Chapter 4: Rules of Engagement

The next morning, I showed up at Jason’s door with a bag of bagels and a Starbucks coffee.

The sun was barely up, the air still cool. I balanced the bag and cup, knocking three times. The hallway echoed with the sound.

I rang the bell for ten minutes, but no answer.

I checked my watch, then knocked again, louder this time. My patience wore thin as the minutes ticked by.

I called. It rang forever before he finally picked up.

The phone buzzed, and finally, a groggy voice answered. "Who is this? It’s so damn early," Jason grumbled, voice rough and annoyed.

"The expensive tutor you hired."

I kept my tone light, but there was steel underneath. No way was I letting him sleep through his own investment.

He opened the door.

Jason stood there, hair a mess, eyes half-shut. "Are you for real? It’s not even eight."

He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, t-shirt wrinkled, socks mismatched. I had to bite back a laugh.

"Class starts at eight sharp."

I walked past him into the apartment, putting the bagels and coffee on the chipped coffee table. "You’ve got twenty-five minutes to wash up and eat."

He blinked, clearly not used to being bossed around. The coffee aroma filled the air, making the place feel a little less bleak.

Jason scratched his head, scowling. "I already paid you. Cut the act."

He turned and disappeared into his room.

I rolled my eyes as he stomped off, but I let him have his moment. I took a seat at the table, flipping through my lesson plan.

I looked around the crappy two-bedroom he’d rented.

The place was a dump, honestly. Peeling linoleum floors, faded yellow walls, even the coffee table was a cheap pressboard knockoff.

The whole place screamed budget, totally at odds with the rich-kid persona Jason played at school.

There were empty Red Bull cans in the sink, a broken lamp in the corner, and a stack of pizza boxes teetering by the trash. It was the kind of place you only stayed if you had nowhere else to go.

In the original, I fell for that contrast.

Back then, I thought it meant he was just misunderstood—a poor kid putting on a show. I’d felt sorry for him, let down my guard.

I’d made excuses for him, convinced myself I could save him. Not this time.

Not only did I tutor him for free, I even picked up groceries and cooked for him—basically his clingy babysitter. Ugh.

I remembered the hours spent at the grocery store, the meals I’d cooked, the laundry I’d folded. I’d let myself be used, thinking it meant something.

This time, I charged for lessons. Not just so I wouldn’t have to work extra shifts at the diner, but to set my own rate.

I wanted to prove—to myself, and to him—that my time was worth something. That I was worth something.

When I open my own tutoring business someday, this’ll be my going rate.

I pictured my future logo on a glossy business card, my name in bold. This was just the beginning.

I headed into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. Nothing.

The pipes groaned, but not a drop. I frowned, remembering the mess from before.

Instead of messing with the pipes like in the book, I just called the building manager, whose number I’d memorized before coming up.

I dialed, putting him on speaker. He answered on the third ring, voice booming through the tiny kitchen. I explained the problem, and he promised to come right up.

A minute later, Jason stumbled out, rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up. The super banged on the door, toolbox in hand.

"What the hell?" He shoved open his door, clearly annoyed.

Jason glared at me, then at the super, as if we’d conspired to ruin his morning. I just shrugged, sipping my coffee.

You’re out of credit on your water account—prepaid’s empty. Go down to the office and reload your card.

He gave Jason a pointed look, then stomped off, muttering about "kids these days."

With that, he left.

The door slammed, leaving an awkward silence. Jason leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You don’t even know basic stuff like this?"

His tone dripped with condescension, eyes narrowed in that familiar way. He was trying to get a rise out of me, but I wasn’t biting.

He thought he could make me feel small, but I just met his gaze, unflinching.

This was his usual move—acting superior to chip away at my confidence.

I recognized the pattern—build me up, then tear me down. Not today.

"My family’s from a small town. We used to have a hand pump, if you can believe it."

I met his gaze, calm. "When the water gets shut off in the dorms, it’s always just pipe repairs."

I kept my tone even, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. He blinked, caught off guard.

He didn’t have a comeback, and for a moment, I saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

"Breakfast is getting cold."

I pointed at the bagels and coffee. "You want to eat first, or start tutoring?"

I gestured to the table, making it clear I was in charge here.

"Three grand for tutoring means six hours a day. No exceptions."

I laid out the terms, no room for negotiation.

"I suggest three hours in the morning, three in the afternoon."

I slid a printed schedule across the table, each block color-coded and labeled.

Jason suddenly stepped closer, pinning me against the wall. His breath was warm on my face. "You really think you’re my girlfriend?"

He loomed over me, trying to intimidate. I held my ground, refusing to flinch.

"I thought you were serious about Stanford."

I pulled up the Venmo transfer page. "If you’re not here to study, I’ll refund you right now."

I held my phone up, thumb hovering over the "Refund" button. The ball was in his court.

His gaze darkened as he grabbed my wrist. "Are you playing me?"

His grip was tight, but I stared him down. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

I shook off his hand and pulled a neat stack of review packets from my bag.

I set the packets on the table. The pages were crisp and organized. "All the notes from freshman to junior year. I promise you’ll be a whole new person by September."

His breathing hitched.

He stared at the packets, jaw working. I could see him weighing his options, the gears turning.

Whether to keep playing this game by my rules, or admit defeat to Savannah.

Either way, he didn’t have the upper hand anymore.

"Fine. Let’s see what my girlfriend can do." He reached for the packets in my hand.

He tried to sound nonchalant, but I heard the challenge in his voice. I let him take the packets, but not my control.

"Eat breakfast first."

I dodged, nodding at the clock. "Placement test starts at eight sharp."

I pointed to the clock on the wall, making it clear I wasn’t budging on the schedule.

He dropped into a chair, scowling, and tore into a bagel.

He ate in silence, the tension thick in the air. I sipped my coffee, pretending not to notice.

Jason, you’d better show me what you can really do later. Someone who’s been in private school since kindergarten—how are you at the bottom?

I leaned back in my chair, studying him. His eyes flickered, and he gripped his coffee cup tighter.

Jason froze. Coffee sloshed from his cup, leaving a ring on the table.

He stared at the stain, jaw clenched. I waited, letting the silence do the work.

"Unless..."

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. "You chose to be at the bottom."

I let the implication hang, watching his reaction.

"No wonder you’re my girlfriend. You’re sharp."

He tried to play it cool, but I saw the respect in his eyes. "Maybe I just wanted more time with you."

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "When I get into Stanford with flying colors, my folks will love you."

His words were soft, almost vulnerable. For a moment, the mask slipped.

In the book, it was never clear that Jason was faking being a bad student.

I remembered—he knew I had to work all day, but still took up my nights for tutoring.

But he made mistakes on purpose, testing my patience again and again.

Now, with just a nudge, I’d exposed his act.

I watched him closely, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and sadness. He’d wasted so much time pretending.

Jason really did think of me as his girlfriend.

I smiled coolly. "Then show me what you’ve really got."

I slid the first test packet across the table, meeting his eyes. The challenge was set.

As his pen flew across the page, I sipped my coffee to hide my grin.

I watched his hand move, steady and sure. He wasn’t struggling—not really. I let myself hope, just a little.

Whether he was really bad at school or just pretending—

Either way, I was about to prove everyone wrong.

I was about to be known as the girl who turned the worst student around.

The thought made me smile, the possibilities stretching out ahead.

He finished the test packets quickly, burning through the whole set of science exams in one day.

He barely got a 73 in math. English was passable. Reading was the worst—only a 40.

I slid the graded tests back to him.

I circled the scores in red, tapping each one. "You’ve got a long way to go, but this is a start."

Compared to how I used to bomb everything, this isn’t bad.

Jason leaned forward. "How about we play for a day, then study for a day?"

He grinned, hoping I’d go easy on him.

"Finish six hours of tutoring each day first."

I shoved a stack of practice books at him. "When you’re scoring above 70 on everything, then we’ll talk."

"Deal."

He grinned. "For studying, I listen to you. For fun, you listen to me."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile.

"Deal."

I met his eyes. "Once school starts, stop pretending to be a slacker, or it’ll look like I didn’t earn that three grand."

"You got it."

He agreed, lazy and amused, eyes glinting.