The library’s dead quiet now, just me standing here with Jamie’s notebook in my hands. Everyone else cleared out after class, but I stuck around, pretending to pack slow. That’s when I saw it—his beat-up notebook, slipped under a chair where he left it. He’d rushed out to meet Alex, didn’t even look back. I pick it up, feeling the worn edges, and flip it open. There’s Alex, sketched out in pencil—his sharp jaw, his messy hair, every line perfect. Underneath, Jamie’s handwriting is messy, shaky: “Why does it have to be you?” My eyes narrow. A spark lights up inside me, hot and mean. Jealousy, I guess. Jamie’s got a thing for Alex—his own guardian. It’s weird, and it pisses me off.
I’ve been into Alex for months. He’s older, sure, but there’s something about him—those quiet smiles, the way he leans against his truck when he picks Jamie up. I’d say hi, try to catch his eye, but he’s always focused on Jamie. Now I get why. This notebook’s proof—Jamie’s not just some kid he looks after. He’s got feelings, big ones. I snap it shut and shove it in my bag. This is mine now, and I’m going to use it.
Later that day, I’m in Morgan’s office. He’s my dad, but nobody knows—not even Jamie or Alex. He keeps it secret, says it’s cleaner that way. His office is all shiny glass and hard edges, up high in the council building. He’s behind his desk, looking at me like I’m a problem he’s got to solve. I don’t care. I’ve got something he’ll like.
I toss Jamie’s notebook onto his desk. It lands with a little smack. “Check this out,” I say, dropping into a chair. “Jamie left it in the library.”
Morgan doesn’t move at first, just stares at me with those cold eyes. He’s got a stern face, all tight lines, like he’s always mad. Then he grabs the notebook, flips it open. He scans the pages—more sketches of Alex, little notes here and there. He stops on the one I saw, the “Why does it have to be you?” page. A smirk creeps onto his face, slow and nasty.
“So the kid’s got a crush on his guardian of all people?” he says, his voice low, like he’s enjoying it. He looks up at me, waiting. “What’s your angle?”
I lean forward, arms crossed. “It’s about Alex. Jamie’s into him—too into him. We can use this. Frame Jamie for something bad, like academic fraud. It’ll mess him up, and Alex’ll lose it. Break that trust they’ve got. Maybe ruin his whole life.”
Morgan taps the desk, thinking. He hates Alex—has for years. Some business deal went south a while back. Alex wouldn’t sell his bookstore when Morgan wanted the land for a big contract. Cost Dad a ton of cash, and he’s still bitter. I’ve heard him curse Alex’s name, say he’ll get even one day. This could be it.
“Academic fraud,” he says, testing the words. “How?”
I grin, the idea sharp in my head. “We plant stolen exam answers in his stuff—make it look like he’s selling them. Forge a bank deposit, some cash he supposedly made. Fake an email trail tipping off the school. You’ve got pull—make sure it sticks.”
He leans back, eyes on me. “Why do you want this?” he asks, like he’s digging for more. He’s always doing that, pushing.
“Alex,” I say, keeping it simple. “I like him. Jamie’s in the way.” It’s more than that—I want Alex to notice me, not just as some girl from Jamie’s class. If Jamie’s gone, disgraced, maybe Alex will turn to me. It’s a long shot, but it’s what I’ve got.
Morgan nods, like he gets it. “Jealousy works,” he says. “And I’ve got my own reasons. Alex screwed me—cost me a deal, big money. This could hit him where it hurts.”
He stands, pacing a little, then stops. “Here’s the plan,” he says, voice dropping. “We get exam answers—real ones, stolen from the college. Plant them in Jamie’s backpack. Forge a deposit—five grand, say, into his account. Fake emails, anonymous, pointing the school right at him. I’ll make sure it lands—cops, dean, the works.”
I nod, feeling it come together. “I’ll plant the answers,” I say. “I see him every day. Easy.”
Morgan’s smirk is back. “Good. My influence will seal it. School suspends him, cops dig in—Alex watches his kid fall apart. Might even sell that store to clean up the mess.”
I think about Alex—his calm voice, the way he looks at Jamie like he’s proud. That’s going to break soon. He’ll be wrecked, and I’ll be there. It’s harsh, but I don’t care. Jamie’s got this coming.
“Deal,” I say, grabbing the notebook. “When do we start?”
“Now,” he says, sitting back down. “Get those answers ready. I’ll handle the rest.”
That evening, I’m at the college locker room. It’s after hours, quiet, just the hum of the lights. I’ve got the stolen exam answers—Morgan got them from some guy who owed him a favor. They’re folded tight in my pocket, real papers from last semester’s finals. Jamie’s backpack is here—he leaves it in his locker sometimes when he’s got late classes. I saw him head out earlier, distracted, didn’t even lock it.
I glance around—nobody’s here. My hands move quick, sliding the papers out, unfolding them just enough to look real. I open his backpack, stuff them in deep, under his books and that dumb pencil case he’s always got. My heart’s beating fast, but my fingers are steady. This is it—Jamie’s done. I zip the bag shut, step back, and slip out the door. Nobody sees me. It’s perfect.