Mrs. Philips waited until the last bell echo faded before speaking, her heels clicking softly against the tile as she moved to the front of the room.
"Okay, everyone," she said, lifting a stack of papers. "I finally have your chemistry test results from a few weeks ago."
A collective groan rolled through the class.
She started passing the papers back, calling out names in her usual clipped tone.
Stacy accepted hers without much ceremony. She flipped it over.
A.
A quiet breath slipped out. Relief, not surprise. She glanced at Lizzy beside her. Lizzy peeked at her own paper, then shrugged with a crooked smile.
"B," she whispered. "Could've been worse."
Mrs. Philips moved on.
When she reached Cole's desk, he took the paper with the same careless confidence everyone expected from him. But the second his eyes dropped to the page, something shifted. Not dramatic. Just… gone.
He stared a beat too long.
E.
Almost an F.
His jaw tightened. He let out a short breath through his nose, then folded the paper slowly, deliberately, like it meant nothing. He leaned back in his chair, slung one arm over the backrest, the picture of unbothered.
But his knee bounced under the desk. Stacy noticed.
"Cole," Mrs. Philips said as the bell rang. "Stay after class, please."
A few heads turned. Cole gave a lazy nod, but the muscles in his shoulders stayed tense as the room emptied around him.
When the last student left, Mrs. Philips crossed her arms.
"This isn't you," she said. "Your grades have been slipping all semester."
"I've been busy," Cole replied lightly.
She didn't smile. "Busy doesn't explain this." She tapped the paper. "You've talked about Princeton since sophomore year. That's an Ivy League school, Cole. They don't make exceptions."
He looked away.
"You're capable," she added, softer now. "But something's pulling you off track. And if you don't deal with it soon, it'll cost you."
He nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
---
Stacy was halfway down the hallway when someone called her name.
"Stacy—wait."
She kept walking.
A hand gently caught her wrist.
She turned, irritation already rising. "What?"
Cole stood there, stripped of the usual grin, his eyes sharper, more exposed.
"I need help," he said. "I know you tutor. I need you."
She pulled her hand free. "You'll survive."
"My dad would lose it if I fail," he said quickly, then paused. "I'm not kidding."
For a second, she hesitated.
Then she shook her head. "I'll think about it."
And she walked away before he could say anything else.
---
At lunch, Lizzy wasted no time.
"You're going to tutor him," she said flatly.
"I said I'd think about it."
"And now you're thinking about it," Lizzy pressed. "Stacy… he looked genuinely distressed. Like, actually stressed."
Stacy kept quiet for a moment.
She stared down at her food, thinking harder than she wanted to. She'd tutored students before—struggling students, overwhelmed students. Faces blurred. Names faded.
Just another student, she told herself. That's all.
"Fine," she said at last. "But strictly chemistry."
Lizzy's face softened. "And that's why I love you."
Stacy rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her mouth as they both laughed and went back to eating their food.
---
Tutoring Cole Connor wasn't what Stacy expected.
He showed up early. He asked questions—real ones. When something didn't click, he didn't joke it away or pretend he understood. He frowned, tried again, listened. Actually listened.
Halfway through the session, Stacy capped her marker and studied him.
"Why does this matter so much to you?" she asked quietly. "I mean… you could just scrape by. Most people would."
Cole didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like the words were stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat.
"Because I want more than this place," he finally said. "More than just football."
Her attention sharpened.
"I want Princeton," he added. "I've wanted it for years. Not because it sounds impressive—but because it feels like… proof. Like I didn't waste what I was given."
Stacy's grip on the marker loosened.
Cole rubbed a hand over his face. "And my dad—" he hesitated, then let out a breath. "My dad was top of his class. Straight A's. Scholarships. The whole deal."
She stayed quiet, giving him space.
"He expects the same from me," Cole continued. "I don't want to let him down. I don't want to be the kid who had everything and still screwed it up."
For the first time, Stacy really saw him.
Not the star quarterback. Not the charming distraction everyone else saw.
Just someone trying—harder than anyone realized.
Her chest felt tight in a way she didn't like. It's just tutoring, she told herself. That's all this is.
But even as she repeated it, she caught herself watching him frown over a problem, the way his brow creased when he focused, the faint nervous energy in his hands.
Why does it feel like more? she wondered, and quickly scolded herself. It's nothing. Just another student. That's all.
Yet when he looked up at her, waiting for an explanation, there was a flicker of… something. Connection. And Stacy realized, with a jolt she didn't want to admit, that maybe ignoring it wasn't going to be as easy as she thought.