Babysitting the Bad Boy of Kingsburg College [Season One]

Anna

“What do you want?” demands the angry, low voice of someone who is very much not a child.

A strangely familiar voice.

I turn slowly, and my heart nearly stops beating. The entire world stills.

Standing there behind me, arms folded across his dark jacket, is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.

It’s him.

The guy from the hall.

The handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed jerkface who embarrassed me in front of the entire crowd not half an hour ago.

“Son,” the chancellor says, and a cold shockwave shoots down my spine.

I whip back to face the chancellor where he looms behind the glossy desk in front of me.

What did he just say?

I could have sworn he just called this guy his son. But then that would mean—

“I’d like you to meet Miss Davidson. She will be your babysitter through the end of the school year.”

— A Little While Earlier —

The bad boy is going to kiss me. One hand holding my jaw, he tilts my chin up, my heart thundering behind my ears as he smirks, leaning in so close our lips nearly brush.

He’s dangerously hot, with smoldering eyes and black hair that’s somehow both messy and styled at the same time.

And everyone is watching as he pins me to the lockers, one of his hands braced above my head, the other holding my jaw.

I know he’s going to kiss me, because this is how it always goes down in the movies.

He’s the handsome bad boy who skips class and never does his homework. I’m the good girl bookworm who studies hard and always does what she’s told.

The bad boy is bound to kiss me. That’s how this works.

I mean, okay, so we just met thirty seconds ago.

And technically I don’t even officially go to this college yet. This stupidly expensive college for very rich kids. Of which I am very much not.

But that doesn’t matter.

What matters is the way the bad boy is looking at me, one hand splayed on the lockers beside my head.

The other holding my jaw.

And he leans closer, lips brushing my ear as he whispers...

“Your skirt is tucked into your panties.”

What!? No it isn’t!

I’d know if I’d done something so stupid as that. It can’t possibly be true!

This is a joke.

A terrible joke.

Heat rushes to my face so fast, I’m probably about to catch fire right here in the hall of Kingsburg College, the most expensive and prestigious school in the entire country. The kind of place a degree from sets you up for life.

But Bad Boy just laughs, shoving off the lockers.

Turning his back to me.

Walking away.

And my glasses choose that moment to slide off, clattering onto the antique wooden floor someone here’s ancestor probably made right after getting off the Mayflower.

And now the hot bad boy is just a blur of dark jacket and broad shoulders disappearing down the hall and blending into the crowd.

I reach down surreptitiously toward my rear.

Oh. My. God.

It is. It really is.

My nice five dollar thrift store score business skirt suit of the professional office lady variety that makes me look older and more mature than just the college freshman I am is bunched and tucked up into the top of my panties.

And I’m wearing tights, so I didn’t even notice.

Stupid, scratchy tights. And not the opaque variety, either.

They’re practically transparent.

Which means everyone saw my panties the entire walk in.

The blurry crowd around me surges with laughter as they turn, phones out, hopefully not posting this to social media, before slowly dispersing through open doors up and down the hall.

Stupid rich college. Why the hecking heck are there so many students even here already when fall term hasn’t even officially started yet!?

I want to run away.

Maybe there’s a nice hole I can crawl into somewhere on campus.

But I can’t run.

Not yet.

Not when I haven’t even had my interview—the most important interview of my life.

I take a deep breath, bend down to pick up my fallen glasses, and remind myself why I’m doing this.

And I keep on reminding myself all the way up the four breathtaking (no, really—I probably need to work out more) flights of stairs to the chancellor’s office, reciting my resume notes on repeat between motivational reminders.

You’ve got this! You’re going to rock it!

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

If only my hands would stop sweating. My fingertips are leaving gross little puddles on the outside of my trusty—if slightly worn—notebook with the pocket inserts that make it perfect for holding my resume.

Argh. Hopefully the interviewer won’t notice.

The last thing I want is to look as nervous as I feel.

I wipe my hands on my now very carefully no-longer-panty-tucked skirt when I reach the landing, making sure the fabric didn’t ride up as I climbed the stairs, and suddenly I can’t help but picture the bad boy again. The one with the smoldering eyes and the dark hair and the stupidly perfect chiseled jaw so close to my face as he leaned in like he was going to kiss me.

Jerk. I should have known he was just going to make fun of me.

Boys like that don’t go for girls like me. Not in real life.

On the bright side, Kingsburg is a big campus. Not by public university standards, but this fancy elite private college is still bigger than my high school was by a long shot.

There’s no reason I’ll ever have to see him again.

...assuming I even get the scholarship. Assuming I haven’t just made the biggest mistake of my life, coming all the way here.

It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

The biggest risk I’ve ever taken.

I take a deep breath and let it out. I can do this.

Just one little interview left.

Then that scholarship is mine.

I open my wallet, glancing at the old picture of Mom and Dad and me from when I was just a baby. From before.

“I’ll make you proud, Dad,” I whisper as I fold my wallet back into my blazer pocket.

With one more steadying breath, I open the stairwell door and step out into the brightly lit fourth-floor waiting room.

A receptionist with bleached blonde hair sits behind a tall, glossy desk, her perfectly manicured nails click-clacking on the keyboard in front of her until she notices me.

And stops.

Her eyes narrow as she scans over my vintage blazer, and I swear her expression sours slightly, like she’s just tasted something bad. Is that a look of disdain, or am I imagining it?

And for the first time, I feel a twinge of self-consciousness.

All the way in, I thought everyone was staring at me because of how awesome I looked.

Now I know it was just because my skirt was making an embarrassing show without my consent.

I reach nervously up to brush a stray lock of frizzy hair out of my eyes, trying not to let her judgment get to me.

I carefully chose this outfit so I’d look put-together and professional, but the receptionist just keeps frowning. Do I not look as awesome as I thought?

Not that it matters. There’s no time to change now, and it’s too late to turn back.

I need that full-ride scholarship.

Not even my mom knows how reckless I’ve been—I spent all my savings on the plane ticket to get here. She thinks the college paid for it. And she thinks I’m already guaranteed the scholarship.

She doesn’t know the truth: There’s less than $100 left in my bank account, and without the scholarship, I’ll be stuck.

If I fail this interview, I’ll be stuck thousands of miles from home. No job. Nowhere to live. No way to get back.

But that’s okay.

I’m going to rock it. I’ll get the scholarship.

I have to.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist asks, still frowning down at me with that sour expression on.

“Yes.” I step up to her desk as confidently and professionally as I can. “My name is Anna Davidson, and I’m here for my interview with the chancellor.”

Ash

The strange girl in the thrift store blazer picks up her glasses, dusting them off before putting them back on.

I’m watching from the shadows down the hall as she leaves. Watching as she disappears upstairs.

What’s she doing here?

A girl like that won’t survive two days at Kingsburg.