Chapter 6 The Making Of The Hero

The music wing is a labyrinth of soundproof foam and the haunting, discordant groans of tuning instruments. Jeremy has barely settled onto his stool, the weight of the cello between his knees usually a comfort, when the heavy oak door creaks open.

He doesn't have to look up to know it is her. The scent of expensive, floral perfume arrives seconds before she does.

"Jeremy," Georgia whispers. Her voice is a fragile thread, calculated to pull at him.

Jeremy doesn't look up from his sheet music. His fingers ghost over the strings, his jaw tight. He can feel the eyes of the other students—the whispers are already starting. To them, they are the golden couple; to him, he is a man walking through a minefield.

The teacher frowns, looking from Jeremy's stony expression to Georgia's volatile one. He sighs, waving a hand toward the door. "Make it quick. We're on a schedule, Jeremy."

"Thanks."

Jeremy stands, his stool screeching against the linoleum. He catches Georgia's arm before she can launch into a monologue in front of thirty witnesses.

"Outside," he mutters, his jaw tight. He pushes through the heavy acoustic doors into the deserted hallway of the music wing.

Jeremy doesn't look at Georgia as he grabs her elbow—not with affection, but with the firm, guiding pressure of a man moving a hazard out of the road. He steers her into the quiet, carpeted hallway of the music wing, the heavy door thudding shut behind them and muffling the sound of the instruments.

He lets go of her arm and leans back against the lockers, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What is it, Georgia? What's so urgent you have to hunt me down in Orchestra?"

"What is this, Jeremy?" Georgia demands, thrusting the note at his chest. Her voice is louder now that they have no audience. "I found this in my locker. I told you he won't stop. He's obsessed! I'm scared, Jeremy. I don't know what he'll do."

Jeremy takes the paper. He recognises the handwriting instantly—messy, frantic, and desperate. Tyler is on the varsity team, a boy Georgia has been "mentoring" for weeks.

Jeremy has seen the way Tyler looks at her, but he's also seen the way Georgia feeds on that attention.

I can't stop thinking about what you said. You deserve better than him. He doesn't see you. Leave him, Georgia. Just say the word, and I'll make sure he never bothers you again.

"He's seventeen, and he's failing chemistry," Jeremy counters, leaning back against the lockers. "And he only writes that because you spent three weeks telling him how 'misunderstood' you are and how 'neglected' I make you feel."

Georgia's eyes are searching his, looking for jealousy, for anger, for anything. She wants him to fight for her. She wants him to be the jealous boyfriend so she can feel important again. But Jeremy looks at the note, then back at her.

Georgia flinches as if he's slapped her, her mask of victimhood slipping for a fraction of a second to reveal the calculating girl beneath.

"How can you say that? I'm coming to you because I'm upset!"

"No," Jeremy steps closer, not with heat, but with a weary clarity. "You're coming to me because you see the way I look at the new girl in English. You feel the leash get a little loose, so you go into your bag of tricks and pull out a 'crisis' to see if I'd still bark."

The victim's mask slips for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of genuine irritation.

"I am being a mentor," she snaps.

"You are creating a crisis," Jeremy corrects. "You want me to be jealous? Fine. I'm jealous that he has enough energy to care about this. I'm just tired."

"Tired of me?" Georgia's voice drops to a dangerous, honeyed silk.

"I'm tired of the scripts, Georgia," Jeremy says, finally taking the note from her hand. He doesn't read it. He folds it and hands it back. "Talk to him. Tell him to focus on his drills. And don't bring your 'mentoring' projects to my rehearsals again."

She wants a fight. She wants him to claim her, to be the "apex predator" she thinks she deserves. She is reeling him back in, just like Gayle predicted, using Tyler's teenage angst as the hook.

"He's a predator!" She corrects, her voice rising. "He's been following me. Aren't you going to do anything? He's trying to destroy what we have!"

Jeremy finally looks at her. Really looks at her. He sees the way she is watching his reaction, gauging if the bait has hooked.

"Is that what you want?" Jeremy asks, his tone dangerously calm. "For me to go find my teammate and put him against a locker? To start a fight so the whole school can talk about how much I love you?"

Georgia blinks, the script suddenly veering off-course. "I want you to care! My boyfriend is supposed to protect me!"

"I think you've got Tyler exactly where you want him," Jeremy replies, handing the note back. "The question is, why are you so desperate to make sure I'm watching?"

He turns his back on her, staring at the music room. He knew she wasn't done—girls like Georgia didn't let go until they'd burned the bridge down—but for the first time in months, he didn't care about the fire.

"Jeremy!" She calls out, her voice regaining its sharp, predator edge.

"Go to class, Georgia," Jeremy says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "We'll talk later. But don't bring your 'mentees' to my rehearsals again."

Georgia watches the heavy oak door click shut, the finality of the sound echoing like a slap. For a moment, she stands paralysed in the hallway, the silence of the music wing feeling like a physical weight. Jeremy hasn't just rejected her drama; he has seen through its mechanics. He has looked at her hand-crafted crisis and called it a "mentoring project."

The irritation that flashed earlier now calcifies into a cold, sharp resolve. She smooths her hair, her reflection in the trophy case glass showing a face that is perfectly composed, save for the frantic brightness in her eyes.

"He thinks he's tired," she whispers to the empty hallway, her fingers tightening around Tyler's crumpled note. "He thinks he's done."

She knows Jeremy's weakness. It isn't anger—it is his sense of duty. He is a protector by nature, even if he is currently insulating himself with apathy. To win him back, to force him out of that "stony expression" and back into her orbit, she cannot just play the victim anymore. She has to become a necessity.

If Tyler isn't enough of a threat to stir Jeremy's blood, I will have to raise the stakes. I need to create a situation in which Jeremy cannot afford to be "exhausted"—a scenario in which his silence will cost him more than his pride. I will make him the hero he doesn't want to be.

"I need a plan," she murmurs, a slow, predatory smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm not letting him escape from my hands. Jeremy Black is mine."