6. The School Debut

Catherine's POV

I have called him six times.

Then seven.

Now eight.

Still nothing.

“Pick up, Clinton,” I mutter, pacing outside the tiny café near school. “Don’t tell me you overslept… or that you’re doing your hair.”

He promised we’d meet here and walk into school together like some iconic, heart-shattering, jealousy-inducing couple.

Apparently, promises mean nothing to Clinton Blunt.

I press my phone to my ear again. Voicemail.

Again.

I stomp my foot. “Unbelievable. I swear I’ll throw my phone at him when he arrives.”

A group of girls passes, giggling like a pack of hyenas. I almost roll my eyes…until I hear:

“Omg, Jacob in Twilight is so hot.”

“So hot? Girl, he is fire. I would give my left leg to date a werewolf like him.”

“Same! He’s hot and dangerous. I love it.”

I look up, fighting the urge to laugh. Girls are so dramatic.

“Werewolf?” I mutter under my breath. “Seriously? Why would anyone want to date an animal?”

I roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out.

“Werewolves aren’t even real,” I grumble. “And if they were… no thanks. I don’t want someone eating me in my sleep.”

The girls keep chatting like they’re auditioning for Twilight 6, but I ignore them.

I check my phone. Still nothing.

“Fine,” I whisper to myself. “Maybe I don’t need Clinton. I can walk in alone. I look amazing. I can do this.”

I straighten the pink top and white skirt he bought me, ignore the heels trying to murder me, and whisper, “Okay… I’ll go alone.”

And that’s when a sleek black sports car slows beside me.

My heart stutters.

The window rolls down…

Clinton.

Of course it’s him.

Messy-perfect hair. Infuriatingly handsome face. Smirk so illegal it should come with a warning label.

“You’re late,” I snap.

He lifts a brow. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“You promised to pick me up.”

“I got stuck.” He smirks.

“Stuck where? Stuck flirting with someone? Stuck brushing your eyelashes? Stuck doing…?”

He presses a hand to his chest for a second. One look tells me something’s wrong, but he masks it immediately.

I pause. “Are you… okay?”

He forces a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll be when I find the person who did this to me.”

I frown. That’s exactly what he said yesterday. What does he mean by that?

Then he grins, that maddening, knowing smile. “You look… incredible.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he continues, leaning casually. “That top, the skirt… you’re turning heads without even trying. Though… I’ll admit, I would’ve loved to see you in that black dress.”

Black dress… the one showing my cleavage? I choke. “Clinton!”

He chuckles. “Relax. I’m not saying you shouldn’t wear this. You look amazing anyway.”

I don’t know if I’m dying of embarrassment or if my chest is about to explode from wanting to strangle him.

He opens the door for me like a true gentleman. “Hop in, Cinderella. Let’s go destroy your ex.”

I take his hand. The world shrinks to just us.

—

He drives me into school, music low in the background, and for a few minutes, it’s almost peaceful.

Then we reach the parking lot, and I step out.

Okay… limp out of the car. My heels hate me. Scratch that…they loathe me. Every step is a tiny betrayal, like my feet are screaming, why are you doing this to us?!

Before we even reach the doors, his phone rings.

He stops walking. I almost trip.

“HOLD,” he says, lifting a finger.

Hold? Hold what? My breath? The universe?

He answers like a president taking an emergency call.

“You found the bastard?”

WHAT BASTARD?! WHAT DID I MISS?!

My brain activates spy mode. I inch closer, pretending to fix my hair. Yes, I am TOTALLY not trying to eavesdrop.

But the person on the phone is talking too quietly.

I hear nothing. NOTHING.

Clinton keeps talking.

His voice is low, serious, intense.

And the call keeps going.

And going.

And going.

I fold my arms, tap my heel. My annoyance level rises like WiFi bars.

“Fine. I’m going inside,” I mutter.

He just nods.

NODS.

Like “Okay, bye,” but without any actual words.

Still glued to his phone.

Still talking to whoever found some “bastard.”

I scoff. “Unbelievable.”

---

The moment I step inside, the hallway freezes. Literally. Every single student stares.

Great. Exactly what I wanted…an audience for my internal meltdown.

Whispers fly. Girls I vaguely know gape, whisper, giggle. Someone actually gasps.

Okay… maybe Clinton was right. The makeover worked too well.

I lift my chin, straighten my back, ignore the heels. Act like I own it.

I remind myself I look amazing. And if I fall, these heels will be blamed, not me.

Then I see them.

Danny and Natasha. Holding hands. Laughing. Glowing like two over-caffeinated Christmas lights.

I swallow. My chest tightens. Eyes sting. I want to run.

Natasha spots me first.

Her smile grows fake and venomous. “Ohhhh,” she purrs. “Look who decided to show up.”

Danny turns. Our eyes meet. My lungs forget how to work.

He smirks like he didn’t shatter me into tiny pieces three weeks ago.

“Wow. New year, new look? Trying too hard, aren’t you?”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“It’s called moving on.”

Natasha giggles. “Sweetie… you look like a discount Barbie.”

Danny nods. “And where’d you get that skirt? Steal it?”

People laugh. My stomach drops to my feet.

I want to vanish. Escape. Fade away.

But then…

“Wow. What did I miss?”

Clinton.

The hallway turns to solid ice. Silence.

He strides toward me, hands in pockets, like he’s on the ice leading his team to victory rather than just walking into a school hallway.

He reaches me, slips an arm around my waist. Pulls me close.

I melt a little.

Okay, a lot.

“What’s happening here, babe?” he asks softly. “Did you start a fight without me?”

Danny’s face goes stiff.

Natasha looks like she swallowed a stone.

Clinton looks at them like they’re a boring math problem.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, voice smooth.

Danny scoffs. “You’re not actually dating her.”

Clinton leans closer. Chest brushing mine. “Yes. I am.”

My heart tries to run away.

Gasps explode.

Someone whispers, “Clinton Blunt never dates anyone!”

Another girl squeals, “Catherine is soooo lucky!”

Natasha turns tomato red.

Danny looks like someone just slapped him with a dictionary.

Clinton smirks lazily. “Catherine is worth a hundred of you. And unlike your girlfriend, she doesn’t have to pretend she’s important.”

Natasha’s mouth falls open.

I almost pray for her.

Danny steps forward, furious.“You…!”

Clinton raises an eyebrow. “Relax, Westley. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

Then he leans to me, soft and warm. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”

Before I answer, he kisses my cheek. MY CHEEK.

Girls scream. A guy drops his water bottle.

People stare like I’ve become a celebrity.

And I… well, my brain stops working for a second.

My whole system crashes.

Catherine.exe has officially shut down.

Heat rushes to my face. I want to yell at him, hit him, something, but I can’t. Not when Danny’s face has gone completely blank, like someone just stole the ground from under him.

He freezes.

His fists tighten.

His eyes darken.

He looks jealous.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Oh my goodness gracious heavens.

It’s working.

Our stupid fake dating plan…

is ACTUALLY working.

So I smile. “Let’s go, babe,” I say, pretending like I’m completely okay with it.

Clinton grins, clearly amused by my performance. “That’s my girl.”

He laces our fingers. Warm. Strong. Slightly shaky.

I feel every stare burning holes into my back.

And I… can’t stop smiling.