Chapter 1: Viral Fame, Real Trouble

Our high school went viral.

The first time I heard about it was when my phone started buzzing nonstop before homeroom—notifications, group chats, memes, the works. I figured someone’d finally pulled a senior prank worth remembering, but nope: it was us. The principal, my dad, had posted a TikTok of our morning stretches. The video blew up overnight, all because of what TikTok called our “overflowing Gen-Z energy.”

You couldn’t pay for this kind of chaos. The comments section was a dumpster fire—in the best possible way. Stuff like:

“Absolutely iconic! The vibes are immaculate! PS: Paging Principal *raises hand*, I’d like to report the tall, good-looking guy in the last row for totally slacking off! *indignant gasp* Here’s an idea—send him to my house, I’ll whip him into shape myself! *puts on glasses*”

I had to laugh at that one, picturing some suburban mom ready to run a boot camp in her living room. The thread just kept going:

“The girl with the high ponytail in front moves so well! She’s so confident, I can’t take my eyes off her!”

“Is no one going to say it? Even though we only see half her face, you can tell she’s gorgeous—sharp chin, fair skin, definite beauty material…”

“Principal, over here! My suggestion: have the girl teach the slacker pretty boy—one-on-one, hands-on instruction, please! I’m already picturing a million-word teen romance novel…”

“Kids’ stretches these days are so lively. Back in my day, we were still doing ‘Energize America’ in gym class. I hated it then, but now it’s pure nostalgia…”

“Ugh, ‘Colorful Sunshine’ and ‘Energize America’—real tears of an era…”

“LOL, not saying whose school does the shuffle dance…”

Honestly, it was like our school had been thrown into a blender with every American high school stereotype and then sprinkled with TikTok fairy dust. Seriously, what was happening?

But of course, it got weirder.

And then, right when I thought it couldn’t get weirder, Dad—Principal Carter—came looking for me.

“So that’s the situation, Autumn. I’m putting you in charge of teaching Logan McAllister the routine, in person. You’ve got to really show him how it’s done—you know, the whole internet’s watching now…”

I groaned inside. What a hassle. What’s any of this got to do with me? I could barely get through my own morning without tripping over my shoelaces.

“And another thing, that punk Logan keeps nodding off in class lately. You’re gonna sit next to him and keep him in line. Any problem with that?”

I managed not to roll my eyes—barely—and just sighed. “Got it, Dad.”

He gave me that look only dads can give—half stern, half pleading, and entirely convinced this was for my own good. Yeah, I knew that look. I’d seen it a thousand times before, usually right before he asked me to help with some school event or check up on a struggling student.

When I found Logan, he was face-down on his desk, dead to the world.

I knocked on the desk to wake him up. “Wake up, Logan.”

He didn’t budge.

“Logan—”

His usual buddy finally looked over and cut in.

“Hey, class president, let him sleep. He’s got, like, terminal morning grump.”

Logan, apparently disturbed by our noise, muttered irritably into his arm, “Who the hell’s yelling at me…?”

“Autumn Carter.”

He stiffened, then slowly lifted his head.

We locked eyes. I saw surprise and panic flash through his still-drowsy gaze.

He had a sharp, almost rebellious look—strong nose, narrow, deep-set eyes, pale skin, lips a striking shade of red. Definitely not the obedient, well-behaved type.

But just woken up, with faint pillow marks on his cheek and messy dark hair sticking up, he looked oddly cute.

Honestly, it was hard not to smile. He looked like a cat caught napping in the sun, all disheveled and pretending not to care.

Alright, focus. I pulled myself together and said calmly, “Logan, Principal Carter wants to see you.”

He finally snapped out of his daze, grunted, and lazily straightened up to follow me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walking slowly. But with those long legs, one stride was like two of mine. He kept a steady couple of feet behind.

Nice. Long arms, long legs, great build. Not bad.

I turned away, unable to suppress a hint of a smile.

Perfect for training.

—

In the principal’s office.

“Logan, look at your performance in that video… From now on, someone’s going to supervise and teach you until you get it right.”

Logan frowned, reflexively refusing. “Nah…”

At the same time, Principal Carter added, “Autumn will be in charge of this.”

Logan changed his tune, nodding, “Saying no would mean I’m not cooperating with the school. No problem on my end. Thanks, Principal Carter.”

Me: “….”

Principal Carter, probably surprised at his sudden cooperation, eyed him suspiciously, then scolded, “What’s up with you lately? Sleeping through class? Senior year already—you should be embarrassed.”

Logan replied nonchalantly, “Sorry, sir. Been up late studying, kinda overdid it, I guess. I’ll try to do better.”

Me: “….”

Principal Carter: “….”

Clearly not buying it, he just sighed and waved us away. “Go on, pay attention in class.”

Just as Logan and I were about to leave, Principal Carter called out again, “On second thought, all those tall guys in the back row are a mess. Autumn, just teach them all together.”

…

Logan’s smirk froze on his face.

—

Back in class.

“Move.”

His friend Marcus Evans glanced at Logan’s cold, expressionless face, stopped joking around, and, sensing his mood, gave a nervous laugh. “Logan, you’re back. Principal Carter didn’t give you too much trouble, right?”

Logan sneered, “What’s it to you? Don’t you have anything better to do, Marcus?”

Marcus shut up, head down, even his hair looking cautious.

But Logan wasn’t letting him off. He looked down, icy gaze fixed on him, voice mocking:

“If you’re so free, go run that routine a few more times. You’re a mess. Stop making other people teach you.”

Marcus just stared at him, like: What’s your problem?

“But Logan, weren’t you also…”

Logan cut him off coldly, “Your legs are doing their own thing, your arms look like overcooked noodles. What, didn’t eat breakfast? And what about me? I look…”

Marcus: …Fine, shutting up.

He pouted, then noticed me standing quietly by Logan’s side.

“Class president, anything else?”

Logan paused, finally realizing I was still there. His brow twitched, then he calmly added, “I just get worried about you, you know. If you’re not eating enough, just use my lunch card anytime…”

Me: “….”

Marcus: “….”

Logan finished without a hint of embarrassment, eyes landing on me, totally unfazed. “Class president, anything else? Class is about to start.”

I nodded. “Almost forgot—Principal Carter wants me to switch seats to keep you from dozing off.”

Logan froze. “What?”

“Principal Carter wants me to sit next to you.”

He nodded, then looked down, like he was reliving some tragic movie scene, still unable to hide the upward curve of his lips.

“Next break’s pretty long. I’ll help you move your stuff.”

Marcus looked panicked, eyes pleading. “Logan, what about me? You don’t want me anymore?”

“Didn’t you say you were getting nearsighted, can’t see the board?”

Logan patted his shoulder cheerfully. “It’s for your own good. Be good, sit up front next period.”

Marcus: …Forced to be nearsighted.

He started to protest, but Logan shot him a look and he immediately shut up.

“Fine.”

He shot us one last resentful look. Then, like something clicked, he kept glancing between me and Logan, eyes wide with shock and—was that understanding?

I glanced at Logan, who was all smiles.

Me: …If I’m not mistaken, I’m here to keep him from sleeping in class.

So what’s he so happy about?

Then I glanced at Marcus, who seemed to have confirmed something, nodding to himself, looking excited.

Me: “….”

These two are hopeless.

Definitely need to be separated.

—

In the end, Marcus didn’t move to the front row. He’s tall, but maybe he didn’t want to be too far from Logan. After some negotiation, he ended up sitting right in front of Logan.

I sighed. Even the legendary duo couldn’t be split up.

—

During class, I kept feeling eyes on me.

I turned to Logan, deadpan. “You should be looking at the board.”

He didn’t even blink. “Thing is, I think I’m getting nearsighted too.”

Me: “…You might be nearsighted, but you’re not cross-eyed.”

Logan quietly added, “So I wanted to ask you about the board, but was too shy.”

He squinted, all dramatic. “What’s written before cosA?”

I glanced over. “2b.”

He frowned, “Not 2bc…?”

I just stared at him.

He paused, then quickly recovered, “Oh, right, not 2bc. I must really be going blind.”

Me: “….”

—

After class, Marcus turned around.

“Logan, let’s go shoot hoops.”

Logan and I both: “Nope.”

I spoke first, “We need to fix your exercise routine.”

Logan nodded, “Forgot? Gotta go learn with the class president.”

Marcus scratched his head. “Oh, right.”

“You go with the class president first, I’ll get the others.”

—

I’d seen that viral exercise video too. Logan’s moves were mostly on point, but half-hearted the whole time.

Even when he realized he was on camera, he just made his movements a little bigger.

He wasn’t the only one slacking, but at 6’2”, he really stood out. His moves weren’t standard—more like lazy and laid-back.

He turned a lively routine into something completely chill.

Just standing there, swinging his arms, even from behind, you couldn’t help but watch him.

I remembered a top comment under the video, with a screenshot of Logan’s only full-face shot.

No expression, tired eyes, totally uninterested.

The meme text: [Tired. What kind of crap routine needs a guy like me to do it?]

I snapped back to the present, looking at Logan beside me.

“Class president, let’s get started. No time to waste.”

Me: …He actually seems excited.

I demonstrated a segment. “Try what I just did, I’ll see what you need to fix.”

He actually listened for once.

He followed obediently. After a few seconds, I stopped him and stepped in to correct his form.

“Nope.”

I tapped his arm, frowning.

“Too stiff. Loosen up.”

He didn’t say anything, Adam’s apple bobbing, his pale ears turning red, body even stiffer.

“Relax, don’t tense your arms so much.”

He looked down at me, voice low. “Okay.”

“How about now, any better?”

I nodded, satisfied, and couldn’t help but glance at him again.

Wow, he actually improved. Not bad.

“Yeah, here, lift this side higher.”

Just then, I heard Marcus’s deliberately hushed but excited voice behind us:

“Guys, I’m telling you, they’re getting into the groove.”

Another guy chimed in, “Hands-on teaching, huh? Bet Logan’s loving this 😏.”

I paused and turned, meeting several pairs of sparkling eyes.

Me: “….”

I waved them over. “Come on, learn together.”

They exchanged glances, then looked at Logan, who was half-smiling at them.

“Class president, maybe you should keep teaching him first,” Marcus said, catching Logan’s look. “We’re all clumsy, better to watch you two first.”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Actually, I have an idea. If you teach everyone hands-on, it’ll wear you out.”

“Teach me first, then I’ll teach them.”

He grinned at the others, looking totally harmless.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be thorough. You know me, super patient. If you still can’t get it, I won’t do anything to you.”

The others stiffened, shuddering. “Don’t worry, class president, we’ll work hard and keep up with Logan.”

I thought for a moment, then nodded.

If it saves me trouble, why not?

“Fine, just watch and memorize the moves.”

So I corrected Logan’s form, all the while enduring their intense stares.

After one round, I had him try solo.

Much improved, which pleased me.

I told him to pause. Across from us, someone called out, “What’s the next move here?”

Without hesitation, they replied, “Kiss her!”

Me: “….”

—

Principal Carter called me to the office.

“Autumn, how’s Logan’s progress?”

I thought back and answered confidently, “Pretty good.”

No clue what Logan did, but somehow, even his slacker friends started getting it.

Principal Carter nodded, then hesitated.

“One more thing…”

He sighed. “Your eighteenth birthday’s next Saturday. Your mom wants you to spend it with her.”

I frowned and flatly refused, “Message received. Not going.”

He looked helpless. “She’s still your mother.”

Annoyed, I replied coldly, “She left so easily back then. Did she ever think she still had a daughter?”

“If that’s all, I’ll head back to class.”

—

Back in class, Marcus was talking to Logan.

“Logan, Amy from third period wants me to ask if you’ll go to the movies this weekend. I turned her down.”

Logan, head down doing problems, glanced up approvingly.

“Nice, smart move.”

Marcus grinned. “Told her you already have someone you like.”

Logan paused, frowning at him.

“Really that obvious—”

He noticed me and cut himself off.

“Enough, quit yapping. You talk too much. Turn around.”

He looked at me, noticing my bad mood, and seemed about to say something.

But just then, the bell rang.

I pushed my feelings aside and checked the schedule.

Mr. Whitaker’s class.

Resigned, I pulled out my chemistry book, feeling even more irritated.

—

Midway through class, a paper ball rolled onto my desk.

The culprit raised his brows at me, mouthing, “Open it.”

Inside was a strawberry candy, wrapped in a doodle of a cartoon puppy sticking out its tongue, with tiny handwriting:

“Happy puppy wants to give you candy. If you eat it, you’re not allowed to be sad anymore~”

I’d seen Logan’s usual handwriting—wild, sharp, full of his attitude.

But this was clearly an attempt at cute, girly script, complete with a playful emoji at the end.

Weirdly adorable.

I tucked the note and candy away and whispered, “Thanks.”

Suddenly, a loud bang on the podium, followed by Mr. Whitaker’s furious voice.

“Autumn Carter, talking in the back again! Out in the hall, now!”

I reacted quickly, shot him a cold look, and got up to leave.

Logan, apparently caught off guard, stood up too, face dark, lips curled in a mocking smile.

“Mr. Whitaker, doesn’t talking require two people? Why single me out?”

“So if I say I asked Autumn for a pen, that’s fine?”

Mr. Whitaker’s chest heaved, voice shaking with anger. “Fine, both of you—out!”

So now, we were both standing outside the classroom.

I stood in the hallway, still hearing Mr. Whitaker’s sharp, biting voice inside.

“Just because your grades are good doesn’t mean you can act out, disrupt class, or be so rude. No manners, just like certain other people I can’t stand.”

Logan frowned, a flash of cold light in his eyes.

He stood beside me, barely a hand’s width away, looking down at me, his voice carrying a hint of guilt.

“Sorry for dragging you into this.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. The classroom’s stuffy anyway. Good to get some fresh air.”

For most teachers, standing us out here over a little whispering would be overkill. But for Mr. Whitaker, it was par for the course.

This was payback—a way to vent his grudge against my dad, Principal Carter.

Mr. Whitaker and my dad’s feud was no secret. Years ago, when the school was choosing a new principal, he lost out to my dad, even though he thought he was more qualified and his classes always ranked at the top.

He’s held a grudge ever since, though my dad always stayed polite. When they met, Dad was calm, Mr. Whitaker would glare.

Everyone knew Mr. Carter was my dad, so Mr. Whitaker naturally took it out on me too.

Most of the time, he couldn’t find real fault with me, so he’d nitpick little things just to get under my skin.

Whatever. He’s just a petty jerk. The more he acts like this, the more people dislike him.

No student likes a hot-tempered, aggressive teacher. All this just makes us grateful the principal isn’t him, but the gentle, fair Mr. Carter.

“He’s a nasty old bastard, petty as hell. If he makes it to fifty, that’ll be a miracle.”

I looked up at Logan. His hair half-covered his eyes, voice lazy but with a hint of concern—and maybe… something like affection?

“So class rep, don’t let him get to you. Don’t be upset.”

He suddenly smiled, eyes bright.

“Took a lot of effort to cheer you up with candy, you know.”

Pretty flirty words, especially with a face like that.

I looked away, staring at the ceiling. “Logan, it’s senior year. Focus on your studies.”

He should get the hint.

He murmured a low “Mm,” not sure if he really heard me. Things quieted down.

After about ten minutes, the bell rang and students started filing out. But Mr. Whitaker hadn’t dismissed class, so we had to keep standing there.

It was obvious—he wanted to embarrass me, make sure everyone saw me being punished.

Sure enough, passing students kept sneaking glances at us.

Logan didn’t care, even edged closer, shrinking the gap between us to almost nothing.

Amid the noise, his lazy, slightly magnetic voice sounded in my ear.

“Class president, don’t we look like a couple caught for dating, being punished outside?”

I thought he’d taken my advice to heart: “…?”

—