Thinking about Having to do that fake baby project ( RealCare Baby) with fratboy abby ?
Of course your original lab partner got sick—out for two weeks, right when the baby project kicked off. You scoffed the moment you heard the name of your new ‘co-parent’. Her reputation alone left a bad taste in your mouth. There’s no way in hell she’d take this seriously. But you both need the A, so here you are…
You told her “don’t text or call unless it’s about the baby, Anderson.”
Yet, She Calls at any hour—totally clueless, she’ll FaceTime at 3am, while you are studying like “It’s crying again. Did I break it?”
Parties with the baby. posts it strapped to her chest like a beer koozie, captioned: “me and lil bro shutting this party down.”
Bought a “Hot Dad Summer” shirt. Nicknames you her “baby momma” in front of her friends. Thinks it’s hilarious. You don’t.
Calls the baby “Sport” unironically. Tries to teach it how to fist bump. (It’s a fake baby??)
[content warnings:] bullying, sexual tension, talks of virginity, language, physical violence, heartbreak. R! Hates the world! Enemies to lovers. Slightly unserious.
wc: 4.4k
notes: sooo I made some edits to the prologue after I wrote the first chapter, so I do highly recommend you at least go back n skim read it!
series masterlist | previous ch
Abby swore she had a plan.
Let the liquid courage run through her veins and finally make a move on the girl she had been eyeing since move-in day. Especially now that the same girl was finally single. To be completely honest, she wasn’t sure what you seen in her teammate in the first place.
She didn’t realize her own mouth would be her worst enemy—until it was too late. The usual suave that made girls swoon? It almost earned her a slap to the face.
And as much as she hated hearing her roommate say it, she really felt like such an idiot. Now, she had a bigger problem than just her failed first impression.
The art of making a scene was a skill you and Abby Anderson had mastered. Worse, you mastered it together.
And now, in the reflection of the ticking, large brown and cream clock behind you, there you both sat—side by side in the dean’s office.
The room was quiet, a hum of an old fan and the scratch of a pen dragging across paper. Blue ink detailing your most recent development just an hour prior.
The dean exhaled sharply, finally looking up.
Your arms were crossed, one leg over the other, while Abby sat comfortably still—just as over it. Matching busted lips like accessories.
“You two just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?”
Abby exhaled a small laugh—until you shot her a glare. Before either of you could defend yourselves, the morning came rushing back.
Denial is one hell of a drug.
And right now, you were all drowning in it.
Abby was trying—and failing—to shake off her drunken slip-up. She shot up in bed, eyes snapping to the clock. Fuck. She was already late.
Dina was desperately trying to keep you away from the video currently making its rounds on social media.
And you? You were pretending none of it bothered you.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
You were fine last night. And you were totally fine now as you set your duffel bag down on the bench.
The girls were quiet. But you knew they wanted to ask, to poke and prod. Everyone had seen it. Joked about it. Like it was some kind of championship replay.
It shouldn’t even be a big deal. People bicker all the time. What even was said? Then you heard it again.
“At least I didn’t let one bad breakup ruin my life.”
You whip your head around. Two teammates are hunched over a phone, the sound of your own voice mixed with Abby’s echoing from it. Oh right. The conversation was less than friendly.
“Hey! Turn that off and get to warm-ups,” Dina snaps, her captain voice demanding.
They scramble off, the video disappearing with a click, but it’s too late—you’ve already heard it. Again. Just another reminder of how right she was. You’ve been a mess, internally and on the field.
“Hey.” Dina’s voice is softer now, a hand resting lightly on your back.
“Hi.” You reply, setting out your water bottle and uniform bow, rolling your shoulders like you can physically shake off the drama.
There’s no usual pep in her tone. She knows you—knows how this is affecting you—but this is a side of you she hasn’t seen in a long time. Down, gloomy, and set off if someone even chewed too loud.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” You nod, smiling—faker than the extensions in your hair. You straighten your posture, trying to seem put together.
“Help stretch me out?” you ask, already moving toward an open mat, desperate to push past the painfully obvious.
Dina nods, sitting beside you, helping you stretch your thighs. But it’s impossible for her not to notice how off you are, how forced your words sound with each syllable.
“ lying, It doesn’t suit you.” Her hand settles on your knee as she continues. “Don’t pull the ‘I’m fine’ bullshit with me. You’re definitely not.”
“Oh, right, because I’d fall apart over some drunken argument?” Stretching an arm across your chest. “I’m saying it’s fine because it is.”
Dina shifts, turning to face you head-on now.
“I know you. And I’ve seen how you’ve been acting these past few months. I could read you in my sleep. You can lie to everyone else, but not to me. You’re cracking—you’re—“
“—Jesus, Dee! Can I just fucking stretch?”
You groan, throwing your hands up before leaning back on them. Your voice is louder than you intended, ringing out across the field.
“See? There it is. That attitude I’ve been seeing all season.” Dina is pushing now, and she knows it. But she’s tired of your bullshit.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you’d rather just bottle it up until you explode. But seriously? You’ve got to stop running yourself into the ground.”
She stands up abruptly, ponytail swinging.
“So yes, you can stretch. Alone.”
“Dina, wait—” You sigh, crossing your arms, feeling the weight of a few stares and pointedly ignoring them. God, this is all Anderson’s fault. The thought loops in your head like a curse, her being the chosen person for blame.
Dina’s footsteps slow, but she doesn’t turn. Her voice carries in the air just enough to let you know she’s done. “What? I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t.” You pause. “But please just—sit, okay? I’m sorry, I’m just… overwhelmed, I think.”
She huffs but sits back down, crossing her legs, fully facing you. “Overwhelmed? Or just in denial?”
“Denial?” You scoff. “Please. Everyone seems highly aware of what’s going on in my life, so that’s not even possible.”
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone’s ‘highly aware’ because they have eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re not yourself.”
Her gaze scans your face, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. “You’ve been snapping at people left and right. Hell, you’ve chewed my head off more than usual.”
You lower your arm, a creeping discomfort settling in. The breakup, the humiliation, the anger—it’s all piling up. Your shoulders sag. “That bad, huh?”
She nods, her previous irritation fading into concern. “Yeah. Pretty bad.”
She hesitates, then presses on. “Look, I get it. Martinez messed you up, and you’re pissed.”
“It’s not about her—” you cut in, hating that name hitting your ears.
“Please. If I got screwed over like that, I’d be pissed, too. But you’ve been like this since the breakup, and now you’re just lashing out at everyone.”
The more she spoke, the more the reminders came. The tears. The weight loss from barely eating. Dina dragging you through the shared house just to make you shower. Rock bottom—all from one girl. Realizing she’s touched a nerve, she sighs, dragging a hand through her raven hair. She remembers just how bad the fallout was. Letting someone in, only for them to shut you out. Burying themselves in your heart without caring if they left traces behind.
“Look, I know you’re not gonna wake up tomorrow and turn into sunshine and rainbows, but you’ve gotta do something. Because right now? You’re on a one-way road to a full-blown breakdown town.”
A pause. Then—
“I was talking with Coach, and… maybe you need a break. Tryouts are coming back up, so it’s not like we’d be down a spot—”
You had to stop her, not wanting to hear that finished thought. “What—? Hold on, you can’t do that. You know I’ve been looking forward to redeeming myself this time around. Now you think I’m just going to sit out?”
“Yes. Yes, I do think you’re gonna sit out. Because you’re a mess right now. This isn’t about redemption. This is about you pushing yourself to the brink because you can’t get over that sorry ass.”
“I’m sick of it. The coaching staff is sick of it. Hell, even the girls at Kappa are sick of it.”
She exhales sharply, leaning forward.
“We’re taking you off the roster for a minimum of two weeks. That’s all.”
Your head snaps up so fast you’d worry it would break. You’d never been taken off, ever. If anything, you were first pick next to Dina, Caitlyn, and a few others who were almost just as polished but not quite. With the heavy shelf full of trophies, medals, and countless pictures with a proud smile from elementary gymnastics up to now—this was a part of you. All of you.
“No—no! Don’t do this to me. Please, it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now—”
Dina’s expression softens, her tone lowering into a gentle whisper—almost as if she genuinely felt sorry for you.
“Yeah, that’s the problem. Cheer shouldn’t be the only thing keeping you ‘sane.’ It’s not supposed to be your entire identity.”
She reaches for your shoulder again, her hand resting on the black fabric of your tank top.
“You’ll thank me later once you’ve gotten your head on straight again.”
You love Dina, but in this moment, all you want is to wrap your hands around her throat. Despite the violent urge, you stay silent.
Instead, you meet the eye contact you’ve been avoiding since last night, knowing her big puppy eyes will pull you back to reality. She’s trying to help, you know that. But what are you supposed to do for two weeks? Fourteen days. 335 hours.
Maybe for someone in a clear headspace, two weeks of rest sounds nice, but for a girl who can’t separate herself from the uniform she wears, it feels like hell.
Dina waits for the snappy reply, the angry words, or maybe just your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth might shatter. Instead, she hears a quiet:
“Yeah, Okay.”
Then, the weight of your head settles on her right shoulder. Dina lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. This was the girl she missed—the softer version, even if you’d been moping around. She knew it would pass, just hoping you didn’t push her away before the gray cloud lifted, making way for a bluer sky.
For a moment, it felt nice. The intelligible chatter reminded you of your surroundings—until, suddenly, you felt out of place where you least expected it.
Your throat tightened as you blinked away the burning in your eyes. You had to push it down. You couldn’t cry now. So you quickly muttered something to get yourself out of there.
“Alright, I’ll see you at home then?”
“Yeah,” she agreed softly, patting your knee once more. “See you at home.”
Dina watched as you stood up, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder and making your way across the open field. The loud whistle redirected her attention. She brushed off the few strands of grass clinging to her legs, giving your retreating figure one last glance.
The coach’s sharp voice cut through the lingering conversations. “Alright, bring it in!”
Dina pushed herself up, stretching her arms over her head before glancing at the rest of the girls. “She just needs to cool off,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “She’ll be fine.”
Caitlyn leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You think she’s good, though? She’s been kinda—”
“Intense?” Josephine, the blonde, chimed in. “Yeah, I’m kinda relieved she stormed off this time. Maybe now we can finish a damn drill without her biting someone’s head off.”
Dina shot her a look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah, maybe don’t talk about her like that when she’s not here to defend herself.”
Josephine scoffed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying—”
The coach clapped their hands together, effectively cutting off the conversation. “Let’s go! I want focus this time!”
With that, they all fell back into line, shaking off the moment and refocusing on the drills ahead.
The walk felt aimless. If you went back home now, the questions would come. Admitting that your attitude got you put on timeout would sound too much like you were the loose cannon everyone said you were.
The sun beamed down on the exposed skin of your arms. Once the group was out of view, you sank onto the bleachers on the opposite side of the field, pressing your elbows against your thighs. The metal burned under you, but it was nothing compared to the frustration simmering in your chest.
From here, you could see the restrooms and the now-empty concession stands—during game nights, the lines were insufferable. Now, everything was still, and for the first time all morning, you could breathe.
Maybe some peace was needed after all.
Maybe you had been more intense since it happened.
And maybe you just needed a good cry.
Your shoulders sagged, defenses dropping. The tears burned as they fell, silent but unstoppable. What a shitty morning. Frustration took over, your hands moving without thinking, yanking your hair out of its perfectly tied updo. The strands fell loose around your face—messy, undone. Not so picture perfect. You hadn’t been in a while.
So bad, in fact, that they’d started calling you—
“Watch out, Time Bomb’s about to go off again.”
The snicker cut through your pity party. Laughter followed, the kind that made your skin crawl. So much for peace.
Of course, it’s one of those days—the kind where you’re forced to share the field with the rowdiest, cockiest group on campus. The ones who tackled each other for fun, who walked like they owned the place, who didn’t know when to shut the hell up.
One nudged the other with a elbow, grinning.
“Careful. One wrong move and she might start swinging.”
You should sit up, square your shoulders, act like you don’t hear them. Instead, your body felt heavy. The weight of the morning, the season, the past four months pressing down. So you ducked your head, staring at the ground like maybe—just maybe—if you didn’t acknowledge them, they’d move on.
Then came her voice. Annoyingly high-pitched.
“Knock it off.”
The condescension was thick. She didn’t actually care. You knew who it was before you even looked up. Savannah green, The replacement herself.
Long legs, smooth skin, lips always pulled into that pristine, porcelain smile. her arm lazily draped around Martinez like she had something to prove. And the look she shot you? Amused. Pitying. Like you were some kind of sad little joke.
Your jaw clenched. Nails dug into your palms.
God, you still hated her.
Hated them.
Four months earlier…
Virginity. Most girls lose it early—peer pressure, trying to catch up with their friends, or thinking they’ve found the one. They look at you differently once you share your body. Tie your soul to theirs, if you believe in that kind of thing.
But not you.
With a helicopter mom obsessed with appearances and a future in professional cheer ahead of you, relationships were hard to come by. Harder to keep.
Which is why you adored your first girlfriend.
At first She was sweet, understanding—the kind of girl who’d offer you her hoodie the second you muttered about being cold.
But lately, she’d been… pushy.
Her new group of friends had changed her, little by little. Since when was she so fixated on sex? What happened to I’m ready when you are?
So when her hand snaked into your jeans that night, fingers brushing against the fabric of your underwear, and her kisses swallowed your quiet protest—You had to fully pull back, laughing nervously.
“Woah, slow down.”
She groaned, running a hand through her dark hair. “You do this every time.”
Guilt twisted inside you. You reached out, cupping her cheek. “Babe, I’m just—”
“—Not ready. I get it.” With her head already turning away from you.
The air in the car shifted. You slowly slid back into the passenger seat. thing were so different now. Life pulling you both in different directions, those promises of being able to stick together through it all feeling emptier than the quick ‘love you’s she’d throw out like it automated reply.
She was different. The kind you struggled to recognize anymore. Before you could say another word, her phone buzzed.
You glanced down.
Savannah. That name again. The one she swore was just a friend. Just someone she passed notes with. Nothing to worry about.
Valeria let out a sigh, glancing at her screen before locking it again with a click. “I should take you home.”
“Oh—I thought it was date night?”
She only shrugged, shifting into reverse. “Yeah, well, it’s getting late.”
You should’ve known that night. Dina had tried to warn you, but that only earned her the cold shoulder.
She was right. She was always right. Because that night? Valeria didn’t go home. She found the first warm body that let her press up against them. The same girl she swore you didn’t have to worry about. Plastered all over that stupid Instagram page—Exposed UW. The one that thrived off campus scandals.
Abby had seen the post, too. Not that she’d been looking—it was impossible to miss. She still remembered the way your name had been tagged under the grainy party pictures, how the comments filled with half-hearted damns and yikes. The way she felt a little sick to her stomach reading them. Because sure, maybe she didn’t know you that well back then. But she knew enough to know She remembered thinking—Shit. She doesn’t deserve that. months later, you would still were holding onto that anger, looking at her like she was the enemy.
And Dina? She just patted your back as you screamed into your pillow, now wishing she’d brought earplugs.
“I hate her! I hate everything about her!”
Tears burned your face, breath hitching, body shaking as you chucked a fluffy pink pillow across the room. It bounced uselessly against the wall.
“She’d rather be the first whore to spread her legs than pick me?” Your voice ricocheted through the shared sorority housing. “Oh wow, congrats, Valeria! You’re a statistical cliché! So unique! So rebellious!“
You threw your hands up. “And her? Really? You wanted to date someone who looks like a Red Bull commercial come to life? ‘Oh, don’t worry, we’re just friends.’ Yeah, okay! Well, newsflash—friends don’t fuck each other!”
You grabbed your phone, scrolling furiously. “And this post? This post?” You shoved the screen toward Dina, voice in disgust.
“From head cheerleader to washed-up has-been? Some people peak in high school. Tough break.”
Dina winced hearing it read out loud, lowering the phone to see your face again. “You know that’s not true—“
“Washed. Up. Dina. Ugh!—says some loser who probably has no life of their own. so ‘ hey why not ruin someone else’s?’. Lame! “
You flung your phone onto the bed, hands flying to your head, Hair a nest of unbrushed strands. “Jesus, I mean—I suffered through hours of her indie garbage playlist just to impress her! And I—”
Your breath hitched. Eyes widening. A realization settled over you. The situation. What this meant.
“Oh my God.” You stumbled back. “I’m the tragic ex.”
“No, you’re not—”
“I am the tragic ex!” You shouted, to the ceiling.
Dina buried her face in her hands as you threw yourself dramatically onto the bed.
Back to this morning…
They just kept going, as if you weren’t even there. As much as you hated the nickname, they were lighting a match underneath you.
Walk away. Ignore them. Walk away.
With a deep exhale and a push of your palms, you stood up, preparing to do just that.
A small group straggled onto the field—probably the ones who overslept before practice. You barely registered them because another jag cut through the air.
With a fake pout, she continued, “Aw, you guys, don’t be mean. She’s had a rough time ever since, y’know…”
The audacity. The absolute gall to gesture between herself and Valeria, like she was doing you a favor by acknowledging it.
Valeria sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Savannah, chill.” She wasn’t even looking at you.
They were already moving on, setting up for practice like it was just another day.
That did it. Your vision blurred to crimson. A laugh escaped. “No, no. Let her talk. Since she clearly has so much to say.”
“Oh, I was just saying—”
Abby heard the taunting before she even saw the scene unfolding.
Still groggy from a late start to her morning, she stepped onto the field, body already bracing for a dreadfully long practice. And on top of everything, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about you. That stupid viral clip of your argument looped in her head like a bad highlight reel. She’d gone over it a hundred times, picking apart what she said, how she said it, how your face twisted right before you shot back. Nora told her to just rip the Band-Aid off and apologize already. But it wasn’t that simple.
Second chances existed—sure. She was still working through how. Then, voices cut through her thoughts. Loud. Mocking. Her dark brows furrowed as she scanned the field. A few teammates laughing like they’d just cracked the funniest joke in the world.
But even odder—you. Standing stiffly, like a cat waiting to pounce.
Abby followed your line of sight, locking onto Savannah, who wore that smug little grin like she was waiting to be crowned homecoming queen.
And she knew that look on your face. The same one you’d given her the other night when you told her to stop pushing.
A slow inhale. Shoulders tensing. Abby felt it coming before it even happened
She barely had time to react before—
A collective gasp rang out, cut off by the impact of the ground.
Before she knew it, Weeks of poking a bear with Pom Poms had finally caught up. You ticked like a timebomb reaching its final countdown.
Fingers curled into the ironed fabric of Savannah’s perfect little shirt, your other hand balled into what she had coming for her.
A fist, flying right for her face.
Blue irises followed the movements of your drawn-back arm as it pistoned over and over and over and—oh my God, somebody please do something.
No. She should do something.
Her own belongings now lost on the ground, Abby decided to act fast before Savannah’s face or your fist was permanently disfigured.
With a rushed, fluid movement, strong arms locked around you, restricting any further hits. But not before your hand swung back, catching Abby in the process of prying you off the girl beneath you.
“Jesus—really?” Abby managed out, wincing as her head snapped slightly to the side.
With a heaving chest, you heard her voice first. Then the others.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Savannah, breathless, clutching her bleeding nose.
“Did someone record that?”
“Is she okay?”
“Damn, Time Bomb. Didn’t know you had hands.”
And that’s how she found herself beside you once more.
This definitely wasn’t the second chance her roommate had been talking about. But still, she couldn’t help but feel like—maybe—it could be a start.
You didn’t hit her on purpose. At least, she hoped.
As the dean finished up paperwork and wrapped up a phone call or two, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the both of you with thinly veiled exasperation.
“Well, I don’t know the full extent of the situation, but what I do know is that I have one student with a broken nose and some very angry parents.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple before continuing.
“This is a university of young adults, not a fight club full of children.”
“And while I’m fully aware of certain… patterns of behavior, I’m failing to see how that justifies violence.”
His gaze flickered to Abby , then to you. “Now, you’ve never once sat in this chair before, so I’m gracing you with a warning. But if I—or any other staff—catch you, Miss Anderson, and especially Miss Green, in any kind of altercation again…”
His voice dropped to something final.
“I can promise you, the fallout will be far worse.”
As the dark oak door clicked shut, Abby leaned back against the wall. The dean had far more choice words for you than for her.
When you finally reappeared, she got her first good look at you—disheveled, a broken nail, a busted lip from the one hit Savannah had managed to land, and a look that spoke a thousand words.
She thought back to the bubbly, soft-spoken girl she’d been pining over, and yeah… this wasn’t her. And maybe, just maybe, her stupid comment the other night had a butterfly effect. She braced herself. She knew you were going to let her have it. Again. But when you turned down the hall without so much as a glance in her direction, she felt something unexpected—offended.
“What, no ‘thank you’?” Fuck. That’s not what she meant to say.
But it got your attention immediately. Here we go. Maybe she was a masochist because the slow chuckle you let out as you turned to face her made the hairs on her arms stand on end.
“Thank you?” Disbelief dripped from your voice. “You want a thank you, Anderson?” You cocked your head at her,
Abby huffed, trying—and failing—to ignore the way her name sounded coming from you. God, she was losing it.
“Yeah, I do.” She held your gaze, chin jutted outward in defiance. “I just saved your ass.”
Before you could retort, she closed the distance between you. “You could be suspended. Or worse—kicked off the entire cheer team. And yet you won’t even look at me, let alone thank me.”
She was right in front of you now, almost toe to toe.
“I’m off for two weeks because of you! So it might as well be the same damn thing! Oh, don’t think that just because you decided to play Prince Charming, I’m about to kiss your damn feet.”
“So thanks for always somehow making my life worse!”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. Oh, we’re doing this? Blaming her of all people?
“Oh, right. Because it’s all my fault you can’t control your temper.” She scoffed and took a step closer, leaving mere inches between you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re—” You trailed off, eyes flickering over her face.
“You’re—!” You turned your back on her, ignore how she smells, ignore how she smells, before throwing up a hand.
“Ugh! Just piss off already!” You stormed down the hallway, needing space, air, anything but her. This god awful day.
“Oh yeah, real mature!” she called after you before turning on her heel and being off in the opposite direction.
Apologize? Her ass.
So yes, Abby swore she had a plan. She just never thought it would backfire so much in the last 72 hours.
[a/n]: I literally couldn’t get this out my head, so I had a few headcannons for a fic later, where the idea came from!, short random blurb, suggestive-ish.
Professor Anderson, who loves her job.
Professor Anderson, who is always so patient. She replies to every email, text message, and phone call because she cares deeply about her students’ success!
She’s fully aware of her own appearance, who tolerates no fraternizing from her students—no flirting, no jokes, none of it. “You are here so I can teach you, nothing more, nothing less.”
She would never even look at a student below the neckline, loves eye contact. shows respect and that you are engaged in her material.
always has someone help her when she’s trying to present because she’s so bad with computers. The type to leave the YouTube video off full screen, unable to get the sound right until someone steps in to help.
Often forgets her glasses are on the collar of her shirt or the top of her head until someone calls it out, and it’s a short laugh every time. Just a little chuckle, followed by a soft, “I swear, I’ll never learn.”
Professor Anderson had always imagined she’d be married in the next few years but was okay with her own company. A framed picture of her loving canine sat on her desk, a constant companion who was always there for her, even when no one else was.
She never specifically says “wife” or “husband,” just “partner” when asked if she’s married. Yeah, probably wasn’t straight. She never felt the need to explain herself—just content with the way things were.
Professor Anderson always signs her webmails with:
————————————————-
“Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.” — Maya Angelou
Abigail Anderson
Spanish, English
XXX-X-XX
Click to schedule an appointment | Classroom Padlet
She’s just such a sweetheart! So when you accidentally sent her a selfie to her work phone, she just replied:
She didn’t think much about the interaction after. Just a mix up.
Professor Anderson did notice how you held eye contact with her, head rested on your hand as you soaked up her every word. It made her smile. you liked her class. Liked her teaching you. So she did, she smiled at you a little, then turned her attention back to the board, going over the study material. But just for a moment, a smile that she quickly masked, focusing on the next point in her notes.
She would find herself enjoying the small back-and-forth on discussion boards, especially when classmate Emily corrected yours, laughing at the response.
You were her best student. So Bright. Always prepared. Always watching her so closely, like what she said mattered. So of course she opened your latest assignment ready to grade and be done for the day. Only to be greeted with another photo of yourself—less modest than usual.
Professor Anderson, who immediately closed her laptop. Heart racing against her ribs. She stared at the screen for a second too long before it went black, the image still burned into her mind. That wasn’t meant for her. Not at all. A slip-up, clearly. An accident.
Why would you even have something like that saved on your computer? Why had it ended up in her inbox? She ran a hand over her face, fingers brushing against the frames of her glasses perched on top of her head—forgotten again. She let out a shaky exhale and removed them, setting them gently on the desk like she was setting the moment down, trying to ground herself.
————————————-
Subject: Wrong File
Dear,___
I believe you may have attached the wrong document to your last message. Please double-check and resend when you have a moment.
Best,
Professor Anderson
—————————————————
She took a deep breath, taking off her glasses. You were gorgeous, yes. But that’s simply not a line she’d cross. She’s better than temptation. She wasn’t about to risk her career, her boundaries, or her principles just for a moment of fleeting attraction.
[content warnings:] language, heartbreak, descriptions of injury, r! Hates the world.
series masterlist | wc: 3.6k | previous
Damp long hair darkening her white T-shirt, an exhausted Abby clicked the door shut behind her, greeted by the familiar sound of her roommate’s study music. She wasn’t even sure if it helped Nora study—half the time she just danced around—but the notebook and laptop were out, so that was about as much effort as she’d expected.
The shower had done little to shake off the mess of her day… or the still-tender skin of her lip. Settling in front of her wall mirror, Abby met the eyes of her now-paused, shoulder-shimmying dancing roommate.
“Soo?” Nora asked, clearly hopeful for something she shouldn’t be.
“So?” Abby echoed, voice flat, giving her all she needed to know.
She dropped the smile, mouth falling open. “Nothing? Seriously? You are killing me, Anderson.”
“Yeah, and she’s killing me!” Abby groaned dramatically, tossing herself into her chair. Then, slipping into a voice mocking yours: “Oh Abby, you ruined my life. ‘Piss off, Abby!’ Like, alright. Cool. Just stab me next time.”
“She said that? …Mm.” Nora leaned back slightly, making a scissoring motion with her hands. “Time to cut that loose.”
“You’ll get ’em next time, tiger.” Nora gave her a dramatic thumbs-up before peering back down at her laptop. “Unless she does stab you first. In which case—I dunno—duck.”
“Very helpful. Thanks.” Abby muttered, turning back to the mirror, trying to shove down the stupid sliver of disappointment that was sticking to her ribs like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Felt like she’d hit a stalemate. Again.
As she finally crashed onto her bed, the hum of Nora’s speaker helped drown out the buzzing in her head. She didn’t mean to care. She really didn’t. But the disappointment was there anyway.
Maybe you just weren’t worth her time.
And apparently, your professor wasn’t worth yours.
Your head slumped forward onto the cold desk, out cold—sleeping so deeply you half-expected cartoon Zs and a floaty dream bubble to appear above you. The steady drone of a science lecture lulled you deeper, wrapping you in a weird dream. You didn’t even flinch as the last student packed up and left.
Until a dainty finger poked your shoulder.You shot up, eyes wide, already scrambling for an apology.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—“
Your professor just gave a tight-lipped smile, adjusting her bag. “No harm done, just…” A small sigh. “Try to get some rest after class next time.” Her voice held more concern than malice.
“Oh. Right. Thank you, Professor.”
You grabbed the paper she’d left on your desk like it was a life preserver, nodding again as she held the door open. You were used to people watching you. Born into it, honestly—your mom’s whole legacy thing. Big goals. Going pro. Winning titles. Doing everything she didn’t.
You were used to the eyes being on you. If anything, you’d grown to love it—thanks to your mother’s constant push to carry her legacy. Going pro. Doing it big. All the things she never did, now feeling like your responsibility.
But after a certain outburst, those stares felt like they held more weight than usual. With no practice to go to, you honestly just wanted a pint of ice cream and a warm blanket—something to forget about this whole week. Month. Hell, even the year.
And right before your fingers fully wrapped around the door, hoping to find solace in the parking lot, a familiar voice piped up behind you.
“Hey! There you are!—Jesus, you look…” Dina’s pitch rose slightly as she gave you a once-over. “…Wonderful,” she finished, smiling too hard.
“Weren’t you just lecturing me about lying?” you glanced over your shoulder.
“I—” Dina blinked, scrambling for an excuse.
“There you two are!” came a too-cheerful voice from behind.
“Saved by the teammate,” you muttered.
Josephine chirped with all the energy of someone who did not just sit—well, sleep—through a lecture. “Hi, Dina!” she grinned, then turned to you. “Hi, grumpy. I’m shocked you made it out of the dean’s office alive.”
“Barely.” You nodded, crossing your arms across your chest.
“Oh, enough with the depressing!” she waved off dramatically, nose already buried back in her phone. Her face lit up a second later. “Eeeek! You are so right—it’s going to be perfect. I’m telling you!”
You blinked. “Wait—what are we talking about?”
“The sun, the mountains, whatever snacks I want without Coach telling me to put them down,” Dina added, laughing to herself.
Lightbulb slowly flickering on. “Girls… What are we talking about?”
“The annual trip to—”
It clicked. Every spring, a few of the girls would go glamping, with a devastatingly long road trip to compliment it. The pictures of everyone in smiles and endless bug spray so you didn’t itch your skin off the bones. You remembered the last trip: sharing a tent with your then-girlfriend, jokes around the fire, blowing on your marshmallow when the white browned on the other end of your stick.
Whispering how much you loved her, excited to go into the next semester by her side. So much for that. The warm feeling of the memory paling to a shade of gray.
“Not going.” You said it bluntly, the words coming out faster than you could stop them.
“Yes, she is,” Dina said immediately. “Plus, you could use some relaxation.”
“Dina—” protesting began to ring out.
“Nope. Not listening. Let’s just focus on you not breaking any more noses.” Dina shook her head childishly.
“Oh, speaking of noses,” Josephine said, gesturing vaguely to a figure passing by in a soft pink cardigan, arms crossed tightly over her chest, a fresh bandage bridging the center of her face.
“Hopefully, she doesn’t need another. Pretty sure the last one was expensive.”
You were seconds from adding on—something biting, something that probably wouldn’t help—when Dina’s eyes snapped to her phone.
“Crap. We have to run.”
Right. Practice. You were still benched. So— “Break a leg!” you called after them.
“You’re right—break both.” You gave a mock salute.
“So funny. Try not to explode some more,” Dina said.
“No promises!” you shouted back. “But hey—if she wants round two, I’m free after lunch.”
“Girl, please,” Josephine groaned. “At least let me eat before I have to lie for you again.”
With a roll of your eyes, you finally pushed the door open. Freedom. Air. An escape. The air of the quiet parking lot hit your arms, goosebumps just as present as the uneasy feeling in your chest. The one that’s been lingering.
Pathetic. A word you never thought would suit you. But here you are, feeling like it, despite the small laughter. Taking a deep breath, you reopened your eyes—only to remember you’d left your wallet in your room. Great. You turned back around, heading in the opposite direction, ignoring the sound of whistles and feet on grass as you passed the field.
Your defeated posture gave you away—whether from a mile off or right up close. Pools of blue subconsciously followed your movement as you faded into the large building. Drawn back when a smack landed on her arm, Abby flinched. The sting had her hand flying up to wave off the figure who caused it.
“Ouch—hey!” A hissed breath followed.
“Earth to Anderson. Are you even listening?” A shorter Ellie corrected, nudging her side with her elbow.
“Yeah, yeah.” Abby nodded, eyes flicking toward the now-closed door before landing back on her teammate.
Ellie narrowed her eyes. “Who are you even looking at?”
“No one. Relax.” Abby brushed it off, though she wasn’t sure why she was watching in the first place.
“As if she weren’t practically drooling the moment Miss ‘Give me a U, give me a W’ strutted by,” a teammate chimed in, mimicking Ellie’s gaze toward cheer captain Dina.
“She’s better at that than catching the ball,” Ellie fired back without missing a beat, clearly unfazed—maybe even a little entertained by her dramatic reenactment.
Abby smirked, tying her cleats a little tighter. “Better at that than you.”
Unlike yourself She didn’t have a helicopter parent, but she’d kill for one some days. After her dad passed, the distance with her mom became a canyon neither one tried to cross.
Still, the thought of him—of her dad being proud of her, of how far she’d come—was enough to keep her moving. The reason she pushed so hard. Took hits. Got back up. Led when no one else would. Sure, some of the team were assholes. But letting a few bad apples rot the whole basket? That was way too easy. Lazy. And she wasn’t built like that. As she took her place on the field, the tension of the hallway fight earlier replayed in her head—your words, your expression. No. She shook it off. She had work to do. Ellie was right, Focus.
The sun was high and mean, baking the field until cleats left prominent impressions in the turf. Abby didn’t mind. She just couldn’t help but focus on the memory of that face. The one she thought she’d erased.
But she hadn’t. Whistles shrieked across the yard as drills rotated, players moved like chess pieces, and Abby darted forward in a usual tight sprint.
“Defense, eyes up!” Her Coach bellowed from the sidelines.
She heard the rhythm of it before she saw it—a teammate pivoting on the left, the pass sailing slightly too far, Abby adjusting her step to intercept. She lunged, turning too sharply, positioning herself —and her foot landed wrong. A splintering pain darted up her leg as her ankle twisted inward. Her knee buckled. She hit the ground hard, a grunt bursting from her chest as her shoulder skidded against turf. Grass in her mouth, heat in her jaw, and white-hot fire in her ankle.
“Shit,” followed by another string of profanities, curling in on herself.
The silver whistle blew again. Longer this time.
“Goddamn it!” Coach immediately calls it “Anderson, off the field before you become a lawsuit!”
Abby scowled, biting down her pride as she dragged herself upright with a limp. The walk off the field felt longer than the drill itself. She dropped onto the bench with a muted thud, sweat running down her back. Her ankle throbbed in time with her heartbeat. And then—because of course—the doors to the rec building swung open. She looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of you.
You, stepping out of the building, hands shoved into your hoodie pockets, face drawn and unreadable. You didn’t look over. Of course you didn’t. Abby didn’t know if she wanted you to. But that didn’t stop her eyes from following you until you disappeared down the path toward the parking lot. The whistle blew again. Practice was already wrapping. She hadn’t even noticed.
“Hey, Romeo.” A cold thwack hit her knee. An ice pack.
Ellie plopped down beside her, the sleeves of her hoodie rolled up, sweat darkening the collar. “You planning on icing your ankle, or just the girl who won’t even look at you?”
Abby shot her a dry look. “Shut up.” But she pressed the ice to her ankle anyway, teeth clenched when the cold hit.
Ellie leaned back on her hands, watching the last stragglers leave the field. “You’ve been staring at her all practice.”
“I haven’t,” Abby said, eyes forward.
“If this is your way of dragging me out of that mixer—don’t bother,” she said, voice flat.
“You should sit it out anyway,” Ellie replied. “Rest. Sulk. Rant to someone who actually wants to hear about your emotional spiral.”
Abby snorted. “That would require someone wanting to talk to me in the first place.”
“You could talk to her,” Ellie offered, after a beat. “Crazy idea, I know.”
“I said I’m not interested.” The words fired out too fast, too defensive.
Her teammates Long arms threw themselves up, in surrender .“Alright, if you insist. But I’m not playing doctor all night.”
“I can handle myself—while you disappear into the night with you-know-who.”
“I’m not gonna dip—”
“You did last time. You think I didn’t notice the inside-out shirt when you came back down?”
“That wasn’t intentional! And yeah, okay—cockblocked me!”
Ellie shook her head with a reluctant, joined-in laugh. “I’m going to be by your side tonight. I promise.”
“Holding you to it.”
A simple reply “I didn’t think any less.”
“Good,” Abby muttered, adjusting her ice pack. The promise of Ellie’s company was some what comforting.
“So, about that mixer…” Ellie trailed off, glancing at the campus flyer board nearby. The neon sign advertising Outdoor Movie Night flickered, promising “A night under the stars with free popcorn and all the classics.”
Sitting on your bed, casually eating ice cream while scrolling through your phone, you paused the scrolling to look at a picture of you and Valeria. It was a bittersweet reminder of better times. The weight of it hit you for a moment, but you quickly pushed it aside. The room was only lit by the soft glow of the TV when, suddenly, a pair of eyes appeared in the dark hallway. The flick of a light switch followed, and the room brightened.
“Jesus! You scared me.” You leapt up, the metal spoon slipping from your fingers and splattering ice cream across the floor. “—Why are you dressed up?”
Josephine stood there, grinning like she just won the lottery. “I’m going to the mixer. Mind if I borrow this?” She waved a yellow top in front of you, clearly hoping for a response.
You rolled back onto your side of the bed, unamused. “Oh, you mean the mixer I’m not going to?” you muttered, not bothering to look up as you scooped another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.
Josephine didn’t even flinch at your lack of enthusiasm. She threw the shirt onto the bed, ignoring your sigh. “Actually, no. I’m joining you. You’re coming with me to the mixer”
You groaned, clutching the ice cream tub tighter. “Why do I have to go? Can’t I just rot in peace?”
Josephine raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “You don’t rot in peace. You overthink in peace. Come on, it’ll be fun. You can sulk and complain all you want, but you’re still going. Free popcorn”
“I hate you. I hate Dina. I hate—”
“Yes, yes. Get dressed, drama queen.” The blonde rolled her eyes. Holding up different options to throw on.
“What’s wrong with this?” You gestured to your current ensemble—an oversized tee and sleep shorts. “Don’t answer that. I’ll change.”
You eventually settled into the event, tucked into a spot on the edge of the crowd. The oversized tee was replaced with a cropped white top and jeans, eyeliner reapplied with more times than you could count. Honestly, already missing your ice cream at home.
Feel the drying of your throat, Reaching into a blue cooler nearby, you pulled the lid open only to find soda cans bobbing sadly in barely-cold water. With a blank stare you spoke up
“These are warm,” you muttered, turning to someone nearby.
“I’ll get some ice,” they offered, but you were already moving. Knowing you’d probably be faster “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”
You didn’t see any overly familiar faces on your way to the nurse’s office, but you did pass Ellie, her hair a little messy, cheeks flushed from whatever activity she’d gotten pulled into. You clocked it but kept walking. Not my business,you thought.
Abby, meanwhile, sat watching the movie. The crowd laughed at a cheesy punchline, but she barely registered it, focused instead on the warm weight of her now useless ice pack. She turned, ready to whisper for Ellie—
“Ellie, can you—”
But her seat was empty. She scoffed. “So much for promises.” Knowing she’ll ring her neck later.
With a resigned sigh, she stood and headed for the building. The hallway lights flickered as you tapped the switch a few times. Eventually, the room lit up—a hum from the ancient freezer in the corner, where bags of ice jutted out. You tugged one free just as the door creaked behind you.
Footsteps. A flicker of movement. You turned, and Eye contact.
It took you a beat to realize it was her. Abby. The light casting sharp shadows across her features. But you broke eye contact first, shifting your weight as if the awkwardness might evaporate if you pretended it wasn’t there.
You both moved quietly around each other, but your shoulder still brushed hers—brief, unintentional, but it certainly happened.
Your eyes dropped to her ankle, wrapped and clearly stiff. Should you ask?
“Are you following me now?” she asked, flatly.
You didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Abby. I planned my entire day around bumping into you and your broken foot at this exact moment.”
“It’s a rolled ankle,” she replied, dry. Choosing not to give the rest attention.
You glanced over her expression, unable to help the way Your mind flicked to the frat party. The flirting. The hands. The way you let her. The way it all fell apart moments later. What about you screamed ‘easy’. Did you overreact? No, she was being an ass and you had a rough few weeks. Unsure if that’s just justification The silence buzzed around yourself.
Watching as she shifted away from you to remake the ice pack for her foot. Your own task seeming less important, stepping back a little so she could finish.
The silence buzzed in your ears.
You watched as she shifted away to remake the ice pack for her foot. Your own task suddenly felt irrelevant. You stepped back a little to give her room.
“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she said quietly, the rustle of ice filling the space between you.
Your eyes darted away. “I’m not looking at you at all,” you bit back.
She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t take the bait. The usual sarcasm died on her tongue. Instead, she just gave a curt nod. “Good.”
She wrapped the ice pack, tying a makeshift brace around her foot. When she was done, she stepped back and eased herself down to sit near the door. Her gaze flickered to you, then away. Abby leaned back against the wall, the weight of the moment settling between you. She’d only come here for ice—but now?
Now it felt like something else. A sigh slipped from her lips.
“Are—dude, are you still mad about the party?”
“Who said I was mad?” You grabbed your own bag of ice from the freezer, trying to act casual.
Abby raised an eyebrow, her gaze skeptical. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” She shifted her weight, wincing slightly as her ankle throbbed. “So forgive me for thinking you might be just a little annoyed.”
“You’re not that important for me to be upset over,” you said with a shrug, forcing a smile as you closed the freezer door.
Abby let out a quiet, almost resigned laugh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
You didn’t say anything at first, just glanced away, suddenly aware of the silence hanging between you two. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter, and it felt like you had to look away before the tension turned into something worse.
“Good talk,” you muttered, taking a step back, but Abby’s quiet chuckle stopped you.
“Yeah. Real nice.”
Before you could reply, Ellie poked her head into the room, her eyes bouncing between you and Abby. “Abs—everything’s… good?”
You didn’t answer, but Abby nodded, her jaw tight.
You didn’t look back. Just grabbed your bag and brushed past them both.
“Just catching up with old mistakes,” you said quietly.
“Ouch,” Ellie said, raising an eyebrow. “You two still doing that?”
“Apparently.” You heard the sarcasm in her m voice, as it fainted the further you got from the door.
“Yeah, so much for talking it out,” Ellie muttered, her gaze lingering a second too long before she turned and left.
