Chapter 2 The Project Partner Trap

The New York public school system taught me how to survive a subway rush, but nothing could prepare me for the absolute torture of AP English Literature at St. Jude’s Academy.

The classroom was overly warm, smelling of old leather books and expensive wood polish. Outside, the gray Manhattan sky was dumping heavy, wet snowflakes over the Upper East Side. Inside, Mrs. Gable faced the front of the room; her high heels clicked across the hardwood floor like a countdown.

"This semester project accounts for forty percent of your final grade," Mrs. Gable announced. "There will be no extensions. I have selected your partners myself."

I kept my head down, staring at my notebook. I didn’t care who I got partnered with, as long as they didn’t complain when I did all the work. If you want something done right, don't leave it in the hands of a kid who gets a brand-new BMW for their sixteenth birthday.

"Avery Vance," Mrs. Gable called out. I raised my hand slightly. "You will be partnering with Jaxon Montgomery."

My pen slipped, drawing a jagged blue line straight across my page. No.

Across the room, the captain of the hockey team groaned, leaning back until his chair's front legs lifted off the ground. "Mrs. Gable, come on. Can’t I partner with Miller? We're on the same line for Friday's game."

"Mr. Montgomery, your hockey schedule does not dictate my syllabus," Mrs. Gable said smoothly. "Miss Vance has the highest average in the class. Quite frankly, you need the help. Sit together, please. Now."

Jax gathered his things with an aggressive sigh, shoving his leather bag over his broad shoulder. He strolled across the room, the fabric of his black and gold varsity jacket rustling with every movement, and dropped into the chair right next to mine. He brought the scent of crisp winter air and expensive mint gum with him.

He didn't look at me. He just leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Look," he muttered, his voice a low, rough baritone. "Vance, right? Here's the deal. I don't really do the whole library thing. I have practice three hours a day, and we have the Brooklyn Prep game this weekend. Just text me whatever my half of the work is, and I'll have my assistant print it out."

I blinked at him. His pure arrogance made my blood boil. Behind the screen of my phone, as "V," I could call him lazy and charge him five hundred dollars. But here, in real life, I had to play the role of the quiet scholarship girl.

"First of all," I said, my voice dripping with dry sarcasm, "I am not your assistant. Second, if you slack off and drag my GPA down, I will personally make sure the athletic board sees your actual contributions. Or lack thereof."

Jax turned his head, his stormy gray eyes narrowing as he finally looked at me. He looked slightly taken aback. Nobody at St. Jude's ever spoke to him without a desperate smile.

"You've got a lot of teeth for a quiet girl, Vance," he murmured.

"And you have a lot of confidence for a guy who needs a ghostwriter just to stay on the ice," I shot back, keeping my voice low.

The sharp ring of the school bell cut him off. Jax stared at me for one more second, a mixture of annoyance and slight intrigue crossing his features, before he grabbed his bag and stormed out into the hallway.

I let out a long breath. That was entirely too close.

By the time I took the grueling, crowded subway ride back to Queens, night had fallen. Our tiny apartment was freezing. I wrapped myself in a warm blanket, sat at the kitchen table, and opened my laptop. The moment I logged into the encrypted GhostGrad network, my screen lit up.

User7742: V. You there? I need to vent before I lose my mind.

I pulled up the chat.

V: I'm here, User7742. Did the history thesis outline save your life?

User7742: The outline was perfect. The athletic board cleared me. I'm playing Friday.

User7742: But my day completely went to hell after that. My English teacher just paired me up with the most stuck up, annoying girl in the entire school for our semester project.

I practically choked on my own breath, my heart beating against my ribs.

V: Oh really? What's wrong with her?

User7742: She’s this quiet scholarship nerd who sits in the back. I tried to be nice and give her a heads-up about my hockey schedule, and she completely snapped at me. Talked to me like I was garbage. She thinks she’s so much smarter than everyone else just because she wears oversized thrift store coats.

I glared at the screen, my fingers moving quickly across the keyboard in anger. 

V: Maybe she snaps at you because you act like a privileged prince who expects everyone to do his work for him. Has it occurred to you that your 'hockey schedule' isn't the center of the universe? Maybe she's stressed because her future actually depends on her grades, unlike you.

There was a long pause. The little typing bubbles appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again.

User7742: Damn. Rough day for you too, huh?

User7742: But you're kind of right. I probably sounded like an asshole. I'm just stressed. My dad is threatening to pull my funding if I don't get a 3.0 this semester.

Seeing him so vulnerable on the screen shocked me. In person, Jaxon Montgomery was full of arrogance. But to "V," he was just a kid cracking under the weight of his family's expectations.

V: Just do the work, 7742. Apologize to her tomorrow, give her a coffee or something, and do your part. It's not that hard.

User7742: Yeah, maybe I will.

User7742: Hey, V? Thanks. Seriously. You're the only person in this entire city who actually gets me. Who doesn't want something from me.

User7742: Who are you, anyway? Tell me your real name. Just a first name.

My blood ran ice-cold. If he found out "V" was the quiet scholarship girl he was complaining about, the contract was dead. My income was dead. My mom and I would be on the street.

I took a deep breath and typed my reply.

V: We have a deal, User7742. No names. No faces. I'm a ghost. Don't forget it.