Chapter 1: Kiss, Chaos, and Comment Streams

I’m broke. And, yeah, I guess I’m a good girl—at least, that’s what people say. Maybe I’m the type who always does her homework and never skips class, even when I want to. But right now? None of that seemed to matter.

Because right now, I found myself cornered in a dim hallway, pressed up against the wall by the school’s infamous bad boy. He leaned in, and before I could react, his mouth was on mine—hard, desperate—his teeth scraping my lips until I tasted blood. I gasped, the sting sharp, my mind spinning with shock and something I couldn’t name.

The air was thick with the chemical tang of old bleach and floor polish—the kind that clings to your shoes in the corners nobody ever cleans. It stung my nose, sharp and artificial. His grip was iron-tight around my wrist, thumb pressed right over my pounding pulse. My heart hammered. It was so loud I could barely think.

Wild—his eyes were wild, like he was barely holding something back. “Break up? Not a chance. Over my dead body.” He spat the words out, pausing just a second between sentences like he could barely contain himself.

He said it in that deep, gravelly voice that sounded like he’d spent the night under the bleachers instead of sleeping. Like he’d just woken up too early, voice rough with exhaustion and secrets. There was danger in his gaze, a challenge, but the way he said it—like he was daring anyone to even try—made my breath catch in my throat. My heart skipped a beat. Did he really mean it?

And then—like a glitch in reality—a stream of comments flashed across my vision: [Supporting girl, instead of letting him ruin your GPA, why not ruin his lips with kisses.]

[Don’t be fooled by his attitude. If you kiss him, he’ll give you everything.]

[Who gets it—the bad boy acts tough, but those red-rimmed eyes are so breakable.]

The words flickered—pop-up notifications from a livestream, only I could see them. I blinked, trying to focus, but the world felt off-kilter, like someone had changed the channel in my head.

I looked up at him, nerves jangling, and awkwardly tugged at the hem of his hoodie, fingers fidgeting with the soft fabric. My voice came out small and uneven: “Then... can you... not mess with my grades?” I couldn’t meet his eyes, heat rising to my cheeks.

It was just a whisper, but shaky with hope. The hoodie was soft under my fingertips, still warm from his skin. There was a hint of clean detergent, but underneath, something smoky—bonfire, maybe, or just pure trouble. I breathed it in, trying to steady myself.

Later that day, during passing period, as I slipped out of the classroom, the world seemed to tilt again. Hunter Cross—still simmering with rage—had Benji Harper, my desk partner, pinned to the floor. Hunter’s fists were flying, each hit landing with a sickening thud.

The hallway was pure chaos—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking on the glossy floor. Hunter’s knuckles were already turning purple, blood smeared across his jaw. He looked like he belonged in a fight, like the kind of kid who grew up scrapping behind the 7-Eleven. My stomach twisted—how did it get to this?

Hunter was wild, eyes rimmed red, wild as a stray dog. He’d snapped. He grabbed Benji by the collar and yanked him up, every muscle taut with fury. I could smell sweat, blood, and the faint tang of metal in the air.

Benji’s glasses had flown off, skittering across the floor with a sharp clatter. Hunter’s voice was a guttural snarl, animal and wounded. The other students formed a loose ring—phones out, recording, but not a single person moved to stop it. Tension crackled. No one wanted to be next.

Screams split the air—high, panicked, bouncing off the lockers. “Hunter!” I shouted, my voice raw and desperate, barely cutting through the chaos.

My shout sliced through the noise, sharp and pleading. For a second, the world held its breath. The echo hung in the air, and everything went still.

Hunter froze. His face—blood smeared, jaw tight, eyes wild—jerked toward me. For a heartbeat, I saw panic flicker there, something fragile beneath the anger. Benji struggled upright, shooting me a look so pathetic it almost made me laugh. “Emmy, I’m fine. Maybe Hunter just thought we were getting too close...” His voice was all sad puppy, like he was begging for a treat.

Benji’s voice was soft, almost apologetic, but I caught the hint of performance—like he knew he had an audience. A bruise was already blooming on his cheek, purple and ugly. I felt a flash of irritation—was he milking it?

I bit my lip, my hand hovering, ready to slap him. My chest was tight with frustration and confusion. And then—out of nowhere—another comment stream scrolled by, shimmering at the edge of my vision.

[Supporting girl is about to scold the second lead again. She always thinks he’s trouble. No wonder he goes off the rails later.]

[If the supporting girl knew the second lead was teaching Benji a lesson because Benji was just getting close to her to make the main girl jealous, would she feel bad...]

[Even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. By then, the second lead’s already gone dark. She won’t even get to take the SATs—he’ll lock her up in his dad’s mansion, not even let her wear clothes.]

The words felt like static in my brain, like half-remembered plotlines from some old teen drama rerun. My hand wavered, stuck between anger and something softer. Was I really just playing my part?

Almost without thinking, my hand changed direction and brushed the bloody corner of Hunter’s mouth. “Does it hurt?” I asked, my voice barely there.

I surprised even myself. My fingertips moved gently, brushing away the blood. For a second, it was just us—no crowd, no chaos—just me, touching him like I actually cared. My heart thudded, and I wondered if he could feel it.

Hunter’s gaze went still. Every muscle in his body tensed, like he’d been struck by lightning, but he didn’t pull away.

His jaw tightened, breath caught in his throat. The hall felt too bright, too loud, but all I could see was the way his eyes softened—just a fraction—like I’d tugged a thread he was terrified to let unravel.

[Supporting girl, why not ask if he likes it?]

[Wuwuwu, our sweet supporting girl asks, does it hurt? Who could resist!]

The comments made my cheeks burn, but I couldn’t look away from him. My mind spun—what was I even doing?

Hunter’s voice was rough and low. “Doesn’t hurt...” His words trailed off, like he wanted to sound tough, but at the end, it was almost a plea.

He said it like a dare, but the way his voice broke at the end made it sound more like he was asking for mercy. My heart squeezed.

I nervously tugged at his hoodie, my voice dropping even lower. “You look so scary when you fight. It kind of freaks me out... Could you maybe come back to class with me and run vocab flashcards?” I barely managed to speak, every word a lifeline thrown out in the storm.

The words tumbled out, half a peace offering, half a lifeline. I squeezed his sleeve, feeling how small my hand was against him, hoping he’d get it. Please, just say yes.

So, with everyone watching, after throwing punches and still looking like trouble, Lincoln High’s living legend—the guy who never let girls near him—let me tug on his hoodie and lead him away. He followed, almost like he was my lost puppy.

There was a hush as we walked down the hall together, the crowd parting like we were royalty—or a car crash you can’t look away from. Hunter kept his head down, but he let me lead, his footsteps matching mine. I could feel eyes burning into our backs.

Comment stream: [Supporting girl is truly a top-tier dog trainer.]

I almost laughed. The tension in my chest was so tight I couldn’t even breathe, let alone giggle. Still, I felt lighter. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this.

Back in the classroom, my thoughts were a jumbled mess—like a pile of loose wires sparking in the dark. The comment stream buzzed at the edge of my mind, and suddenly, everything clicked:

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing like a hive. I dropped into my seat. My heart thudded in my ears, so loud I could barely hear anything else.

I live inside a high school drama novel, and I’m the obedient supporting girl. Hunter Cross is the violent, possessive bad boy—the other guy everyone warns you about.