Page 9 of Broken Rivalry

I lean back in my chair, letting out a surprised huff. “You want me to… What?”

“Do my assignment. I’ll pay you… well.”

I snort in disbelief. “Is that a joke? You don’t even know if I’m good, and why do you even take sociology if you don’t even try?”

I see the muscle in his jaw budge. “No, trust me, it’s no joke. I had to pick one social science class, and sociology is supposed to be the simpler one.” He shakes his head. “I don’t have the time for this.”

And I do? I think sarcastically. “Why me?”

“I think you are smart, and I think you’re desperate enough to do it,” he adds, looking pointedly at the flip phone I hold.

“Listen, thanks for the compliments,” I say with mock appreciation. “But I value my time, and I don’t intend to waste it.”

“I’ll pay you five hundred per assignment.”

Five hundred dollars. This could be a game changer. This is also my monthly salary!

“I might be terrible,” I insist as my mind screams to shut up and take the money.

He shrugs. “Let’s give it a try.”

I pause, my mind racing as I weigh the offer. I barely have any time for myself between classes, work, and my brothers, but at the same time, it is five hundred dollars! I can only imagine how much it would help my mother, and it would help ease some of the guilt I feel at moving out, no matter how much she insisted I do it.

“Fine, but I’m only doing it once for now. If it’s taking too much of my time, we’re done. Deal?”

“Yes! Thank you! Here.” He pulls out five fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and pushes them toward me. “I’ll give you the rest on delivery.”

I nod, feeling like a James Bond villain. The saying that principles are a luxury of the rich never made sense to me until now. A few years ago, I would have laughed it off. Five hundred dollars, not even the price of my latest shoe purchase, but now…

I grab the money, not ready to dwell any more on how ready I am to walk on some of my principles for money.

“Three weeks, same spot. Your assignment will be ready.”

He grins. “I knew you would come around.”

Yep, being poor really truly sucked.

Today is really the day that keeps on giving. After missing my bus and making it back to campus late, I notice Cherry Bomb, which is what Eva affectionately calls her car, is not in the parking lot.

I groan, getting my phone out of my pocket, and start shooting her a text.

“You were not easy to find, Pauper Donovan.” Ethan’s voice carries a dash of amusement. He leans casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a self-assured smirk playing on his lips—a smirk I long to wipe off.

My thumb freezes over my keyboard, and my heart follows suit. Ethan stands by the main door, his dark blue jeans and dark-green Henley accentuating his tall frame. The tattoos on his forearm peek out, a silent reminder of the mystery that surrounds him. Ten days since I saw him, and I had almost managed to convince myself that I would be able to avoid him forever. My breath hitches as I spot him in front of my building. I force my expression into one of indifference, refusing to let him see the surprise flickering in my eyes. No, I will not give him the satisfaction.

“I didn’t realize you were looking for me,” I reply, my voice steady and cold. Inside, my mind whirls, scrambling to figure out his game.

It was always so infuriating how I reacted to him. It was enough for his hazel eyes to be on me, and I was all flustered.

“And if you did?”

I shrug before reaching up to rub my thumb on my locket, something I always do when I am apprehensive and nervous, something I hope he never really noticed. “I would have been trying harder to avoid you.”

He frowns, and I know I hit a nerve. “Avoid me? What am I? The bogeyman?” He scoffs, running his hand through his perfectly styled hair. “I’m not the one who betrayed the trust of my employer.”

Here we go again. The never-ending war of who is to blame in the whole scandal. Except that this is so trivial for me now. I’m not in high school anymore. I couldn’t care less about image and perception.

“So you dug into my life to resurrect old ghosts?” The accusation hangs in the air, a palpable tension between us.

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