Traded the Jerk for the Golden Retriever

"No. Absolutely not." Tristan's voice cut through the air, sharp and absolute. The gorgeous new transfer student had just asked if he was into me.

He didn’t hesitate for a single second. His jaw ticked, and he immediately stepped back, his expression twisting into a visible rush to scrub himself clean of the very idea.

I froze by the hallway lockers, my halfeaten double cheeseburger hovering inches from my mouth. I braced for the impact.

I expected that familiar, suffocating grip to crush my lungs. But the hit never came.

Instead, the heavy weight pressing down on my shoulders simply snapped loose, leaving behind a mechanical calm. I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into the food.

Hot grease and rich cheese coated my tongue, heavy and satisfying. Screw guys. They aren't nearly as real as a dripping, greasy cheeseburger anyway.

Chapter 1 Just as I reached the classroom door, Paige grabbed my arm in the hallway. "Cleo, your boy Tristan came looking for you. He said not to wait up for him after school.

His homeroom teacher told him to show Kendall around campus." Kendall was the new transfer in Class 1.

Flawless skin, a gorgeous face, legs for days, and apparently, a solid GPA to boot. The second she stepped onto campus this morning, she caused a massive stir.

Tristan hadn't gotten far. Next to him walked a girl not wearing our school colors. Tight jeans perfectly hugged her curves.

She fluttered around him like a hyperactive butterfly, hands clasped behind her back, grinning as she chattered away at him. But he wasn't having any of it.

He kept his eyes locked straight ahead. When she leaned in close, he practically gave off frostbite, stepping back to maintain a rigid distance.

Paige raised an eyebrow, jabbing me with her elbow. "Damn, your boy Tristan is a literal emotionless bulldozer.

If any other quarterback was surrounded by a hottie like that, his soul would've left his body by now." Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I shoved her back.

Midshove, I caught Kendall suddenly glancing over her shoulder, shooting a sidelong look in my direction.

It was a splitsecond glance, but my radar immediately picked up the calculating, mocking sizingup in her eyes. Tristan came from a singleparent household.

He and his mom moved in across the street from us back in elementary school.

He was always the silent type, so my parents constantly pushed my loud, hyperactive self to drag him into playing.

At first, he clearly found me annoying, but eventually, he silently accepted my constant presence in his personal space. But with everyone else, he remained the same icy wall.

He had top grades, absurdly good looks, and an isolated personality.

During a phase when I was hopelessly addicted to romance novels and teen dramas, I naturally cast Tristan as the brooding male lead in my own head.

Growing up, plenty of girls confessed to him, but he shot down every single one.

Last semester, a girl who'd been chasing him cornered him and demanded to know if he liked someone else. Tristan didn't even give her a look.

He walked straight past her to where I was sitting on the steps, my hands covered in melting ice cream. He grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt. "Cleo, let's go.

Get in the car." Since then, the rumors about us blew up. Cleo and Tristan: childhood sweethearts slowly falling for each other.

We both formed a silent pact to never bother correcting anyone.

That night, I went over to Tristan's place to mooch off his dinner, and conveniently pushed my AP Calculus homework over to him as free labor.

Compared to Tristan's straight A's, my GPA was painfully average. I hovered comfortably in the middle of the pack and only managed to stand out if I pulled off an absolute miracle.

Every time I asked him to explain a problem, he'd call me an idiot. After hearing it enough times, I just got used to it.

I'd even fire back with a smirk, "Relax, one genius in the family is enough." He slapped the worksheet flat against my face. "Just do your math." That arrogant, cold demeanor made him look exactly like the highIQ asshole villain from a teen movie.

While I was rummaging through his backpack, a small Disney Duffy Bear keychain tumbled out. Knowing his personality, he wouldn't be caught dead buying something like that.

I picked up the plushie and teased him. "Which girl gave you this one?" "Trash it." "Sure." The bear dropped into the garbage bin. He didn't even spare it a glance.

I babbled on like usual, rambling about the stupid drama in my classes. Normally, Tristan tuned me out, sitting there as undisturbed as a meditating monk.

But today, he did something out of character.

He snatched the spinning pen right out of my hand, his face dead serious. "Cleo, have you actually thought about what college you're applying to?" I didn't even have to think about it. "Stanford, duh." Stanford was Tristan's dream school.

Chapter 2 The corner of his mouth twitched up. "You think you can get in?" The bright overhead lights caught in his dark eyes, shattering into fragmented amusement.

He was insanely attractive; a single, effortless smirk was enough to make anyone lose their mind. My face burned, and I glared at him. "Stop looking down on me!

I can absolutely get in!" Tristan dropped the smirk. "Fine.

I'll be waiting." Back in the classroom, I let out a pathetic groan and slammed my face onto my desk. "Someone kill me now.

Why are Stanford's admission stats so insanely high?" Paige leaned over, crunching on a mouthful of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. "Don't panic. Graduation is still ages away.

As long as you start grinding your GPA right now, you've got time." I snatched a Cheeto from her bag and shoved it in my mouth. "Ugh, I seriously regret running my mouth in front of him.

My brain just isn't wired for academics!" It wasn't that I didn't want to improve; some concepts simply refused to penetrate my skull. But I'd already talked a big game.

No way was I letting him look down on me. Every free period I had, I hunted Tristan down to drill me on practice problems.

Coincidentally, I kept bumping into Kendall looking for him, too. Tristan shot her down every single time. "I'm busy. Find someone else." "I asked around.

No one else knows how to do this." "Then go ask the teacher." Kendall gave a halfsmile, completely unfazed. "No thanks. You finish up.

I'll wait." She was just like I used to be—oblivious to Tristan's repulsion. Getting rejected didn't bother her at all; she just came right back the next time.

It happened so often that the second Kendall walked over, Tristan developed an automatic reflex. "Find someone else—" Kendall cut him off. "I'm not here for you." She pivoted toward the guy sitting next to Tristan, batting her eyelashes. "Hey, AP Calculus rep, you probably know how to solve this, right?" The math rep from Class 1, a skinny guy, looked instantly flattered and frantically dug out his test paper. "Yeah, yeah, I know it!" "Could you do me a huge favor and explain it to me?" Kendall pressed her palms together in a playful, begging gesture.

I glanced at Tristan. He maintained his exact previous posture, the tip of his pen pressed hard against the thin worksheet. His expression looked normal.

But I saw his knuckles turning white around the red pen. His breathing had slowed, dropping half a beat behind its usual rhythm.

A suffocating, invisible tension stretched across the air—a magnetic pull I was locked out of. The next time I went looking for Tristan, I stopped cold.

Kendall had claimed the seat next to him.

She rested her chin in one hand, staring dead at his face with a brilliant smile while he broke down a math problem for her. "Tristan, has anyone ever told you that you're stupidly gorgeous?" He tapped his pen against the paper. "Focus." "You got it, Mr.

Class President." Kendall spotted me first. She arched an eyebrow. Her smiling eyes locked onto mine, but her words were directed at Tristan. "Hey, Mr. President.

Your little childhood friend is here. You should probably help her first." As she spoke, she didn't shift her body away from him by a single inch.

Tristan turned his head and shot me a fleeting glance. "Cleo, I don't have the time to walk you through basic fundamentals right now.

Go find someone in your own class, or ask the teacher." Without another word, he turned his body back toward Kendall. I stood frozen.

The blood drained from my limbs, replaced by a rigid chill. A humiliating, scalding heat crept up my neck and scorched my cheeks.

That casual, effortless sentence hit me with ten times the force of him calling me an idiot.

Desperate to salvage any scrap of dignity, my fingers dug into the edges of my notebook. "Tthen you finish up. I'll catch you when you're not busy." I turned on my heel.

From behind me, a faint, chiming scoff drifted through the air. For the next few days, Kendall was a permanent fixture next to Tristan.

Sometimes, she was the one explaining the material. Tristan would look at her, a rare, soft warmth bleeding into his sharp eyes. "Kendall.

You're actually pretty smart." Chapter 3 My knuckles froze an inch from the window frame.

Every single time he had looked down his nose at me and called me an idiot slammed into my brain. The impatient sighs. The arrogant eyerolls.

So… he actually knew how to give a compliment.

Someone inside the classroom called out, "Hey, your little shadow is back." Like a coward, I spun on my heel and bolted down the hallway before Tristan even had a chance to turn his head.

That evening, I walked home alone. The next morning, I left for school without him.

Halfway down the corridor, his voice cut through the noise. "Cleo." He strode over, cutting off my path entirely, and shoved a pink Stanley tumbler hard against my chest. "Iced Americano.

My mom made me pick it up for you on the way." He let go immediately, confident I would scramble to catch it like I always did. Clang. The heavy metal hit the linoleum floor.

Iced coffee splattered across the tiles. I jumped back instinctively to avoid the splash, my heart doing a harsh, irregular stutter. Tristan froze.

A deep crease formed between his eyebrows. "What the hell is your problem?" His jaw tightened, the irritation in his voice spiking as if he were the one who had been wronged. "You ditch me after school without a word, you leave this morning without a text, and now you're pulling this?

What exactly did I do to you?" Any fleeting impulse to apologize instantly evaporated, freezing over into solid ice.

I knew I was acting out of pure spite, but I crossed my arms and held my ground. "I don't want the coffee.

Don't bother bringing me anything ever again." Tristan let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "Fine. Have it your way." We plunged headfirst into a cold war.

Usually, I was the one catering to his moods. Even when we fought over stupid things, I was always the one waving the white flag. But this time, I refused to build the bridge.

Eight times out of ten when I walked past Class 1, I caught him and Kendall sitting shouldertoshoulder, their heads bent over the same desk.

Once, Kendall tapped his arm and pointed toward the window where I stood. Tristan didn't even turn his head.

He just gave a flat, dismissive "Oh." He leaned back over the paper. "Your approach to this equation is way more efficient." I stormed back to my homeroom, aggressively flipping through my AP Calculus workbook.

The numbers blurred together into a meaningless jumble, sending a spike of pure, irritable static through my brain. Paige leaned over, catching my mood. "Damn, Cleo.

Still haven't made up with your boy Tristan?" I dropped my forehead onto her shoulder with a heavy thud. "Paige… are Kendall's grades really that incredible?" "That's the rumor.

Apparently, she was top ten in her entire junior class at her old prep school." "Great." Him calling her smart was just stating an objective fact, but the words felt like sandpaper scraping against my ribs.

A heavy block of cement settled tight in my chest, making it hard to draw a full breath. Paige nudged me. "So, when are you going to wave the white flag?

People are already starting to ship Kendall and Tristan, and the rumors are getting so specific even I'm starting to buy into the hype." "I'm not waving anything," I snapped. "I'm never speaking to him again." "Bullshit.

We both know you're going to crack first." Paige wasn't wrong. The pathetic truth was, I'd been obsessed with him for way too long.

Secretly, I was already planning to use his upcoming birthday as an excuse to break the ice. He was turning seventeen on October 1st.

Just like every other year, I had my gift bought and wrapped weeks in advance. The day of the Homecoming Pep Rally, Paige sprinted into the classroom, gasping for air. "Cleo!

Tristan is throwing hands with one of the varsity track guys out on the bleachers!" I bolted for the door. "Why?

He's never gotten into a fight in his life!" "Apparently, it's over Kendall." My sneakers skidded to a dead halt against the linoleum.

Out on the football field, a crowd had already dragged the two guys apart. The Dean of Students was pushing his way through the circle.

The track guy was still spitting blood and yelling, struggling against the guys holding him back. "Are you out of your fucking mind, Tristan? I was just talking to Kendall!

What the hell does that have to do with you? You wanna go again?!" Tristan, the guy who never lowered himself to engage in petty high school drama, looked downright lethal.

His chest heaved, his eyes dark with violence. "If I ever catch you harassing her again, I'll put you in the hospital." "Try it, you psycho!" Chapter 4 Tristan ripped his arm free from the guy holding him back and lunged.

The Dean of Students roared, "Do I look invisible to you two?!

Both of you, get your asses into the detention room, now!" He pointed a sharp finger at Kendall, who was standing nearby. "And you, Kendall.

You're coming too!" The words had barely left the Dean's mouth when Tristan stepped smoothly in front of her. "Sir, she has nothing to do with this.

I'll go." "One more word and I'm calling your parents!" Tristan dropped his gaze.

Kendall murmured a soft, "It's fine." As they started to walk away, I couldn't stop myself. "Tristan." At the exact same moment, Kendall's voice rang out: "Tristan, is your hand okay?" He glanced down at his knuckles, brushing right past my shoulder. "I'm fine.

Don't worry about it," he said, his tone carrying a soft, reassuring cadence I had never heard him use. My heart stalled. I spun around, desperate. And my eyes caught it.

In a brief, unobserved gap between the crowd, Kendall lightly hooked her fingers around his wrist before smoothly pulling back.

He leaned down slightly to catch whatever she was whispering. The sharp California sunlight slanted across them, softening the hard, arrogant lines of his profile. It hit me then.

I had no idea who the guy standing in front of me was anymore. Whispers erupted from the crowd around me: "I've never even seen Tristan raise his voice, let alone throw a punch.

That was honestly kind of hot." "Classic knightinshiningarmor move for the new girl.

Of course it was hot." "Honestly, between the looks and the AP scores, he and Kendall are kind of the ultimate power couple." "…" White noise roared in my ears.

Invisible claws dug deep into my chest, twisting hard. Every whispered comment felt like a jagged piece of shrapnel, shredding the stupid, arrogant shield I'd built around myself.

Before the first tear could break, I shoved my way out of the crowd, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Hiding in the empty green room, the pathetic tears wouldn't stop, no matter how hard I scrubbed at my eyes. A few minutes later, people started drifting in.

I frantically turned my back, scrambling to pretend I was organizing the prop boxes stacked on the table.

Just as a pathetic sob threatened to tear out of my throat, a giant, plush blue robotic cat mascot head dropped squarely over my shoulders, plunging me into darkness.

A moment later, a clear, unfamiliar guy's voice filtered through the foam. "Hey, do you mind watching this for me for a sec