out.” He gave me a light pat on the shoulder and walked back to his desk.

I'd never been so scared my entire life.

I had been summoned to the principal's office. That alone was enough to make my palms.

In all my years at St. Ivy's Academy, that had never happened. Not once. This was a school where rumours traveled faster than announcements and a visit to the principal usually meant your name would be whispered for weeks. I paused outside the heavy mahogany door, inhaling heavily before knocking. “Come in.”

The office I stood in was as prestigious as the owner — polished, clean, and filled with awards and medals. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and awards. Framed portraits of past valedictorians stared down at me.

St. Ivy's was prestigious for a reason. Generations of politicians, judges, and national athletes had passed through its halls. And at the center of it all sat Principal Howard.

Twenty years. That was how long he had been a principal. Twenty years of unbroken discipline, rigid standards and zero tolerance for nonsense. They said he could silence an entire hall with a look. They said if he called your name, your fate was already sealed. So yes, I was scared but I was also confused because I hadn't done anything wrong.

I straightened my blazer and stepped forward as he gestured for me to approach his desk. That was when I noticed someone else in the room.

My heart dipped.

Standing by the window, arms folded, was the hockey coach.

Worse. It was the PE coach.

My mind immediately spiraled.

Had I failed PE? Had my grades slipped without me noticing? Oh no! Had she said something? Hockey Coach Ryan's wife taught PE and I always struggled with endurance drills.

What if she had taken that as complaining? What if she thought I wasn't taking the class seriously?

Oh no.

“I know my PE grades aren't the best,” I blurted out without thinking. “But I promise I'm working on it. I'll improve. I can stay after school and…”

“Miss Kensington.”

Principal Howard raised a hand, cutting me off gently but firmly. His sharp eyes studied me over his glasses.

“This has nothing to do with discipline,” he said. “Nor have you failed any class.”

Relief washed through me so fast it almost made me dizzy. “Then … Why am I here, sir?”

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steppled. The hockey coach flashed me a small, unreadable smile.

“You've been recommended,” Principal Howard continued, “for a special academic responsibility.”

“Okay. What responsibility was I recommended for, sir?” I asked carefully.

“There’s a student,” Principal Howard continued. “who has potential but is lacking in the area of academics. Traditional punishment won't help him but guidance will.”

“And by guidance, you want me to tutor him?”

He smiled. “Yes. A live-in tutor. His family requested someone we trust and we all trust you.”

I froze. “A live-in tutor?”

“Yes,” the principal said. “You'll be provided with accommodation in the family estate where you'll be paid weekly for your tutorship and…”

He smirked. “...Upon successful completion, the school will fully sponsor your final two years.”

My mouth fell agape. “Weekly pay and a scholarship?”

“A guaranteed one,” he nodded. “This isn't a charity, Miss Kensington. It's an exchange. You help this student succeed, and his parents make sure you never have to worry about your education again.”

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag. This was a golden opportunity for me. I desperately needed both money and a scholarship. I couldn't keep stressing mom. She took an extra shift at work to cover for my expenses. She deserved a break too.

So I exhaled softly and smiled. “I agree. I'll tutor him.”

“Excellent,” Principal Howard passed me a piece of paper with an address on it. “This is the student's address. His parents would be expecting you this evening.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome, kid.”

I walked out of his office, feeling relieved for the first time in a while.

I was going to get a scholarship after all.

But who is this student I'm going to tutor?