Page 5 of My Bad Boy Valentine

I cleared my throat, trying to break the tension swirling between us. “Yeah…maybe so. Thanks for looking out for Linzie.”

“Of course,” she said softly, the corner of her mouth quirking into a half-smile. “I’ll see you around, Knox.”

I stepped back, giving a slight nod before turning on my heel. As I headed toward the exit, my heart thumped in a way I wasn’t used to. Hope Peak might remember me as the kid who rode away in handcuffs, but Caroline Belle looked at me like I was more than my rap sheet. And that realization filled me with equal parts hope and dread.

Because if I let myself believe in second chances, if I let myself get close to someone who deserved far better than a guy with a past like mine—I’d either have to prove I wasn’t beyondsaving or risk breaking her faith in me altogether. And God help me, I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.

Chapter Three

Caroline

I first noticed new signs of trouble with Linzie Slater on a chilly Monday morning, about a week before Valentine’s Day. Our middle school hallways had begun blooming with bright pink and red hearts, compliments of the upcoming holiday. The students were buzzing with excitement over the Valentine’s Day Dance and themed classroom activities; everywhere I turned, I caught glimpses of sparkly paper and heartfelt notes in progress. But the holiday spirit didn’t seem to reach Linzie.

I stood by my classroom door, greeting each 6th grader as they filed in, their chatter enlivened by talk of Valentines and possible secret admirers. Linzie slipped in last, hood drawn low, her dark hair

obscuring most of her face. She muttered something I couldn’t catch, then slid into the desk in the far corner without so much as a glance at the decorations. Where the others giggled or whispered about candy grams, she just stared at her blank notebook.

All morning, I kept an eye on her. She completed the bare minimum during our writing prompt and barely participated in group discussions. It struck me that she wasn’t rolling her eyes or making sarcastic remarks as some kids might do; she was going quiet, withdrawing from the energy around her. A simmering anxiety emanated from her posture, much like I remembered from a younger Knox back in high school—though even he had been more outspokenly defiant.

After class ended, Linzie waited until the other students barreled into the hallway. I gently stepped over, hoping to offer some encouragement. “Hey,” I said. “You doing okay? Need any help with the assignment?”

She shrugged, her big brown eyes fixed somewhere around my shoes. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, then slid past me and into the bustling corridor.

The tightness in my chest grew. I’d been teaching 6th graders long enough to recognize when a kid was more than just a little off. Linzie seemed to be shouldering burdens she wouldn’t share. Recalling the old rumors about her family—her parents arrests and the involvement of Child Protective Services—I made a mental note to keep a closer watch on her progress. If Linzie was struggling, I wanted to catch it sooner rather than later.

The days leading up to Valentine’s Day were always hectic for teachers in Hope Peak. Between lesson planning, coordinating the upcoming dance, and trying to keep the kids on track with the curriculum, my schedule—and my nerves—were bursting. Still, I couldn’t shake my concern for Linzie. By Wednesday, I was noticing more missed homework as well as reluctance to engage with her classmates.

When I overheard her snapping at one of the girls in homeroom—a quiet spat about borrowed pens that spiraled into scowling silence—I decided it was time to bring Knox in for a conversation. Officially, parent-teacher conferences were set for the following week, but I didn’t want to wait that long. So, when the final bell rang that afternoon, I shot Knox a quick email suggesting we meet before the usual conferences to talk about Linzie’s recent behavior.

I didn’t expect him to reply so fast. By the time I was packing up to head home, my phone chimed:

“Sure, Ms. Belle. I can do tomorrow evening, say 5:30? —Knox”

A swirl of nerves coiled in my stomach. In high school, I’d dreamed about having a reason—any reason—to talk to Knox Slater. Never did I imagine it would be in my capacity as a teacher, concerned for his little sister’s academic and emotional well-being. But here we were, older and wearing grown-up roles, yet still shadowed by the memories of who we used to be.

Thursday flew by in a blur of lessons and school dance preparations. By the time 5:30 rolled around, most of the staffand students had gone home, leaving Hope Peak Middle School draped in the soft hush of after-hours. I graded quizzes at my desk, occasionally glancing at the clock while the winter sky outside darkened prematurely. Streetlights flickered on, and the building’s overhead fluorescents cast long shadows in the corridors.

The faint sound of footsteps in the hallway made me look up. A second later, Knox appeared in the doorway of my classroom, his broad frame outlined by the dull glow of the hallway lights. Despite the chilled February air outside, a hint of warmth spread through my chest at the sight of him.

“Ms. Belle,” he greeted, his low voice reverberating in the empty space. “Mind if I come in?”

I gestured for him to enter. “Of course.” My heart thumped harder than I cared to admit. I stood, smoothing the front of my sweater—an outfit I’d chosen almost subconsciously that morning, hugging a bit closer to my curves than usual. Was I hoping he’d notice?

He shut the door gently behind him. The quiet click made the classroom feel suddenly intimate, as if the world outside no longer mattered. “Thanks for asking me to come by. Got your email and figured if it’s about Linzie, it’s important.”

I nodded. “It is. Though it’s not a crisis.” I motioned for him to take a seat at one of the student desks near mine. He sank down, looking slightly out of place in the small chair that seemed better suited for a twelve-year-old, yet strangely comfortable with it all the same. “I’ve noticed a change in Linzie. She’s been getting more withdrawn these past couple of weeks, missing homework, not engaging in class activities. And with Valentine’s Day around the corner, I expected a certain level of restlessness—middle school crushes, candy-gram excitement, that sort of thing. But Linzie just…shuts down.”

Knox’s forehead creased. “She’s pulling away at home too. She used to at least help me out a bit at the cycle shop, maybe talk about music or shows she likes. Now, she shrugs or says nothing. Could be due to… puberty, maybe? Her new teenage hormones, that sort of thing. Don’t you remember? Being thirteen, and it’s all hormones and horniness…driving you crazy?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “Yes, I do recall that general sense of chaos,” I managed, keeping my tone professional. Inwardly, though, the word horniness spoken in Knox’s gravelly voice made my stomach flip. “Linzie’s definitely in that age range, but a shift this sudden might indicate something else. Stress, family concerns, or maybe she’s just feeling lost.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to give her space without letting her slip through the cracks. She’s all I’ve got, you know?”

The vulnerability in his voice stirred a pang of sympathy. Knox, the once-reckless kid who’d left Hope Peak in a flurry of gossip, now the guardian of a troubled preteen. “What do you think might help?” I asked gently.

He hesitated before answering. “For starters, I can cut back on her chores at the shop if it’s draining her. I just hate the idea of her having too much idle time. But maybe she needs more after-school study, or a tutor? Whatever it takes, I want to do it.”

I nodded, relief easing the tension in my shoulders. “That sounds like a good step. I can also offer some one-on-one help after school if she’s willing. The upcoming Valentine’s festivities might give her a bit of joy, or at least a distraction, if she chooses to participate.” I paused. “Your support is crucial. She needs to know you believe in her.”

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