Quarterback 's Kiss Made Me A Target On Campus

I was hurrying across the quad, keeping my head down as usual, when I heard footsteps behind me. The confident stride, the subtle scent of his cologne—I knew who it was before he even spoke.

"Clara! Wait up."

My stomach dropped as Aiden's voice carried across the lawn. I quickened my pace, pretending I hadn't heard him, but within seconds he was beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer now that he was closer. "I've been looking for you all morning."

I glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. "Why?"

Aiden's eyebrows rose slightly. "Why do you think? I wanted to see you."

The warmth in his voice made my cheeks burn. Around us, people were staring openly now, whispering behind their hands and pulling out phones. I could almost feel the notifications pinging as they tagged him in their posts.

"This isn't a good idea," I whispered, pulling my bag tighter against my side. "People are watching."

"Let them watch," Aiden said, his hand suddenly finding the small of my back. The touch was light, barely there, but I felt it like an electric current. "I don't care."

We walked in silence for a moment, the weight of stares pressing down on me from all sides. I wanted to disappear, to become invisible again. But with Aiden beside me, that was impossible.

"Did you see all those posts?" I finally asked, my voice barely audible.

Aiden nodded, his expression darkening slightly. "Yeah. They're stupid."

"They're calling me a social climber," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "They think I planned this whole thing."

"Does it matter what they think?" Aiden asked, stopping to face me. His blue eyes were serious, searching mine. "I kissed you because I wanted to, Clara. Not because of the game."

My heart stuttered in my chest. Before I could respond, he started walking again, his hand finding mine and squeezing gently.

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"English lit," I managed to say, still processing what he'd said.

"I'll walk you."

---

The next day, I changed my routine. Instead of taking my usual path to class, I cut through the science building and took the long way around. No way would Aiden find me now.

I was halfway to my locker when I saw him leaning against the wall, a small smile playing at his lips.

"How did you know?" I demanded, stopping short.

"I didn't," he admitted. "But I figured you'd come this way eventually."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. "You're persistent."

"I'm determined," he corrected, pushing off the wall. "And I'm walking you to class."

The following day, I tried a different route. And the day after that, another. Each time, Aiden somehow found me, as if he had a sixth sense for where I'd be.

On the fourth day, I gave up.

"Fine," I said as he fell into step beside me. "You win."

His smile was triumphant. "I usually do."

---

I was at my locker between classes when I noticed something tucked into the vent at the bottom. A folded piece of paper. Curious, I pulled it out and unfolded it.

"Desperate nobody thinks she can climb the social ladder with a party game. Stay in your lane."

My hands trembled as I read it again. The handwriting was neat, feminine—definitely not Aiden's.

I shoved the note into my pocket just as the bell rang. Throughout class, I could feel it burning a hole in my pocket, each word a fresh wound.

The next day, there was another one.

"Attention-seeking wallflower. We see through you. Back off Aiden before you get hurt."

And the day after that:

"Everyone knows you're just a temporary distraction. Jessica and Aiden are meant to be."

I knew who was behind them. Jessica's followers—Brittany, Madison, Carly. The notes were their way of reminding me that I didn't belong in their world.

---

I woke up to a notification on my phone. Someone had tagged me in a post.

With trembling fingers, I opened the app.

It was a meme. My face—a candid shot taken from the library—next to a quote: "When the plainest girl in school thinks she's won the lottery."

I scrolled down. There were more.

A side-by-side of me and Jessica, with the caption: "Before and after: What happens when you try to trade up."

A photo of me looking awkward at a campus event, with the caption: "The girl who tried too hard."

The accounts posting them were all new, created within the last few days. Fake profiles with generic names and stock photos.

I threw my phone across the room again.

---

Poetry class was my sanctuary. The small room in the old English building, with its worn wooden desks and dusty chalkboard, felt like a world away from the chaos.

I was so absorbed in the poem we were discussing—Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn"—that I almost forgot about everything else.

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," Professor Winters read aloud. "That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

"What do you think, Ms. Hayes?" he asked suddenly, calling on me.

I blinked, surprised to be noticed. "I think it's about idealization," I said slowly. "The urn is perfect because it's frozen in time, not because it's real. It's beautiful because it doesn't change or die."

I felt a presence at the back of the room and turned slightly. Jessica was there, her arms crossed, her expression bored. She must be auditing the class.

"Go on," Professor Winters encouraged.

"The speaker is saying that this idealized beauty—this truth—is all we need," I continued. "But I think Keats is questioning that. Is something beautiful just because it's true? Or is it beautiful because we can't have it?"

The door opened quietly, and Aiden slipped in, taking a seat in the back row. Jessica's eyes narrowed as she saw him.

"That's an excellent point, Clara," Aiden said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "You always see things differently."

Jessica's head snapped toward me, her eyes flashing with fury.

Professor Winters smiled. "It seems Ms. Hayes has an admirer of her intellect."

The class laughed nervously, but I couldn't miss the way Jessica's perfectly manicured nails dug into her palms.

As class ended, she brushed past me, her shoulder deliberately knocking into mine.

"This isn't over," she whispered, her voice sweet as poison. "Not by a long shot."

I watched her walk away, her blonde hair swinging in perfect rhythm with her steps. The notes, the memes, the stares—they were just the beginning.

And somehow, I knew that with Jessica Davenport, things would only get worse.