Chapter 1 "The B and the Bombshell"

I don't feel I was particularly crazy the night I met him. It was more like, “Ugh, I hate people like him.” I first met Isaiah at the annual spelling bee when I was 12, which I’d won three years in a row. We were waiting on stage for the winner to be announced. I looked so cute—beaded box braids, big smile. I even smiled at the photo... until they called his name.

I was devastated. How did this dreadhead beat me? He won?! Without even trying, I might add. When I tried to be a good sport, despite dying inside, he just smirked at me and walked off with his friends.

I hated him. Well… “hate” is a strong word. I disliked him greatly. Him and his little crew.

I thought that would be the last time I ever saw Isaiah Thomas. But nope. He turned out to be the new student at my middle school. And, of course, he was in every single one of my classes. He was loud, rambunctious, and somehow still always ranked first in everything.

I was always runner-up when he was around. Until one day, I finally beat him—I got the highest grade in class. That’s when he noticed me. That’s when we became rivals. And not just in academics. Everything. Science fair, debate team, mathlete competitions—you name it, we were fighting for the top.

School was war. But at least I got peace when I came home. I always finished my homework in class so I could relax. I’m an only child. My parents are barely home. It was quiet. Peaceful.

Until I got a B.

They freaked out. It was one test. One! But my mom acted like I’d committed a crime. My dad ranted about me ending up begging for snacks at gas stations. So they got me a tutor. A tutor. Like I hadn’t been getting straight A’s since kindergarten.

Tonight was supposed to be my last evening of peace. I was doing homework in the living room, stuck on a trigonometry question, when the doorbell rang. I opened it.

And froze.

Isaiah Thomas.

I slammed the door in his face. My brain short-circuited. What was he doing here? Why was he at my house? He banged on the door again. I cracked it open.

There he was. That same smug smile.

“Didn’t you miss me, Ma?” he grinned.

I frowned, arms crossed. “No. What are you doing here?”

He leaned against the frame, casual as ever in a t-shirt and jeans. At least he didn’t sag like the wannabe gangsters at school.

“I’m your tutor.”

I stared at him, blinking. He was enjoying this. “You’re joking.”

“I’m really not. Your parents paid me for the night. Said I had to make sure you don’t get any more B’s.”

His voice was too deep. Like, unnecessarily deep. Girls at school swooned over it. I found it annoying.

“Fine,” I muttered, stepping aside. “Come in.”

I went back to the couch, trying to ignore him. Maybe if I acted busy, he’d leave me alone.

“You need help?” he asked after a few minutes.

“No. I don’t need your help.”

It came out ruder than I meant, but whatever. He could take it.

He rolled his eyes and plopped down next to me. Like—right next to me. No space. My body jumped on instinct. He chuckled.

He leaned over my homework, brushing his dreads out of his face to see. His jawline could cut paper. Why did he have to be so... annoyingly attractive?

“Do you get it now?” he asked.

I blinked. I hadn’t heard a word he said. “Um… can you explain again? I wasn’t paying attention.”

He stared. “What were you thinking about?”

Your stupid face, I thought. “I was just spacing. Just explain again.”

He sucked his teeth and started over, talking to me like I was five.

“I’m not a child,” I snapped. “Stop talking to me like one.”

“I have to for you to get it. How were you ever top of the class?”

My hands curled into fists. I snatched the paper from him and stormed upstairs, slamming my door.

I flopped on my bed, face burning. I looked at myself in the mirror. Cinnamaroll pajama pants. Oversized white shirt. My box braids were tied in a huge, messy bun. Great.

At least I still looked cute. I liked the turquoise streaks I added to my hair. Did he think I looked cute?

Not that it matters. I shook the thought out of my head. I hated him. He was rude. Arrogant. Smug.

But he smelled like cocoa butter.

I was debating whether to go back downstairs when there was a knock at my door. I got up and quickly fixed myself up, then opened it just enough.

“What?” I snapped.

He was leaning against the wall, a few dreadlocks tied back in a side ponytail. With my hair tie.

“Is that my scrunchie?” I reached up. He grabbed my wrist.

His hand dwarfed mine.

“How tall are you?” I blurted.

He looked surprised. “Six-two. Why?”

I blinked. “No reason.” I pulled my wrist away. “What do you want?”

“I’m still your tutor. I’m supposed to help you.”

“You do know I’m the same age as you, right? Not five?”

“I’m eighteen,” he said, smirking.

I rolled my eyes. “So what? You gonna start teaching me like I’m a toddler?”

He crouched slightly to meet my eyes. Too close. “I’m gonna teach you everything you don’t know. That’s how.”

My soul left my body for a second. “Fine. What do you want to do, Mr. Tutor?”

“If you don’t wanna study, we could just watch something till your parents come back.”

He was serious. Like actually suggesting we hang out.

“Sure. But only because I have to.”

I stomped downstairs and flopped on the far end of the couch. He could pick whatever dumb movie he wanted.

Please not a horror movie. I hate horror movies.

While he scrolled through options, I pulled out my phone and texted Jaiden:
Did you know Isaiah Thomas is my tutor?!

She called me the second I hit send.

I picked up and darted to the bathroom. “Keep it down! He’s literally in the living room.”

“GIRL, ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” she screamed. I yanked the phone away from my ear.

“Yes! He’s been so annoying. Acting all mature and responsible.”

There was a pause. For a second, I thought she hung up.

“Maybe he actually does wanna help you,” she said. Then, squealed, “Or maybe he wants more than that. Eek!”

“Please. I’m not stupid. I don’t need a tutor. Especially not him.”

“You’ll be okay. Have fun with your little rival.”

She hung up.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, splashing cold water on my face. I opened the bathroom door—

He was leaning against the wall, waiting.

His eyes met mine. “Ready?”

I didn’t answer. I just brushed past him to the couch and sat down again.

He sat next to me. Closer this time.

Way too close.