Have a nice day 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

Notes: I'm completely obsessed with Dracula a love tale, swear this movie altered my brain chemistry. Had to edit some parts of this chapter so make sure you didn't lose anything. hope you enjoy 🖤💖

chapter 7

The dust tasted like failure and decades of neglect. Rodrick Heffley coughed, the sound echoing in the cavernous, poorly lit storage room. He leaned heavily on the mop, his body a symphony of aches. He’d spent almost the entire night here, and the task felt Herculean, endless. It wasn't just sorting the endless, crumbling boxes; it was the cleaning that came after, scrubbing shelves caked with grime, mopping floors that hadn't seen water since the school was built, and evicting generations of spiders from their intricate, dusty kingdoms.

It would have been impossible. He’d already accepted defeat around 7 PM, ready to face Regina’s smug triumph the next day. But then Maria, the evening cleaning lady, had found him. She was a small, round woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, who spoke in a gentle accent. She’d taken one look at his despairing face and the monumental mess, and without a word, had fetched another mop and bucket. She’d even sweet-talked the grumpy doorman into letting them stay a few extra hours, a feat Rodrick was sure he could never have accomplished.

She helped him out of pure, unadulterated generosity. Rodrick had nothing to offer her, no money, no favors. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a hot flush of genuine embarrassment. He knew, with a painful clarity, that if their roles were reversed, he would never have stayed. He’d have made a sarcastic comment and kept walking. But Maria didn’t. That night, in the glow of the single bare bulb they’d managed to get working, he learned a small, quiet lesson about kindness.

To pass the time, they talked. Maria asked him why he was subjecting himself to this particular form of torture. He told her about a girl; a beautiful, terrifying, fascinating girl, and how he was doing all this, this self-inflicted penance, in a twisted attempt to impress her. He explained how he’d volunteered for the student council just to be near her, to get under her skin.

Maria had laughed, a warm, rich sound that filled the dusty space. “Oh son.” she’d said, shaking her head. “To be young and have your biggest worry be a girl’s heart. It is a beautiful, silly thing.”

She advised him to never stop chasing what he wanted, if he wanted it badly enough. Rodrick, feeling uncharacteristically earnest, told her he was a persistent son of a gun (he edited the phrasing for her sake) and that he never gave up on anything that truly caught his interest. The time spent with her was unexpectedly enjoyable. Her company, her simple, steady presence, transformed the grueling work from a nightmare into merely a very long, very dirty night. If not for her and their easy conversation, the task would have been ten times worse. Rodrick had never been a religious guy, but leaving the school that night, he couldn’t shake the feeling that God had taken pity on him and sent Maria as an angel to help him.

The work itself was anathema to him. He hated cleaning his own room; cleaning this scholar disaster zone was a special circle of hell. It was tedious, filthy, and physically exhausting. But two things pushed him through the burning in his muscles: the thought of the look on Regina’s perfectly sculpted face when she saw he’d actually done it, and Maria’s unwavering, silent solidarity.

When he finally stumbled out of the school, the clock on his phone read almost 9 PM. A familiar dread curdled in his stomach alongside the exhaustion. His parents were going to be pissed. But this time, he thought with a sliver of defiance, it was different. He wasn't out late because he was fooling around with his band, or just driving aimlessly. For once, he was actually doing something they would classify as "good," something they could brag about to their friends. Not that he agreed with their narrow definition of "productive." To him, working on his music with his band wasn't "fooling around"; it was building a future. It was a passion. But his parents had never understood that.

It was a constant, low-grade frustration that hummed in the background of his life. No matter how many times he tried to explain that the music wasn't a "phase," that the ripped jeans and the band shirts and the loud, angry chords were part of the fabric of who he was, they looked at him with a mixture of pity and disappointment. They saw a rebellious teenager who needed to be straightened out, not a person with a dream. At some point, they had all just stopped trying to understand each other. The conversations became predictable scripts.

He didn’t want to go to college. The very thought of sitting in another classroom, studying for some generic major to get some soul-crushing office job, made him feel like the walls were closing in. All he wanted was his band, his music. To write songs that meant something, to feel the roar of a crowd, even a small one in a dank club, and to travel the world with his best friends, fueled by that energy. To his parents, this was a "silly dream," a fantasy he needed to wake up from and face "real life." Rodrick knew, with a certainty that was both empowering and isolating, that there was nothing he could ever do to make them truly accept him. They loved him, he supposed, in their own way, but it was a conditional love, predicated on him eventually becoming the son they envisioned.

He braced himself as he opened the front door. The predictable scene unfolded like a bad play. His parents were waiting in the living room, their faces etched with anger and worry.

"Where have you been?" his father boomed, standing up. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"We've been worried sick!" his mother added, her voice tight. "Were you with that... people?"

Rodrick was too drained for a fight. His eyelids were heavy, his limbs felt like they had weights trapped inside them. "I was at school," he said, his voice flat. "Helping with the student council. The principal can confirm it."

Of course, they didn't believe him. The yelling escalated, demands for "the truth" bouncing off the walls. But Rodrick had hit his limit. He simply stopped listening, a skill he’d honed to perfection over the years. He trudged up the stairs to his bedroom, the sounds of their voices fading into a meaningless buzz. He locked his door, collapsed onto his bed still in his dirty clothes, and closed his eyes, the phantom scent of dust and bleach clinging to him as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, a full night's sleep had sanded down the sharp edges of his exhaustion. He was more calm, resigned. He knew the inquisition wasn't over; it was merely the intermission. He came down for breakfast prepared. He’d saved the principal’s number in his phone last night.

The lecture began anew, but Rodrick just waited for a pause, then slid his phone across the table. "Here. Call him. He'll tell you."

The shock on their faces was almost worth the entire ordeal. His mother, suspicious, took the phone and dialed. Rodrick listened to her one-sided conversation, a masterclass in shifting emotions. "Yes, Principal Duvall? This is Susan Heffley, Rodrick's mother… I'm just calling to… he said he was… oh? He was? The whole evening? I see… Thank you. Thank you so much."

She hung up, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, a slow, hesitant smile spread across her face. She couldn't even pretend she wasn't happy. "He… he said you did an excellent job, Rodrick. That you showed real initiative."

The words should have felt like a victory, but they just felt hollow. This was what it took? Cleaning a storage room was "initiative," but spending hours perfecting a drum solo was "wasting time." It was exhausting. He knew they loved him, but it was a love that constantly tried to sand down his rough edges until there was nothing unique left. He had his own mind, his own path, even if it was unconventional, even if it wasn't "usual." He had a dream, and he would fight for it with everything he had.

He wouldn't be one of those people who let their spark die, who settled for the "normal" and spent the rest of their lives in quiet, desperate resignation, knowing it led to an unhappy life. How many people had dreams like his? How many potential actors became accountants, how many painters became engineers, how many musicians became lawyers, giving up on their will, their fire, just to fit into a pre-made box? Rodrick would never. He’d beat the statistics. He’d fulfill his dreams and never give up on them. He wouldn't let the system, or his parents' well-intentioned fears, kill that part of him.

He was so tired of the same circular argument that he didn't even fight back. He just listened to his mom's hopeful, scolding sermon about "staying on this good path," and silently nodded, pretending to agree. After what felt like the hundredth rendition of "We Just Want What's Best For You," he was finally released to school.

The moment he entered the bustling hallway, the tension in his shoulders eased. Here, he could breathe. He found Janis and Damian leaning against their lockers, an island of sanity in a sea of conformity.

"Hey guys," he said, slinging his backpack down.

"Hi, man!" Damian's eyes lit up with immediate curiosity. "So? How was the descent into the seventh circle of hell? Give me the details."

"Horrible," Rodrick groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. "I never want to mop a floor again. And if I see another inventory list, I'm gonna actually, legitimately, kill myself. It was like being punished for a crime I didn't even commit."

Janis eyed him, her arms crossed. "I still don't get why you're putting so much effort into this. It's a fool's errand."

Rodrick just shrugged, a non-answer he knew infuriated her.

"And working with her was?" Damian pressed, leaning in. "What was the Queen Bee like as a foreman?"

"It wasn't. She left," Rodrick said.

Janis straightened up, her face hardening. "What? And you did all that work alone?"

"Is that even possible?" Damian added, whistling low. "I snuck into that storage once to, uh, borrow a strobe light. It looked like a post-apocalyptic cemetery in there."

"I didn't do it alone," Rodrick admitted. "I couldn't have. Maria helped me."

"Maria? As in, the cleaning lady, Maria?" Janis asked, her anger momentarily sidelined by surprise.

"The one and only."

Damian clasped his hands together dramatically. "She really is an angel on earth. I swear, she's proof that goodness exists."

Rodrick managed a tired smile. "Yeah. I had the same thought last night."

"See?" Damian said, nudging Janis. "Brilliant minds think alike. So, if she left you, does that mean you had zero progress with the actual object of your obsession?"

"Yeah," Janis's voice was now laced with a familiar, protective acid. "How are your little 'sociological studies' of the popular hive mind going?"

As if on cue, Rodrick's phone lit up on the locker shelf. The screen displayed a single name: Ms. President. His heart did a stupid, involuntary skip. He was already excited to see her again, to poke the bear. Teasing her, getting under her skin, watching her composure crack. It was becoming his favorite pastime. It was even more fun than making a substitute teacher cry.

Janis and Damian stole a glance at the screen, and the look they exchanged was a silent conversation full of worry and exasperation.

"Rodrick," Janis began, her tone shifting from sarcastic to seriously concerned. "What is actually happening between you two? This is starting to look... concerning."

"It's nothing," he deflected, picking up his phone. "I already told you guys not to worry about it. She's giving me a hard time, and I'm giving her one right back. It's a game." He opened her message. 'I need the storage keys.' That was it. No hello, no please. He answered, suggesting a time to meet, his thumbs flying over the screen as he entered his classroom. ‘When can we meet?’ Rodrick sent back, rush of anxiety running through his veins.

"It looks one-sided from where I'm standing," Janis insisted. "You were the one cleaning a storage room that even God forgot about. She just gave the order and left. That's not a game; that's her using you."

"Guys, it's getting annoying already," Rodrick said, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. "I know what I'm doing, okay?"

"It's just that we're worried about you," Janis said softly. "I know her. I knew her. She can seem... magnetic. She can be sweet and kind when it serves her purpose. It's a mask, an act. Don't be fooled by it."

Rodrick almost laughed. Regina had been anything but kind to him. She’d been insulting, condescending. And that was exactly the fun of it. Rodrick had never liked anything easy. He liked the challenge, the fight, the process of earning something. Easy was boring, and Rodrick Heffley had never liked anything boring.

"Look," he said, turning to face them fully. "It hasn't even been a week since I met the girl. I'm interested in her, yeah, but that's it. And even if I were to fall for her or something, it's my choice. I'm choosing to play with fire. So if I get burned, it's my choice and only mine."

"Janis is just being a good friend, man," Damian interjected, though his eyes still sparkled with curiosity. "She doesn't want to see you get hurt."

"And I think you're both worrying too much," Rodrick countered.

Janis let out a long, tired sigh. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I won't say anything anymore." But her expression made it clear the worry wasn't going away.

"That doesn't mean I don't wanna hear about it!" Damian chirped, breaking the tension. "I want to hear about every single detail. The drama! The tension! Give me everything."

"Okay, okay," Rodrick relented, a small smile returning to his face. "I won't let you die of curiosity."

"Thank God," Damian said, fanning himself dramatically.

Rodrick was already preparing to leave for class when he heard Damian's final, singsong warning.

"And be careful, okay? She eats boys like you for breakfast."

Rodrick looked back over his shoulder, a familiar, cocky grin spreading across his face. "Then I guess I'd better give her indigestion." He winked and headed down the hall.

He understood Janis and Damian's worries, he really did. But they were missing the point. Regina's personality, that sharp, commanding, infuriating force, was what made her interesting. If she were just another dumb, smiling popular girl, Rodrick would have spared her a glance, thought "she's hot," and never thought of her again. She would have been just another pretty face in the crowd. But Regina wasn't like that. He didn't know her well yet, not at all. But the glimpses of her true self, the intelligence, the power, the raw, unfiltered anger, were rough and real and had thoroughly caught his interest. Now, he wanted to discover more and more.

He opened her message. ‘Now.’

He couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face. She wanted to see him. He knew it wasn't for the same reason he wanted to see her, but he couldn't help the excited thrill that shot through him. Everything about her was a drug, and he was already an addict. He was sure that even a small moment in her presence would compensate for the hard time he had yesterday and the frustrating talk with Janis and Damian this morning. It would be less than five minutes, but to him, it was enough to change his whole day for the better.

His thumbs flew over the screen. “Where?”

The response was immediate, dripping with condescension even in text form. “Obviously in the storage.” He could perfectly picture the exasperated curve of her lips, the way she’d probably sighed dramatically before hitting send. He could feel her rolling her eyes from across the school.

“Omw.” He sent the reply, knowing it would irritate her further. The acronym was too casual, too familiar for her taste. He could already see the dismissive flick of her wrist as she read it.

Maybe, just maybe, Rodrick had taken unusually slow steps, just to irritate her. He thought that perhaps his mere existence was enough to get under Regina’s skin, and he loved it. When he finally pushed open the heavy door to the hallway leading to the storage room, he saw her. She was wearing a jeans mini skirt and a pink top with matching pink heels. She was a vision of impatience incarnate. Leaning against the wall beside the door, one foot crossed over the other, her arms folded tightly under her chest. She was staring at her phone, the screen’s light illuminating the perfect, irritated planes of her face. She didn’t look up as he approached, forcing him to speak first.

"Miss me?" he asked, his voice a low tease that echoed in the quiet corridor.

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing to slits. "You have a remarkable talent for making the simplest interaction unbearable." Her voice was like shards of ice.

"Nice to see you too, Ms. President." He came to a stop a few feet away, leaning his shoulder against the opposite wall, mirroring her posture but with an infuriating looseness she could never replicate.

She uncrossed her arms and held out her hand, palm up."The keys." The heels of her boots clicked once against the linoleum for emphasis.

Rodrick made a show of patting his pockets, a slow, deliberate search. "They're around here somewhere…" he mused, dragging out the moment. He finally pulled the key ring from his back pocket, letting it dangle from his finger. "You know, for the president of the student council, your manners are atrocious. Didn’t your parents teach you the magic words? 'Please'? 'Thank you'?"

"My parents taught me to reserve politeness for people who have earned it," she retorted, her gaze fixed on the keys, not on him.

"Ouch." He pressed a hand to his heart, feigning a wound. "You never stop finding new ways to break my heart, Regina. It’s a talent."

"Good. Consider it my contribution to your character development. Now, give me the keys." Her hand remained outstretched, unwavering.

He took a step closer, reducing the space between them. The air grew warmer. "What could possibly be so important that you’re in such a hurry to get away from me?"

"Literally anything," she said, her voice dropping into a low, venomous register.

He took another step. He was close enough now to see the faint dusting of shimmer on her eyelids, to count the individual lashes framing her icy glare. "You should be a little nicer to me." He swung the keys gently, the metal jingling. "Or else I might just decide to keep them."

Her patience, a thread that was clearly already frayed, snapped. "Hurry up, you insufferable loser, I have actual things to do that don't involve your pathetic attempts at banter."

He laughed, a short, genuine sound, and Regina took the opportunity to steal the keys out of his hands. "Do you treat everyone with this much… passionate disdain, or am I just special?" His voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, ask her the question.

Her eyes rolled so hard he was surprised they didn't get stuck. She was unlocking the door, her back partly to him. "You wish you were special. You wish you were anything other than the persistent stain on my senior year that you are. You're just like every other—"

She shoved the door open, and the insult died on her lips. Her jaw went slack for a fraction of a second, a stunning crack in her flawless facade. Her eyes widened as they scanned the room. Rodrick’s chest swelled with a pride so intense it was almost painful. He watched, mesmerized, as her brain tried to reconcile the memory of a filthy dumping ground with the clean, organized space before her. The mask was back in an instant, her expression smoothing into one of bored indifference, but he had seen it.

"Impressed?" he asked, the prideful grin on his face so wide it almost hurt.

She stepped inside, her head tilting as she took in the spotless floors, the neatly labeled boxes stacked on clean shelves, the complete absence of cobwebs. "Why would I be?" she said, her tone deliberately flat. She ran a finger along a shelf, checking for dust. Finding none, she withdrew her hand as if burned. "You just did the job you were assigned, there’s nothing to be impressed about"

He followed her in, closing the door behind them with a soft click that seemed incredibly loud in the quiet room. The air was still and cool, smelling faintly of bleach and fresh cardboard. "Gosh," he sighed, draping himself dramatically against a stack of boxes. "What does a guy have to do around here to get a little recognition? Scale the clock tower? Slay a dragon? Clean a second storage room?"

"Stop with the theatrical nonsense, it doesn't suit you." She turned to face him, her arms crossing again, a defensive gesture he was starting to recognize. "Where is the inventory list of the decoration items? The actual reason I'm here."

"Right here, Ms President." He picked up the clipboard from a nearby shelf where he’d left it and held it out. As she reached for it, he didn't let go immediately. Their fingers brushed. It was just a fleeting touch, skin against skin, but it was like striking a match in a room full of gas. A jolt, hot and sharp, shot up his arm, and he saw her breath hitch, her eyes flicking up to his for a split second before she snatched the clipboard away.

She began to scan the list, her brow furrowed in concentration. He didn't look at the list. He looked at her. He studied the way the dim, overhead fluorescent light caught the golden strands in her hair, creating a halo she absolutely did not deserve. He watched the subtle movement of her throat as she swallowed. He memorized the perfect, Cupid's bow shape of her upper lip. He was close enough that her perfume, wrapped around him, sinking into his senses, making him feel lightheaded and heavy-limbed at the same time. He burned to close the remaining distance, to bury his face in the curve of her neck and just breathe her in.

She cleared her throat, not looking up. "There's a student council meeting today. Three PM. Don't be late." Her voice was strained, an attempt to reassert normalcy.

"OMG! I can’t believe it!” he squealed, pitching his voice high and fluttering his hands near his face in a perfect imitation of her dumb blond friend. "A real meeting? With the whole group? I can't believe it! I'm so excited! What should I wear? Do you think they'll like me?"

She finally looked up from the clipboard, her expression one of such pure, unadulterated disgust he almost laughed aloud. "You are disgusting. You know that, right? Physically repulsive." She tossed the clipboard back onto the shelf with a clatter. "Just so we're perfectly clear, the only thing I'm excited about regarding this entire Halloween situation is that once this party is over, my obligation to you is finished. I won't have to see you, talk to you, or be in the same room with you ever again."

He took a slow, deliberate step forward. Then another. The space between them, which had felt so vast a moment ago, was now charged, electric. "Stop lying to yourself, Regina," he murmured, his voice dropping, losing all its teasing edge, becoming something lower, more intimate. "We both know that's not true. You're going to miss this. You're going to miss me."

"I can't even stand the sight of you," she hissed, but her voice lacked its earlier conviction. It was a whisper, a plea. And he saw it, the undeniable proof. The rapid, fluttering pulse at the base of her throat, a tiny, frantic beating against her skin. Her chest rose and fell a little too quickly. With each step he took, her breath became more shallow, more erratic. She was lying, and her body was betraying her with every frantic heartbeat.

"Oh yeah?" he breathed, now so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. His own was screaming for contact, aching to feel the length of her against him, to tangle his hands in her hair and finally, finally learn the taste of her. "It doesn't seem like it. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, in this very storage room, just yesterday, you didn't seem to find me quite so… repulsive."

He was pushing her, he knew. He was dancing on the edge of a cliff, and the fall would be glorious.

"Don't," she whispered, and the word was a broken thing, stripped of all its power.She was beautiful always, but here, far from prying eyes, she felt real. The vulnerability in her eyes was a siren's call, and to him, she was the most stunning thing he had ever seen, she was devastating. The vulnerability in her eyes, the slight tremble in her lower lip, it was the most real thing he had ever seen. To him, in that moment, she was perfection.

"Or what?" His voice was husky, raw with a need that was starting to terrify him. He wanted to kiss her so badly it was a physical pain, a deep, throbbing ache in his core. Her lips were slightly parted, glistening. He imagined they would taste like cherry gloss or maybe strawberries, either way he was dying to discover the taste.

She didn't answer. She just stared up at him, and he could tell by the way her eyes wide that she was confused, her defenses in ruins. “Cat got your tongue, princess?” But he wasn’t waiting for an answer, his own mind was shutting down, the rational part obliterated by the scent of her, the sight of her, the sheer magnetic pull of her. He felt outside of himself, a passenger in a body moving on pure, primal instinct.

His hands made contact with the bare skin of her thights. The contact was electric, a bolt of lightning that arced through his entire nervous system. He heard her sharp, involuntary intake of breath, felt the fine tremor that ran through her. By the way her lips parted, he knew she had felt it, too, the same shocking, undeniable current. His eyes were locked on hers, a prisoner to her gaze, his eyes searching for any sigh of discomfort in her face, and as he didn’t find any he couldn’t help but smile. He couldn't have looked away if the building were on fire. 

His hands began to move, sliding slowly up from her tights to her hips, and them to the delicate curve of her waist. She was wearing a skirt so he could have slided his hands to her center, the place he wanted to touch the most, but he didn’t. Happy to just feel the soft, expensive fabric of her shirt, and beneath it, the warmth of her skin. He couldn't stop his hands from squeezing, gently but firmly, pulling her closer. He could feel all of her body against him, and it fitted perfectly. It was like her body was made for him, made to be in his embrace, his arms. The perfect match. The soft, shuddering sigh that escaped her went straight through him, burning away the last of his restraint.

He was mesmerized. His gaze devoured her, tracing the elegant line of her neck, the graceful slope of her shoulders. He saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her knuckles were white where she gripped the shelf behind her for support. His thumbs traced slow burning circles on the skin of her hips, his fingers itching to slide lower, to explore the curve of her lower back, to touch under her shirt, under the skirt that have been driving him crazy since he first laid eyes on her. The sexual tension was a thick, humming fog in the room, suffocating and exhilarating. He had never, ever wanted anything as much as he wanted her in that moment. It was a need that felt ancient, fundamental.

He saw the war in her eyes. She wasn't pushing him away. She was allowing this, there wasn’t any sign of discomfort and Rodrick was looking for it, even the smallest sign, but she didn’t show any. She was, for the first time, letting him. The sheer, devastating power of that realization nearly brought him to his knees. He wanted to do so many things to her, but he knew one thing; it wouldn’t happen here.

It was the most difficult thing he had ever done. It felt like tearing his own soul in two. Every muscle, every nerve, every atom in his body screamed in protest as he forced his hands to unclench, to release their hold on her. The loss of her warmth was a physical blow. He took one stumbling step back, then another, the space between them feeling like a newly formed chasm, cold and empty. The effort made him tremble.

He would not do this. Not here. Not like this. Rodrick wasn't 100% sure of what was happening, but he was sure that it wouldn't happen in a fumbled, secret thing in a dusty storage closet. Because she deserves more. So much more than this. She deserved a date in a five star restaurant under the light of candles, she deserved to be kissed under the stars, she deserved a bed full of red petals and champagne. She deserved more than he might ever be able to give, but he would be damned if he didn't try to give her something better than this.

He watched the emotions play across her face like a storm. The dazed, wanting haze cleared, replaced by utter confusion, and then, a flash of brilliant, humiliated anger. Her armor was slamming back into place, piece by piece. It was the final confirmation that he had done the right thing. If he had leaned in those last few inches and captured her mouth with his, she would have let him. And Rodrick would never forgive himself for it.

Rodrick knew, with a strange, painful clarity, that he might have just sacrificed his only chance. But as he stood there, aching and hard and utterly miserable, he felt a grim sense of pride. He was proud of that shred of chivalry, even as he faced the most agonizing case of blue balls known to man. It was, he decided, totally and completely worth it. Maybe his short encounter with Maria last night had a more powerful impact on him than he imagined.

Regina was flushed a magnificent, furious red. He didn't know if it was from anger, embarrassment, or the remnants of the desire that had so clearly gripped her. She looked beautifully, devastatingly confused. Before he could form a single word, she was moving, storming past him and out the door, her footsteps a frantic, retreating tattoo on the linoleum. For the first time, Rodrick didn't try to stop her. He didn't call out a teasing remark. He just let her go. She needed to process the earthquake that had just rocked her world. He needed to figure out how to survive the aftershocks.

---

The rest of the day, Rodrick moved through the halls like a ghost, haunted by the living memory of her. The scene in the storage room played on an endless, torturous loop in his mind. He could still feel the phantom weight of her hips in his hands, the impression of her warmth seared into his palms. During English, he stared at his hands, remembering the feel of her slender waist beneath his fingers. The scent of her perfume; vanilla and strawberries and something expensive he couldn’t even point, seemed to have permanently fused with his olfactory nerves. He caught whiffs of it in the crowded hallway, on the pages of his textbook, a cruel, beautiful phantom that would make his heart stutter and his blood heat.

He was utterly, completely screwed. He hadn't even kissed her, and she had already colonized his entire consciousness. His thoughts were a temple dedicated to Regina George, and he was a devout worshipper, suffering and yearning at her altar. His every sense was full of her. The world had become a dull gray film, and she was the only thing in vibrant, colorful focus.

This all-consuming obsession was why he found himself so unnaturally anxious for the student council meeting. The school day became a form of exquisite torture. In Algebra II, he watched the clock, each tick of the second hand sounding like a hammer fall. He was convinced a full thirty minutes had passed, only to drag his gaze from the window and find that only five had crawled by. His mind was a reel of stolen moments: the shock in her eyes when she saw the clean room, the feel of her hip bone under his thumb, the soft, surrendering sigh she’d made.

When the final bell screeched through the speakers, it was a liberation. He strode into the student council room with a purpose. The room was almost empty, occupied only by two guys who looked like they’d been manufactured in a lab that produced generic, agreeable jocks. They introduced themselves as Troy and Chad, and Rodrick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The names were so awfully, stereotypically familiar it was almost poetic.

To his surprise, they were genuinely nice guys. Friendly, if a bit bland. They launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the Halloween party preparations; the DJ, the budget, the timeline. Rodrick nodded along, but he didn’t give a fuck. The party, as they described it, sounded horrendous. It would be the same lame-ass pop music that had been on every school dance playlist for the last decade, zero alcohol, and a crowd of people too worried about their social standing to actually have fun. He’d rather be at home playing Monopoly with his grandma. Well, that would be the case if Regina wasn't going to be there. The mere thought of her presence sent another violent, thrilling jolt through his system. How would she be? Would she be able to look at him? Would her gaze be filled with the same remembered heat, or would it be frozen solid with renewed hatred? The not-knowing was its own kind of agony.

Still, he found himself mentally compiling a list of everything he would change if he were in charge. First, the music. It needed an edge, some rock, some punk, something with a heartbeat. Then, the refreshments. A few kegs, some spiked punch, the essentials. And the atmosphere needed less "school spirit" and more "controlled anarchy." But as he looked at Troy and Chad’s earnest, excited faces, he knew they were a lost cause. They were BORING. You could give them a warehouse full of free beer and a legendary band, and they’d probably still find a way to make it feel like a church social. Maybe someday, he mused, he’d take them under his wing and teach them about the real world, show them how to be real men who didn’t live and die by a rulebook.

They were in the middle of a conversation, Rodrick regaling them with a heavily edited story about a particularly epic house party he’d somehow survived, when the atmosphere in the room shifted. It was instantaneous and palpable, like a sudden drop in barometric pressure before a storm.

He didn't see her arrive. His back was to the door. But he didn't need to. Her presence was a physical force that announced itself before she even crossed the threshold. It was her scent, that devastating vanilla and strawberries, now a trigger that coiled in his gut, and the sharp, staccato click of her heels against the floor, a sound that was becoming the soundtrack to his obsession. Troy’s laugh cut off mid-chuckle, strangled in his throat. Both he and Chad snapped to attention, their relaxed postures transforming into rigid, respectful spines. The easygoing chatter died instantly, replaced by a silence so heavy and profound you could hear the nervous sweat beading on the upper lip of the kid next to him.

No one had uttered a word, but it was as if she had just fired a gun into the ceiling. Rodrick turned his head slowly, deliberately, to watch the spectacle unfold. Every eye in the room was glued to her, a kaleidoscope of raw admiration, naked fear, and desperate longing. She was a celestial event, and they were all just rocks on the ground, waiting for her light to hit them. And he, he was an astronomer who had forgotten to bring his telescope, blinded and captivated by the sheer, overwhelming intensity of the star he was studying.

She moved to the head of the long table, the throne, and sat. Her posture was a masterpiece of poise and authority. Her hands rested calmly on the table. She looked less like a teenager and more like a young CEO about to announce a hostile takeover. And all Rodrick could think about was the way that iron composure had melted under his hands just hours before.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she began, her voice cool, clear, and devoid of any discernible emotion. It was the voice of pure, unadulterated power. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

He was captivated. This was her in her natural habitat, and it was the most breathtaking thing he had ever witnessed.

“So, Troy,” she said, her eyes locking onto him. “The DJ. Status report.”

Troy cleared his throat, suddenly looking very young. “Everything is confirmed, Regina. He’s paid in full. We’ve gone over the setlist, his arrival and departure times. Everything is perfect.”

“So I can risk him off the to-do list? There are zero loose ends?” Her gaze was penetrating, missing nothing.

“No loose ends.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, ma’am.”

She gave a single, curt nod. “Okay. Next is the food.”

Another student, a girl with nervous eyes, piped up. “The main catering is ordered and paid for. The specialty decorated cupcakes are being delivered three hours before the party, so we have ample time to set up the dessert table. The drinks were purchased in advance because there was a sale. We managed to save two hundred dollars from the budget.”

A ghost of a smile, the first hint of approval, touched Regina’s lips. It was breathtakingly efficient. “That’s excellent. That extra two hundred can be reallocated to the decorations, which brings me to our next, and currently most open, item.” Her gaze swept the room and then landed on Rodrick, for the first time since she entered the room she acknowledged his presence. “I don’t know if you’re all aware, but this is Rodrick. He’s a new transfer student, and the principal has designated him to help us with the Halloween preparations for the time being.”

All eyes turned to him, and Rodrick felt a familiar surge of defiance under the scrutiny.

“Yesterday,” Regina continued, her tone implying he’d single-handedly moved a mountain, “he cleaned the storage room and compiled a complete inventory of all the usable decoration items. Since he’s new, he hasn’t had much of a chance to contribute meaningfully. I think it would be good if he took primary responsibility for the decorations. What does everyone think?”

A girl with a severe haircut dared to speak up. “If you think that’s best, I don’t see why not. But decorations are kind of a big deal… don’t you think it’s better to let one of the more… experienced members handle it?”

Regina didn’t even raise her voice. She simply turned her head and fixed the girl with a look. It was a look that could freeze lava. It lasted only a second, but it was enough. The girl visibly shrank, mumbling an apology into her notes.

“This isn’t my personal decision,” Regina stated, her voice dropping a dangerous octave, though it remained perfectly calm. “The principal asked me to give Rodrick a chance to integrate and contribute. And that is precisely what I am going to do.”

Chad, ever the diplomat, jumped in. “If that’s what the principal wants, then there’s nothing we can do about it.” He and Troy maintained neutral expressions, but the rest of the council members were shooting Rodrick dirty looks of jealousy.

Rodrick felt a wave of tired irritation. He didn’t want to be responsible for the damn decorations. The thought of doing it alone, of dealing with streamers and color schemes, was its own special hell.

“You know,” Rodrick said, leaning forward and breaking his silence, “I’m gonna have to agree with them. I’m new. I don’t really think I should be dealing with such an… important matter.” He let a little sarcasm drip into the last two words.

Regina’s eyes glittered with a cold fire. “So, should I tell the principal that you’re giving up?”

The trap was sprung. She’d backed him into a corner, and she’d done it with the skill of a master tactician. “It’s not like that—” he started to protest.

“So that’s it,” she declared, cutting him off. “Rodrick will be responsible for the decorations. Now, would anyone like to volunteer to help him?”

Silence. No one raised a hand. Not one. The collective dismissal was a wall. Damn, Rodrick thought. So I’m truly alone in this.

And then, the final, stunning move.

“Since Rodrick is new,” Regina said, her voice shifting back to that cool, professional tone, “I don’t think he should have to shoulder this entirely on his own. So I will help him.”

The air was vacuumed out of the room. Rodrick’s brain flatlined. She would help him? After what had just happened? After the trembling and the sighs and the way she had looked at him? The question screamed in his mind, silencing all other logic: Why? A desperate, hopeful part of him wanted to believe it was because of the unresolved tension, because she was as addicted to their dangerous dance as he was. But the part of him that was starting to truly understand her knew better. Regina George did nothing without a complex, layered purpose. This was a strategic maneuver in a high-stakes game whose rulebook he was only just beginning to decipher.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur for Rodrick, too lost in his own mind. After that Regina went back to ignoring his presence, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, Rodrick 's focus was entirely on her. He watched her command the room, her intelligence and competence undeniable. She was sharp, asked the right questions, delegated with precision, and shut down nonsense with a terrifying efficiency. Everyone knew their place, when to speak, and, more importantly, when to shut up. They respected her. They feared her. She was a natural-born ruler, and he was sure the Halloween party would run with machined perfection under her command.

The meeting adjourned, and the others scattered like startled birds. But Rodrick remained seated, paralyzed, his usual armor of careless rebellion lying in pieces around him. He had just witnessed a force of nature contained within a girl who wore a mini skirt.

The way she had commanded the room hadn't just impressed him; it had fundamentally rewired his DNA. Her power was subtler, sharper, and more absolute than any authority he had ever encountered. It was intellect, presence, and sheer, terrifying will. And God, he loved it. He was chaos, and she was the only force strong enough to try and contain him, and the friction between them was generating a heat that threatened to incinerate him. She hadn't been leading a meeting; she had been conducting a symphony of social order, and every person in that room was an instrument waiting for her cue.

A slow, insistent heat spread through his veins, a dangerous and thrilling counterpart to the dull ache of yearning in his body. He was turned on. Profoundly, embarrassingly, completely. The crisp clip of her words, the arch of a single, perfect eyebrow that could silence a room, the way her slender fingers had tapped once, decisively, on the table, it all coalesced into a dizzying aphrodisiac of control. He had a sudden, vivid fantasy of her using that same tone on him, not in a student council meeting, but somewhere private.

This was a catastrophe. A magnificent, glorious, terrifying catastrophe. Because Rodrick Heffley, who had built his identity on not giving a damn, now found that he cared about one thing, one person, with a terrifying, all-consuming intensity. Regina George was no longer a fascination or a challenge. She was an obsession. His obsession.

It was more than just the physical pull, though that was a roaring inferno. It was a desperate, intellectual and emotional craving. He had seen the furious, insulted girl in the hall, the ‘kind’ architect who took in the new girl, the vulnerable woman in the storage room, and the ice-cold, strategic president in this meeting. Which one was the real Regina? Were they all? He needed to know. He needed to peel back every layer, to study every facet, until he understood the brilliant, complicated, terrifying whole of her.

He wanted to know what made her afraid. Did a queen like Regina George have nightmares? What did she wish for in the dead of night when the crown was off and the room was dark? Who was she when no one was watching, when the performance was over and the audience was gone? What books did she read? What music did she secretly listen to? Did she ever just lie on her bed, stare at the ceiling, and feel… empty? The questions multiplied in his mind, a frantic, hungry swarm. He wanted to unravel her, thread by carefully constructed thread, until he held the raw, unspun truth of her in his hands. Janis and Damian were right to be worried; he was walking into a blast zone with a smile on his face. But the pull was gravitational, irresistible.

And this terrifying, thrilling realization was followed by another, even more potent fantasy. He didn't just want to be dominated by that bossy, commanding energy. Oh no. He wanted to match it. He wanted to provoke it, to stir the pot until her cool control boiled over into something hot and messy and real, just for him. He imagined cornering her in that clean, organized storage room, his body crowding hers against a shelf, his voice a low challenge against her ear. "You like giving orders, Princess? Go on. Tell me what to do."

He wanted to see that flawless composure crack under his gaze. He wanted to be the one who made her feel just as off-balance and obsessed as she was making him. He loved to push her buttons and dance on the line of her patience, just to see the fire flash in her eyes, a fire meant solely for him.

The thought was a drug. It was madness. Janis and Damian were right to be worried; he was walking into a blast zone with a smile on his face. But the pull was gravitational, irresistible. She was a fortress, and he was already plotting the siege. He would do everything he was capable of, use every ounce of his charm, his persistence, his infuriating wit, to learn her. To know her. To get under her skin so deeply that he became her obsession, too.

Notes: I loved to write this chapter. If you're liking this fic so far please leave a comment I'm dying for your feedback.🖤💖

chapter 6

The bell’s shrill ring was still echoing in the hall, but to Regina George, it was a distant foghorn, drowned out by the roaring inferno in her chest. The folded slip of paper in her manicured hand felt like a live coal, burning the pristine skin of her palm. His number. He had actually given her his number.

How dare he? The thought was a razor-sharp mantra, slicing through her mind on a loop. Who did this loser, this waste of carbon, think he was? The audacity was so staggering it was almost artistic. Did his smashed, jelly-like brain genuinely concoct a reality where they existed on the same planetary plane? Where Regina George, queen of North Shore High, would be into him? Into his grubby band shirts, his unkempt hair, the faint, smug scent of cigarettes and rebellion that clung to him like a cheap perfume?

A fresh wave of fury, hot and acidic, washed over her. Did he really think she would call? That she, Regina George, would punch his digits into her rose-gold iPhone, listen to it ring, and actually wait to hear his voice? The image was so ludicrous it was blasphemous. It was just like trying to make fetch happen; it was never going to happen. NEVER!

Her heels struck the linoleum floor with a violent, staccato rhythm that made lesser students flinch and scatter. See? This was exactly why you couldn’t be nice to those freaks. You offered a single, condescending word, a flicker of attention from your royal perch, and they mistook it for an invitation into your life. They started thinking they had a chance. They started polluting your world with their pathetic lives.

Regina was absolutely furious; she was seeing a literal, pulsing red at the edges of her vision. This wasn't just annoyance; this was a fundamental violation of the natural order. She had to teach this loser boy a lesson, one so brutal and humiliating it would be etched into the very walls of North Shore. A lesson that would scream, for all eternity, that girls like Regina George do not go out with boys like RoDick. They don't even acknowledge them. They crush them.

She was a tornado of designer skirt and simmering rage, cutting through the hallways. Usually, this was her parade route a time to distribute sweet, calculated smiles and empty compliments like currency. "Love your skirt, Becky!" or "Your skin is looking so clear, Jessica!" She played the part of the caring monarch so well, making them feel seen, making them hungry for her approval. But today? Today, she didn’t even spare a glance at the peasants. Her gaze was fixed on some distant point, her jaw clenched so tight it ached.

And the sea of students parted for her. They always did, but today it was different. It wasn't out of admiration; it was out of fear. They saw the storm in her eyes, the set of her shoulders, the way her body radiated pure, undiluted wrath. They scrambled out of her path like she was Moses and they were the Red Sea, desperate to avoid being drowned in her wake. Everybody knew she was pissed. While Regina’s anger was a common, low-frequency hum in the background of North Shore, she was a master at camouflaging it behind a veneer of icy composure or a saccharine-sweet smile that promised silent torture later. Today, the mask was off. 

She didn’t know why this, why he, was getting such a monumental reaction from her. Of course, it was the first time someone of his… caliber had the sheer, unmitigated audacity to approach her so directly. Here in North Shore, everyone knew their place. It was a meticulously maintained ecosystem. It wasn’t just the freaks and geeks who were careful around Regina; everyone was. The jocks with their swollen egos knew their brawn was nothing against her social power. The other, less popular girls knew they were only relevant if she allowed it. The nerds, the artists, they all kept their heads down. God, even the teachers were careful about how they spoke to her, their voices laced with a subtle, wary respect. So why? Why did this freak, this transfer student with the messy hair and a personality like a chemical spill, act like he was her equal? Like he had a right?

He was troubled; she had seen it the moment her eyes, sharp and discerning, had first landed on him. There was a chaotic, unpolished energy that repulsed and, she hated to admit, faintly intrigued her. But now that intrigue had curdled into pure, seething hatred. He was a glitch in her matrix, a bug in her perfect, polished code. She had to teach him how things worked in North Shore before this glitch became a full-blown virus, a pain in her perfectly sculpted ass. The principal had asked her to help new students adapt. Fine. She would help RoDick Heffley adapt to an environment and she would be his guide to the bottom of the food chain.

“Gretchen.” Regina’s tone was so sharp it could have sliced through diamond. She had finally found her lieutenant after what felt like an eternity of searching, her eyes scanning the crowds for that familiar, eager-to-please face.

Gretchen Wieners turned, her expression instantly morphing into one of attentive concern. “Regina! What’s wrong? You look… intense.”

“I need your help,” Regina stated, not a request but a command. “We will have to teach someone how things work around here.”

A flicker of excitement crossed Gretchen’s features. “You’re talking about the new girl? The one from Africa?”

Regina’s brow furrowed in genuine, irritated confusion. “What new girl?”

“You know, the one who just transferred. Cady Heron?”

“No,” Regina dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand, the one not clutching the incendiary note. “I don’t care about some girl from Africa. I’m talking about the other new transfer. The loser boy.”

Understanding dawned on Gretchen’s face. “Oh! Janis’s new friend, right? The one with the… aesthetic.”

“Exactly,” Regina hissed, the word dripping with venom. “It seems like he doesn't know the rules of the jungle. And as the kind, benevolent girl that I am,” she continued, her voice now dripping with a faux sympathy that was more terrifying than her anger, “I’m going to teach him. Personally. Isn’t that just so great of me?” She was more calm now, the initial blind rage crystallizing into a cold, hard plan. This loser boy was a problem, but he was a problem she could solve. He was nothing she couldn't handle.

“Absolutely,” Gretchen breathed, her eyes widening with faux admiration. “You’re so kind, Regina. It truly touches my heart.” They were such a good duo. Sometimes Gretchen’s own bitchiness and need for validation could drive Regina mad, but in moments like this, she appreciated the loyalty. They spoke the same language.

“Oh, stop it, girl.” Regina allowed a thin, predatory smile. “Anyone would do it.” And they started laughing together, a sharp, harmonious sound that held no real joy, because they both knew that Regina George was everything in the world but kind.

She pulled out her phone, the note from RoDick feeling grubby in her hands. She was so glad she hadn’t burned it on the spot; now it was come in handy.

‘Council reunion at 3 PM don’t be late’ was all she sent him. Then, with Gretchen's assistance, they started plotting, their heads bent together like generals planning a siege. They fixed the small details, covered their tracks, ensured they wouldn't get caught. Her phone started buzzing, the screen lighting up with incoming messages from an unknown number. She knew it was him. But she didn’t bother to respond. Let him sweat. Let him wonder.

The rest of the classes went smoothly, a blessed, RoDick-free interlude. By the time she was heading to the cafeteria for lunch with the girls, her world felt like it was slowly tilting back onto its proper axis. She had been afraid of bumping into him, of his chaotic energy intruding upon her sanctuary, but to her immense luck, he was nowhere to be seen. It felt like the universe had corrected its course, her perfect and polished world once again secure from his disruptive presence.

They sat in their usual spot, the throne room of the cafeteria, right in the center. Regina loved this place. From here, she could see everything, every flirtation, every argument, every social misstep. It was a panoramic view of her kingdom, and of course, it had the best lighting in the room, making her skin glow and her hair shine. The gossip flew from their mouths like arrows.

“So, about the new girl,” Karen chirped, playing with her food. “Are we going to do anything about her?”

Regina, for the first time all day, allowed her mind to drift from the RoDick situation. She was actually impressed by how much mental real estate he had occupied in such a short time. The boy had just arrived and he was already her enemy number one. Maybe she should give him a little credit for his efficiency in getting under her skin. But now, with a plan in place, she was calm. Prepared. She concluded that he had disturbed her so much because he was an unexpected variable, a surprise attack she hadn't been prepared for. But that was in the past. Now, with her mind at ease, she could afford to give this new girl some attention.

“I don’t know, Karen. Has she made any moves?” Regina asked, her voice laced with bored curiosity.

“Not yet,” Gretchen supplied, leaning in. “She’s like a baby animal learning how to walk for the first time. It’s kind of pathetic. I heard she was homeschooled.”

“Really?” Karen’s face scrunched up in genuine, dumbfounded confusion. “So… she knows how to read?”

Regina stared at her, wondering not for the first time how Karen managed to tie her own shoes in the morning. With her level of knowledge, she was supposed to be in, like, fifth grade. “Homeschooled doesn’t mean she lived in a cave, Karen. It just means she studied at home. Probably with, like, missionary parents or something.”

“Oooooh,” Karen said, the explanation dawning slowly.

“Well, what are we going to do about her, Regina?” Gretchen pressed, always eager for direction.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Regina said, her eyes scanning the cafeteria until they landed on the new girl. She was sitting alone, looking lost, clutching her lunch tray like a lifeline. She had no sense of style, her clothes were a tragedy of neutral colors and sensible cuts, but she wasn’t ugly either. There was raw material there. She just needed help. A lot of it. This girl was a blank canvas, and Regina felt a thrill at the idea of painting whatever she wanted on her. She could mold this stupid, feral homeschooled girl into someone presentable, someone who would be hungry for her attention, a new, loyal pawn in the game. It would mean work, but the idea of the power, of the control, was irresistible.

“And how about Aaron?” Karen asked, shifting topics with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

Regina’s focus snapped back to the table. “What about him?”

“You’re really over with him?”

“I think so,” Regina sighed, a performance of wistfulness. “He's boring. Too nice for me. I mean, I gotta give him credit, he’s handsome.”

“He sure is,” Karen agreed a little too quickly.

Gretchen and Regina snapped their heads in Karen’s direction so fast the air cracked. Karen physically startled under their twin gazes.

“Wait, not like that!” Karen backtracked, her eyes wide with panic. “It’s just… you’re the perfect couple. The queen and king. That’s all!”

“Gotta agree with Karen on this one,” Gretchen said, turning back to Regina. “No boy in this school can compare with him. He has the looks, he’s not too dumb, and he’s the quarterback. You both are, like, the it couple. It’s what everyone expects.”

“I know I should be with him,” Regina played with her salad, heaving a sigh that was a masterpiece of contrived conflict. “But I don’t want to. I don’t feel anything with him. He's more like a friend than a boyfriend.” She made a gesture for the girls to come closer, their heads forming a conspiratorial huddle. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t even get wet around him.”

“Girl!” Gretchen gasped, and Karen let out a shocked giggle. All three of them burst into loud, unrestrained laughter, but Regina’s stopped abruptly as she saw the new girl, approaching their table, looking like a lamb wandering into a lion’s den. She was seeking salvation, a place to belong. And Regina, in that moment, decided she would become her Jesus Christ.

“Wait, sit down,” Regina commanded to the new girl, who was just trying to pass by, looked utterly confused, her eyes wide. “Seriously. Sit down.” The new girl hurried to obey, sliding into the empty seat with a nervous tremor. See? That was how people were supposed to react to her. Even someone who had never set foot in a real school could instinctively recognize the hierarchy, the unspoken law of the land. So why was that loser with his smashed jelly brain incapable of grasping it? Maybe it was because Cady had kinda lived in a literal jungle that she could recognize the pattern, that Regina was the apex predator, the queen of this concrete jungle. The thought was so satisfying Regina had to bite her lip to contain a smirk.

With a few more caring words, some strategically sweet laughs, and a performance of acceptance that deserved an Oscar, Regina secured a new pawn. She saw the desperate gratitude in Cady’s eyes, the hunger for approval. This girl would be easy to control. And this knowledge, this reaffirmation of her power, made Regina smile a genuine, unforced smile. Knowing that she was still in control, that people were still so easily swayed by her charm, was a balm to the irritation RoDick had caused. He was just a freak among freaks. A system failure was inevitable, just look at Janis. But it was refreshing, calming, to see everything else working exactly as it should.

The rest of the school day passed with a smooth, predictable rhythm that soothed Regina’s frayed nerves. Each class was a masterclass in her own social dominance, a reaffirmation that the world, her world, was still spinning on its proper axis. The incident with the note felt more and more like a bizarre, unpleasant dream. The time for the fabricated council reunion approached, the hours slipping by like sand through her fingers. A slow, simmering anticipation began to replace her earlier rage. 

Her destination was the old storage room, where the school kept decades of forgotten dance decorations, broken props, and other assorted junk, was a legendarily horrific mess. It was brutally disorganized, a chaotic jumble of boxes, tangled wires, and dust so thick you could taste it. In a certain, very real way, it kinda looked like RoDick: messy, dirty, and fundamentally disorganized. It would be the perfect place for him. Honestly, cleaning this storage room was a task that had been on the school's to-do list for what felt like decades, but no one possessed the will or the stupidity to actually attempt it. And Regina George was certainly not going to do it. She would never, ever do the dirty work. The really dirty work, like scrubbing bathrooms or, in this case, excavating this biohazard. But having a slave, a personal scullery maid to handle such distasteful chores? The idea was suddenly, immensely appealing. After her new indentured servant finished cleaning and organizing the cavernous space, it would actually make her job of planning the Halloween party easier. They already had the broad strokes, the DJ was booked, the food and drinks were ordered, but the decorations were still a vague concept. They needed to know what usable junk was buried in there first. Having this done for her was a strategic advantage. She could already feel the sweet taste of a mission accomplished on her tongue.

She stood outside the designated classroom for a full fifteen minutes, her arms crossed, one foot tapping impatiently. She should have guessed. Of course RoDick wouldn’t be on time. Punctuality was probably a foreign concept to him, like personal hygiene and respecting social hierarchies. Really, this boy had a preternatural talent for finding new and innovative ways to ruin her mood. When he finally sauntered into view. She was too pissed from waiting to do a full inventory; the only details that she registered about him were the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and the slightly uneven rhythm of his breath.

Had he run to get here? The thought was pathetic. If so, he should have run faster.

She scrunched her perfect nose in open disgust as he walked closer, bracing herself for the expected wave of body odor. But, surprisingly, it didn’t come. He still carried that same confusing mix of male cologne and cigarettes, a scent she found repulsive yet strangely distinctive. She made sure her face showed nothing but pure, unadulterated contempt.

“You’re late,” she announced, her voice as cold and sharp as fractured ice. Her heels clicked a definitive judgment on the floor with each syllable. Regina George hated waiting. It was an insult to her time, which was infinitely more valuable than his.

“I’m sorry. I came as fast as I could,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. A smirk played on his lips.

“I can see that.” Her eyes raked over him from head to toe. “You’re gross.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting, so I had to run.” And you’re still managing to fail at that because I spent the last 15 minutes like an idiot waiting for you, she thought savagely. But she would never say it out loud. She would never give RoDick the satisfaction of knowing she had waited for him, even if it was only to enact his punishment.

“I didn’t. I just got here,” she lied smoothly, turning on her heel and starting to walk without a backward glance. She could feel his presence fall into step beside her, an annoying shadow.

“So now you’re lying to spare my feelings?” RoDick’s voice was a mockery of emotion. “That’s so sweet of you, Ms. President. I’m touched.”

“What?” Regina’s head whipped around so fast her meticulously crafted bun, a style that had taken her twenty-five minutes to perfect, wobbled precariously. Almost.

“Calm down, Ms. President. It’s okay to have feelings for me. Everybody does.” He had the audacity to try a seductive smile, a lopsided, infuriating gesture that to Regina was the ugliest, most presumptuous thing she had ever witnessed. “It’s not your fault no one can resist me. Not even you.” Regina couldn’t believe the words leaving his mouth. This loser wasn't just confident; he was clinically insane, and he was trying to drag her into his delusion.

“Listen here, Loser.” She injected the word with enough venom to kill a small horse. “Stop. Whatever this is, whatever you are trying to do, just stop. Okay?” She paused, taking a sharp, steadying breath, her chest tight. “I don’t know what bizarre fantasy is playing out inside your head right now, but I’m going to spell things out for you so your little vomit-soaked brain can maybe, possibly, comprehend. I am only talking to you right now because the principal ordered me to. I do not like you. In fact, I think I might be actively starting to hate you. You are just a loser. So why can’t you just understand that fundamental, biological fact and leave me the hell alone?”

“Ouch.” He had the gall to pretend to be wounded, placing a hand over his heart. “That was really harsh, Ms. President. So, you were talking to me in math class because the principal ordered you to, too? You need to loosen up a little. Can you?”

“I don’t want to loosen up! I want you to disappear! It hasn’t even been a week since you got here, and you are already the most annoying person I have ever met in my entire life.”

“Thanks for the compliment. Actually, I hear that a lot. You should try to be more creative in the next one, okay?” Regina was struck dumb, her mouth slightly agape. How dare he. The words echoed in her mind, a silent scream. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, a tell-tale sign of her anger, but she was powerless to stop it. How could this nobody, this waste of space, have such a profound effect on her in such a short amount of time?

“URGH!!! I hate you!” It was a juvenile, primal scream of frustration.

“You know what they say, right?” he mused, his tone infuriatingly casual. “Love and hate are different sides of the same coin.”

“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Stopping isn’t fun.”

“So this is all about fun? You’re deliberately driving me insane… for fun?”

“It’s not just about fun,” he conceded, “but it’s definitely half of the reason.”

“So what’s the other half?” she demanded, against her better judgment.

He grinned, a flash of white in the dim hallway. “I don’t know yet.”

“Let me teach you something, loser: when you have nothing good to say, you should just stay quiet.”

“But if I did that,” he said, spreading his hands wide, “I’d have to be quiet forever.”

“Glad you at least have the self-awareness to know that.”

“So—” he began, but she cut him off, her patience evaporating.

“Could you please shut the fuck up?”

“Only if you say please.”

“What?”

“Say please, and I will keep my mouth shut until we get to the storage room.”

“All day,” she bargained, desperate for a moment of silence.

“Deal.”

She took a sharp breath, her eyes blazing. “You brainless, shit-eating, loser, cocksucker prick, can you shut the fuck up?” Then, in a breathtakingly swift transition, she took a deep breath and her entire face transformed. Her eyes widened, her lips softened into a pout, and she looked at him with the most innocent, doe-eyed expression she possessed, her voice dripping with honeyed sweetness. “Please?”

For a second, there was silence. Then, RoDick burst out laughing. It wasn't a chuckle; it was a full-bodied, helpless roar of laughter that echoed through the empty corridor. His whole frame shook, he doubled over slightly, and she saw the genuine gleam of tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” he wheezed, struggling to catch his breath. “You are really one of a kind. I’ll give you that.”

“Will you shut up now?” Regina demanded, her anger still present but now flickering with something else, something dangerously close to amusement at her own performance.

“I will, I will. I’m a man of my word.” Regina threw her hands up in a sarcastic gesture of thanks to the heavens. The rest of the walk was conducted in a silence so profound and welcome it felt like a religious experience. With each step, her white-hot anger dissipated, leaving behind a cooler, more focused determination.

When they reached the storage room door, Regina couldn’t contain her satisfaction. She made no effort to hide the triumphant smirk that spread across her face as she pushed the heavy door open. The look on RoDick’s face was absolutely priceless, a perfect canvas of horror and disbelief as he took in the monumental task before him.

She had been right. The place was a perfect match for his vibe. It was a cavernous, neglected space, smelling powerfully of damp dust, ancient paper, and underlying mold. The few functioning lights cast long, deep shadows, leaving corners in total darkness. Dust motes danced in the slivers of weak light like glitter in a tomb. The metal shelves were mostly bare, because their contents were spewed across the concrete floor in a chaotic avalanche of boxes, rolled-up posters, tangled fairy lights, and unrecognizable plastic shapes.

“So, loser,” Regina began, her voice sweet with false sympathy. She held up a thick clipboard. “Here in my hand is the complete inventory for this storage room. You have to confirm that every single item on this list is actually in here.” She gestured to the stack of papers, at least forty pages thick, listing hundreds upon hundreds of items. “It’s all supposed to be in here,” she said, waving a hand at the catastrophic mess. The satisfaction on her face was a living thing. Maybe she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Maybe the sheer scale of the disaster would make him quit on the spot, saving her the trouble of dealing with him further. “After you confirm that everything is here, and I mean everything, you need to organize it all into these empty boxes,” she kicked a stack of collapsed cardboard boxes, “and, of course, clean this entire place. From top to bottom.”

“You’re shitting me, right?" His face was a masterpiece of incredulity. He looked from the clipboard to the room and back again, as if his brain couldn’t reconcile the two.

“No, I’m not.” She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe, the picture of serious authority.

“I thought this was for the Halloween party! I thought I’d be, like, hanging lights, buying stuff, helping choose a playlist… not this.” He gestured wildly at the wasteland. “This is… archeology.”

“If you don’t wanna do it,” she said, her grin widening, “feel free to give up. I knew you were a pussy.” The word hung in the dusty air. It was a low blow, deliberately aimed. For a boy who projected so much arrogant confidence, questioning his masculinity was the quickest way to get a reaction. She knew he would bite. They always did.

She watched the emotions play across his face like a storm: first, the stunned disbelief, then the hot flash of indignation at being called a pussy, and finally, it settled into a strange, challenging glint in his eyes, something that looked suspiciously like fun. Then, he started walking toward her. He had taken a few steps into the storage room to survey the damage, but now he was closing the distance between them with those same careless, confident strides that made it seem like he owned the very ground he walked on. It infuriated her, because only one person here owned anything, and it was her.

He got so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and the stale, moldy air of the room was suddenly replaced by his scent; cologne, cigarettes, and something uniquely, infuriatingly him.

“I’m doing this,” he said, his voice low. His hand came up, not to touch her face, but to gently curl a stray strand of her blonde hair around his finger, his knuckle barely grazing her temple. A jolt, like static electricity, shot down her spine. “Not because you called me a pussy,” he continued, his eyes locked on hers. “But because I said I would help. And I am a man of my word.”

Regina’s breath hitched in her throat. It was the same terrifying, involuntary reaction she’d had in math class. She hated it; hated the way her lungs seemed to forget how to function, hated the way her gaze dropped for a split second to his mouth. It was just a moment of weakness, a biological glitch, but his smile widened impossibly, telling her he’d caught it. She felt utterly unmoored, a ship lost in a storm she hadn’t seen coming. A dangerous, insane thought, crossed her mind and was gone in a flash, but it was enough to horrify her. Her lips parted slightly.

And Rodrick’s gaze? It didn’t flicker. It dropped and stayed on her lips, intense and focused. She had the sudden, overwhelming urge to wet them, and her traitorous body obeyed before she could stop it.

It was the sound of a locker slamming shut somewhere down the hall that shattered the spell.

“Get away from me, you loser!” she shouted, her voice too loud, echoing in the large room. She shoved him back, hard, her palms flat against his chest. He stumbled back four full steps, and as the space between them reopened, she could think again. She could breathe. What the fuck was that? Some kind of hypnosis?

RoDick looked momentarily stunned, then that colossal, arrogant smile spread across his face again. He looked like the cat that got the canary, the cream, and the whole damn dairy farm. He didn’t need to say a word; the entire situation was a provocation in itself. Before he could even open his mouth, Regina preemptively screamed.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Her glare was pure murder. If looks could kill, he would be a smoldering pile of ash.

“I didn’t say anything,” he pointed out, raising his hand up in a clear sign of surrender, he was infuriatingly calm.

“And you better keep it that way, or I’m gonna rip your tongue out of your mouth.”

“Relax, Ms. President. I’m not gonna tell anyone.” He took a step forward, his hands up in a placating gesture that felt anything but.

“Yeah, you better keep your mouth shut. Because nothing happened. Do you understand me? Nothing.” She was spiraling, her voice rising in pitch. What had just happened? She was not about to kiss the loser. She wasn't. This had to be a hallucination, a side effect of stress and maybe that questionable chicken salad at lunch. That was the only logical explanation. Because there was no fucking way in hell that RoDick Heffley was about to kiss her, and no fucking way she was about to let him.

“Stop laughing!” she shrieked as a chuckle escaped him. He had the audacity to laugh harder, and she saw a future flash before her eyes; one wearing orange jailhouse scrubs for the murder she was about to commit.

“I’m serious!” he managed between laughs. “This is gonna be our little secret.”

“It’s not gonna be our anything! There is no secret! Nothing, absolutely nothing happened here!”

“Okay, okay! Nothing happened. So just relax a little, okay?” he said, his laughter subsiding into a warm, amused smile as he slowly started approaching her again.

“Don’t come near me,” she warned, taking a step back.

“I don’t bite, princess. Unless you ask me to.”

“If you come near me, I’ll scream.”

“There’s no one here to hear you.” He took another cautious step. “But just calm down, okay? I’m not gonna do anything. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. You look like you’re about five seconds away from a full-blown panic attack.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that, you little prick? I can’t even stand to look at you right now.”

“Okay. Fine.” He stopped, his expression shifting to something that almost looked like concern. It had to be a trick. “I’m going to get you some water. You sit here and take some deep breaths. I’ll be right back.”

The idea of accepting anything from him was repulsive, but the thought of him leaving, of putting distance between them, was too appealing to refuse. She spotted a sealed, sturdy-looking box and sat on it, her mind reeling. She must have spent too much time with Karen; the stupidity was clearly contagious and had caused a temporary system failure in her brain. There was no other explanation. She had eaten something bad. That was it. That was why her body had frozen, why she hadn’t kneed him in the groin the second he got close. Satisfied with this logical, irrefutable conclusion, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow.

When he returned with a paper cup of water, that stupid, knowing smile was still plastered on his face. She wanted to claw it off.

“Start working, loser. You know what you have to do. Or do I need to explain it again so your sponge-brain can absorb it?” RoDick let out a soft laugh.

“You’re really getting creative with the nicknames. It’s good to see you expanding your vocabulary.”

“Shut up and start working.”

“Yes, ma’am. I already told you, I’m a man of my word.” He winked. “You did look really cute saying please, though.”

“Why the hell do I keep hearing your voice?” she snapped.

Before he could retort, she brought her index finger to her lips in the universal sign for silence and let out a sharp “Shhh!” He responded with a quiet chuckle and finally, blessedly, got to work in silence.

Regina had never appreciated silence more. She used the time to observe him, her gaze analytical and cautious. She was not checking him out. The very idea was disgusting. She was merely assessing the enemy, studying his movements. He worked with a grudging confidence, as if even this menial task was beneath him but he’d deign to do it anyway. The thought that he felt at home in the dirt almost made her laugh. His hair was a mess, even more rebellious than usual. The faint remnants of yesterday’s eyeliner were smudged around his eyes. She imagined him putting it on for some dank, underground party and being too lazy to wash it off. His black tank top had the word “Spite” scrawled across it in a gothic font, probably some terrible band. His hands were… large. And he wore rings on almost all his fingers, one a thick black band on his middle finger, the others silvery and intricate. He had a collection of leather bracelets on his right wrist. Thank God they weren’t the spiked kind; those were so aggressively ugly she would have been forced to comment. His jeans were the same ripped, worn-out black denim. She hated the whole emo-reject aesthetic, but she had to privately admit, it suited his chaotic energy. She tried to picture him in khakis and a polo, with combed hair and a clean face, and her mind simply rejected the image. It was impossible.

Her eyes followed him as he strained to reach a high shelf, his shirt riding up to reveal a defined V-line cutting down toward his waistband. There were veins tracing a path down his lower abdomen, following the faint, dark trail of hair that disappeared into the low-rise of his jeans. Why did he have to wear them so low? But her eyes, traitors that they were, stayed fixed. They wandered down, down, down, past the V-line, and she saw the clear outline of… everything. And what she would never, ever admit, not even under torture, was that she liked what she saw. She liked the definition of his torso, which wasn't bulky like a jock’s but was undeniably there. She liked the V-line. And she suddenly, shockingly, understood the ridiculous hype about veins. His forearms were corded with them, his hands strong and capable. What is wrong with me? she screamed internally. Why am I noticing these things about this loser? And then she remembered: the rotten chicken salad. It was the only possible explanation. She made a mental note to never eat cafeteria food again.

Her eyes flicked up and met his. He was staring right at her, the biggest, most insufferable smirk back on his face. His look clearly said, Enjoying the view? Regina felt a hot flush of shame spread across her cheeks, this time completely unrelated to anger.

“What are you looking at, you freak?” she snapped, trying to reclaim her composure by arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“I think I should be the one asking you that,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “Enjoying the show, Ms. President?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But since you think you’re so funny, good luck cleaning all this by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna keep me company?” he asked, pouting in a way that was so hideous it was almost impressive.

“You wish.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I’m not a genie. So good luck being in here alone.”

“Regina!” he called out as she turned to leave.

“Oh, and finish this today.”

“What? Finishing today is impossible!”

“You’re always going on about how persistent you are. And now you can’t handle a little cleaning? Shame on you, RoDick Heffley.”

“If you keep me company, I’ll do it,” he bargained, putting on his best lost-puppy face. It was so genuinely awful that a small, unexpected chuckle escaped her. The sound seemed to surprise them both, and his face lit up with a triumph that made her instantly regret it.

“No,” she said, her voice cold again. His face fell. “I’m checking this room tomorrow. If it’s not perfect, I’m telling the principal you refused to do your duties.” She turned on her heel, the movement final. Without looking back, she delivered her parting shot: “Goodbye, loser.”

And she walked away, the odd feeling in her chest not quite satisfaction, not quite anger, but something new, confusing, and entirely too warm.

Notes: Didn't like the small talk part but it was the better I could do, sorry in advanced. even though hope you can enjoy.🖤💖

Chapter 5

It was Rodrick’s first time in Math class, though it was already the third lesson of the week. He’d skipped the first two without guilt, because, honestly, he hated Math. But he knew that if he wanted to keep his act and be part of the student council, sacrifices would have to be made. He wasn’t planning to clean up his act entirely, but he could pretend to, just enough to keep the role that tied him to Regina George.

He didn’t know why he cared so much. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was because every time he closed his eyes, he saw that infuriating look she’d given him in the hallway; disgusted, yet slightly uncertain, like she couldn’t decide whether to slap him or stare longer.

Rodrick pushed open the classroom door. The lights flickered slightly, the air conditioner hummed, and the room smelled faintly of pencil shavings and cheap perfume. He didn’t expect to see her, not here, not now. but the moment his eyes scanned the rows of desks, he froze.

There she was.

Her hair was tied up in one of those buns that looked too perfect to be accidental, the kind that screamed I woke up like this but spent forty minutes making sure it looks effortless a few strands catching the light like golden threads. The sunlight framed her face in gold, catching on the gloss of her lips, on her lashes, on the smooth line of her neck.The entire scene was bathed in that golden morning hue, and Rodrick was fighting his laugh. Of course she’d sit in the seat with the best light. Of course she’d make herself the centerpiece of the room without even trying, but he suspects she did try. She probably chose the seat on purpose, and that made him laugh internally

She wasn’t even looking his way. Her gaze was turned toward the window, lost somewhere outside, and that made him want to stare even harder. There was something intoxicating about watching her when she wasn’t aware of it. He could study her this way, like an experiment. She was still as breathtaking as the first day he saw her in the hallway, more, actually. Because now he knew there was something sharp under the gloss, something that could cut.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was dangerous. And Rodrick liked danger.

He took a quiet step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of her desk. There was an empty seat directly ahead, and his grin widened.

“Hi, Ms. President.” The moment he came close to her all of his senses were flooded with the scent of vanilla and strawberry, the smell of pencil shavings and cheap perfume disappearing into the air.

Her head snapped toward him, and he caught the faint twitch in her expression, the exact moment recognition flared into irritation.

“Rodrick.” Her voice was soft and polite, her smile a perfect imitation of warmtm. But he saw right through it. He always did. That was what made it fun.

He could almost see the gears behind her eyes, the calculation, the effort it took to keep her expression calm. He couldn’t wait to push her far enough to see what it looked like when she stopped pretending.

Rodrick dropped into the seat in front of her, resting his elbows casually on the desk and turning half around to face her. “So, Ms. President, when do we start working? I’m dying to prove my worth.”

“First of all,” she said, perfectly calm, her fake smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened.“stop calling me Ms. President. I have a name. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t address me at all. Second, we aren’t going to do anything. I am.”

Her words came out clipped, the same way she probably cut people out of her way, efficiently.

“Well, Regina,” he said, stretching her name like a secret, “the principal already decided, and I’m sure the golden girl of North Shore wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her voice thinned like ice. “Why are you doing this?”

He leaned back in his chair, still half turned toward her. “We already had this conversation. I told you it looks fun. I’m not as bad as you think. I’m a nice guy. You just have to give me a chance.”

She blinked at him once, slow and unimpressed. “If you were a nice guy, you wouldn’t be here bothering me. Actually, if you were really a nice guy, you wouldn’t be here at all – Because you wouldn’t have gotten expelled.”

Rodrick clutched his chest in mock pain. “Ouch. That’s cold. It wasn’t that deep, I just had… how can I say it? A small conflict of ideas with my last school.”

“Yeah?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “And what about the other schools? Also conflicts of ideas?” she asked, her voice dipping with venom.

“Exactly. See? You understand me. I knew you would get it.”

Her jaw clenched, and he swore he saw her take a deep breath through her nose. He turned toward the board before she could speak again, pretending to listen to the teacher who had just arrived. He could feel her glare burning into the back of his head. Rodrick knew she wasn’t used to people talking back. The thought made him want to laugh out loud. He was biting his tongue to keep from laughing. Something told him Regina George wasn’t used to being interrupted, or losing an argument. But that was fine. There was a first time for everything. 

When the teacher told them to open their textbooks, Rodrick stared at his empty desk. He hadn’t even bothered to buy one. But that was fine, being the new kid had its perks. “Professor,” he said, raising a lazy hand, “I don’t have a book yet. Would you mind if I sat in pairs?”

The teacher waved dismissively. “Feel free to sit wherever you want.” Rodrick grinned. He didn’t have to look around the room. He already knew exactly who he was going to pick.

Regina’s eyes widened when she realized what he was about to do. Her lips formed the words don’t you dare silently, but Rodrick was already dragging his desk across the floor with a screech that made half the class look up. He dropped it right beside hers, leaning back with an unbothered smirk.

“I’m gonna kill you,” she hissed, low enough that only he could hear.

“You won’t,” he said easily, tilting his head toward her. “You’re gonna start to like me. You’ll see.”

“Only in your dreams, loser.”

He grinned wider. “In my dreams, and soon in reality. No one can resist my charm. Not even you, President Pink.”

“Stop calling me that.” She hissed “I’ll die before I start to like you.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna be a cute zombie, then. Have you seen warm bodies?”

“What?”

“Warm bodies. The movie where a zombie and a girl fall in love.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t watch such a stupid movie.”

“You’re gonna watch it someday, and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”

“I’m never gonna watch it.”

“You know what people say right? Never say never. You totally will, and with me.”

“You’re delusional, you know that, right?”

“Some people say that love makes people blind, It must be it.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re in love with me?”

“How did you come to that conclusion? I can have a girlfriend you know?”

“Oh I forgot that there are some people with horrible taste around the world.”

“Have you dated?”

“Yes, of course. Do you think I'm a loser like you?”

“No. It’s just that if even you dated someone it means that there are really people with peculiar tastes.”

Her lips parted; half disbelief, half outrage. “You’re… You’re— UGH! I can’t even find a word to describe you.” Her voice rose just enough to draw the teacher's attention.

“You two! Stop chatting. If you want to talk, go outside.”

“Sorry, sir,” Rodrick said quickly, flashing an innocent grin that made a few students chuckle. “She was just teaching me. We’ll be quiet.”

The class snickered. Regina’s face went scarlet with rage. Her nails dug into the edge of the desk. If looks could kill, Rodrick would’ve dropped dead right there. She never got called out. Never. He’d ruined her spotless classroom record, and the realization made Rodrick bite his lip to keep from laughing.

For a few minutes, they both fell silent. The class droned on; equations, symbols, meaningless chatter. But the only thing Rodrick was paying attention to was the way her jaw clenched. The way she tapped her pen just slightly faster than before. He could almost hear her anger bubbling under that perfect skin. And then, something small and pink slid across his desk. A folded note.

Rodrick blinked. A pink note. From Regina George, had he died and went to heaven?

The message was so cute that his grin spread like wildfire, maybe she was falling in love with him, he couldn’t blame her after all, Rodrick's charm was indisputable. The handwriting was beautiful, neat and sharp. His heart skipped a beat.

I’m gonna cut your balls off if you don’t back off. If that’s not a love note, Rodrick would never know what it was.. She was serious, and it only made her more adorable. God, she was amazing.

He scribbled back:

If it’s you doing it, I’d let you.

Seconds later another note landed on his desk.

So you’re not just crazy, but also a masochist?

Maybe I am. That must be why I’m into you.

She didn’t laugh, but he caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth, a split-second battle between annoyance and amusement. Her pen scratched an answer furiously.

You’re so cliché it’s getting boring.

How dare you. I’m everything but boring.

He pressed a hand to his chest and faked a pained expression until she rolled her eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck that way.

You’re not as original as you think you are.

I could prove you wrong if you gave me a chance.

You wish, loser. I don’t do charity.

Glad I’m not asking for that. I’m asking for a chance to show you real fun.

I know real fun. Don’t need anyone to show me. Especially you.

You know nothing. You’re like a princess trapped in a tower, waiting to be saved.

Got news for you. You’re not the prince who saved the girl.

I never said I was. I’m more like the villain.

That’s definitely more like you. I can’t wait for the princess’ happy ending without the villain in it.

Are you wishing I wasn’t in your life?

Yes. Praying over it every night.

Hope God doesn’t listen to you then. I don’t plan on going away.

You can always change your mind.

I’m not gonna change. I’m sure of it.

You’re so persistent.

One of my great qualities.

One of your biggest flaws, and you have a lot of them.

Flaws? You must be confusing me with someone else. Rodrick Heffley is perfect.

For the first time, he saw it, the twitch of her lips, like she was fighting a smile. It was barely there, but enough to make his chest tighten, it hit him harder than expected. He’d never seen her real smile before, but he knew that once he saw it I would get stuck in his mind forever, it would become his new obsession, not the fake, polished ones she gave the world, the real one. all Rodrick could think was that he wanted to be the reason she smiled, he wanted to see it again. To earn it. He felt like an addict about to discover his new favorite drug.

You should stop daydreaming and wake up to real life.

No thanks. If the world you live in is real life, I don’t ever wanna go there. But you can always come to mine.

Would rather die.

Can’t wait to see you change your mind.

Never happening, loser.

By now, half her sticky note pad was gone. The teacher droned on about formulas, but all Rodrick could hear was the sound of paper crinkling between their fingers, the brief rustle as each note changed hands. Their eyes met now and then, hers sharp, his amused. A silent war waged in glances and smirks.

When the bell rang, the spell broke. Everyone began to pack their things, chairs screeching against the floor. But Rodrick wasn’t listening. He was too busy writing one last note.

He waited until the class ended, until everyone was gathering their stuff. Then he turned, leaned close, and handed it to her. She took it like it was radioactive, fingertips barely touching the paper. She eyed it suspiciously, pinching the corner like it might bite.

He stood, leaned down close, close enough that she could feel his hot breath against her skin and murmured. “See you later, princess.” His lips nearly grazed her ear, and her whole body went still. He could see it, in the way her eyes wide, lips parted in, the way her pupils were blown, the faint blush crawling up her neck, the conflict flashing across her face before she schooled it back into composure.

But he’d seen it. The crack in the armor. The proof that she wasn’t untouchable after all.

He left before she could say anything, grinning to himself as he walked down the hall. He could still hear her voice echoing behind him,frustrated, furious, flustered.

Regina’s voice rang out behind him, sharp and furious. “Rodrick, you… URGH!”

Her heels slammed against the floor like gunshots, the sound of her rage bouncing off the walls. He imagined her standing there red-faced, fuming, trying to figure out how he’d managed to get under her skin. He laughed out loud this time, not bothering to hide it.

By the time he reached the end of the hallway, he was humming. 

He imagined how long it would take for her to send him a message. He wrote in the note his phone number, and a little message scrawled beneath it in his messy handwriting:

If you ever need saving from the villain

chapter 4

Regina never gets called to the principal’s office. Never.

That’s the kind of thing that happens to other people, the disorganized, the reckless, the weak. Not her. Not Regina George, the girl whose name alone could silence a hallway. And yet here she was, walking down the corridor toward the principal’s office, each step echoing sharply against the sterile linoleum. Her heels clicked like a metronome keeping time with her irritation.

Really, this day was only getting worse.

First, that loser in the cafeteria had the audacity to smirk challenging her, like someone just told a joke that only he understands. Who does he think he is? The memory of his crooked half-smile burned in her mind like a stain she couldn’t scrub off. There had been something dangerous in his eyes, something that made her uneasy, he was like a leak that needed to be contained. The boy was unpredictable, and Regina hated nothing more than that.

Her fingers brushed over the metal handle of the office door before she knocked; soft, controlled, polite, because of course Regina George didn’t barge into rooms. She was invited into them.

“Come in,” the principal’s deep voice answered.

She stepped inside, her smile already in place. Every movement calculated: chin slightly lifted, shoulders back, voice just the right balance between confident and sweet.

“Ms. George,” the principal said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk, “how are things going with preparations for the Halloween party?”

“It’s been a lot of work,” Regina replied smoothly, sitting down with perfect posture. “But things are going smoothly. Everyone is doing their best.”

He smiled, clearly pleased, and Regina mirrored it, because people liked seeing their own expressions reflected back at them. That was one of her tricks.

“That’s great. Actually,” he said, folding his hands on the desk, “I called you here because I got you someone to help with the preparations. Think of him as an intern; someone to fetch coffee, run errands, handle the less glamorous tasks.”

He winked.

Regina’s smile didn’t falter, but internally she gagged. The sight of his yellowing teeth behind that unprofessional grin was enough to make her stomach twist, she wanted nothing more than to bleach her brain. Still, she tilted her head and gave a charming little laugh, the kind that made people believe she was amused instead of disgusted. But the extra help would be useful. She was doing practically everything by herself.

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you,” she said lightly. “It’s going to help a lot. Thank you.”

“Perfect.” The principal’s tone softened. “The helper is a new transfer from Westmore. He has a… complicated history, but I’m sure he’ll come in handy. His name is Rodrick Heffley.”

The name hit her like a slap.

Rodrick.

Her mind immediately conjured the image of the cafeteria, that same boy, that same smug smirk. 

She felt a vein pulse at her temple. The chance of two new students arriving at the same time was microscopic. Of course it had to be him.

“So… he’ll be helping me?” she asked slowly, her voice sweet as syrup but laced with steel underneath.

“Yes,” the principal confirmed. “It’s because we trust you, Ms. George. You’ll be capable of handling the situation and helping Rodrick adapt to the new environment.”

“If that’s what you want,” she replied with a dazzling smile, “I’ll be glad to help.”

Inside, she was furious.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

She was supposed to be a babysitter now? Babysitting a rebel dropout? No, no, no. The only thing she wanted less than working with him was working with him closely. The universe had clearly chosen today to test her patience.

But if there was one thing Regina George didn’t do, it was lose control.

She’d play along. For now. But she’d make sure that Rodrick Heffley learned exactly who he was dealing with. 

She rose from her seat, offered another polite smile, and left the office. But her mind was already spinning like a storm; who was he really? How had he convinced the principal to let him be part of her project? Everyone had a hard time becoming part of the student council, not her of course, but everyone else. So how was this loser who just arrived was already part of it?

Maybe he was rich. That would explain the audacity. But… those clothes didn’t scream money. Who the hell was this boy?

She needed to talk to him.

Now.

“Hi, Ms. Graham. How are you?”

Regina’s tone was bright, effortless, a perfect imitation of concern. Ms. Graham was one of those teachers who adored Regina. She thought Regina was sweet, helpful, empathetic, everything a model student should be.

“Oh, Regina, dear! I’m fine. How are you?”

“I heard your daughter was sick. Is she okay now?”

Ms. Graham’s eyes softened instantly. “Yes, she’s better, thank you for asking. It was just the flu.”

“That’s great.” Regina tilted her head, frowning just enough to look sympathetic. “Once my mother also got the flu and I had to take care of her. I couldn’t sleep because I was so worried. I’m really glad your daughter is okay.”

Ms. Graham’s heart melted on cue.

“You’re such a thoughtful young lady,” she said warmly.

Regina lowered her gaze, lashes fluttering, letting her lips tremble just slightly, a touch of practiced fragility. “It’s just… when my mom got sick, I felt so helpless. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ms. Graham said, her hand brushing Regina’s arm. “Don’t cry. Everything’s alright now.”

Regina dabbed the corner of her eye delicately, the perfect image of a sensitive, kind-hearted girl. “I’m sorry, Ms. Graham. It’s just a sensitive topic for me.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You have such a big heart.” 

Regina expression softened, grateful. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something. There’s this new student named Rodrick… what do you know about him?”

Ms. Graham’s smile faltered. “The trouble kid? Did he already do something?”

“No, not that I’m aware. It’s just that the principal put him to help us with the Halloween party, and I wanted to know more about him.”

Ms. Graham sighed, lowering her voice. “He got expelled from his old school because he broke in at night to throw a party. That wasn’t the first time, either. He’s been kicked out of more than one school. He’s… a walking trouble, Regina. Be careful.”

Regina smiled politely. “Thank you, Ms. Graham. I’ll be careful. Do you know where I can find him? I need to talk to him about the Halloween party.”

“I think he’s in class. I can call him for you.”

“Thanks. I’d really appreciate it.”

As Ms. Graham picked up the phone, Regina thought, The one in danger here isn’t me.

Regina didn’t like him, in fact he represented everything she hated. He was messy, dirty, chaotic, while she was organized, clean and perfect. And seriously he was a loser, he would be friends with the freaks, the type of people you’re embarrassed to see with except if you’re one of them. and Rodrick is. But she hasn't decided if she was just a loser or an enemy, but she was about to.

Rodrick Heffley moved like the hallway belonged to him, hands shoved in his pockets, that same lazy half-grin tugging at his mouth. His walk was unhurried, confident in a careless way that almost made her blood boil. He had a different type of confidence; he didn't think he was better than everyone else, he just didn’t care if you thought he weren’t.

When his eyes finally met hers, the grin widened.

“Regina,” he said, voice low and smooth, with a lazy kind of amusement that made it sound like they were old friends instead of strangers.

He was taller than she expected, lean but solid, a little over 5’9”, maybe six feet. His presence filled the space between them, unbothered, too comfortable. He didn’t stink like she imagined he would. He smelled like cologne and cigarette smoke. Did he smoke? God he was a walking stereotype of everything a parent warned their daughters about.

“Rodrick,” she replied, keeping her tone soft and sweet. “I guess we weren’t formally introduced yet.”

He raised a brow like he wasn’t buying her politeness, but let her continue.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand, her tone just a little bit less soft.

He took it.

The moment their skin touched, a jolt shot through her; sharp, electric, immediate. Her breath hitched. For a second, she swore the world tilted. His skin was warm, rough against hers, and her pulse jumped like her body had betrayed her.

Rodrick’s smirk deepened, as if he felt it too and was amused by it.

She dropped his hand like it burned. “We’re going to be working together now.”

“I heard,” he said simply, still watching her with that maddening calm. “I asked the principal if I could help.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, leaning slightly closer. “It seemed fun.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s not. It’s real work. Everyone there is putting in effort, it’s not a place to play.”

“I’m not playing either, I want to help. And it sounds like you need someone to make your job less boring, I can help you with that,” he said, lips twitching.

Her jaw clenched. “No, we don’t. You’re only going to make things harder. If you want to help, tell the principal you changed your mind and won’t be helping anymore.”

He tilted his head. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you don't really want to help. I’m giving you a chance to give up before it’s too late.”

“So you’re being nice?”

“Totally. You don’t fit there, you’re gonna hate it. I’m tryna help you before it’s too late.”

“That’s too bad because I have a feeling that I’m gonna love working with you. I’m sure I won’t regret it.” His grin was pure defiance

She exhaled sharply. “So you won’t give up?”

“Not my style.”

“Just look at yourself,” she snapped, her mask slipping. “What are you going to do organizing a party?”

“Is it really a crime to want to help?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Coming from you, it is.”

“Guess I’m going to jail then.”

Her lips parted, caught between irritation and disbelief. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, grinning. “You can be the arresting officer if you want.”

She blinked, thrown off by the flirtation before catching herself. “You’re going to regret it.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

And just like that, she turned on her heel, her hair swishing dramatically as she walked away. But her heart was pounding, and she hated that it was. She hated the spark he’d ignited in her chest, and hated how alive it had felt.

Behind her, Rodrick leaned against the locker, still smiling like a cat who’d just found something interesting to play with.

The bell rang, cutting through her thoughts like a knife.

Finally.

The end of classes couldn’t come soon enough. Regina needed a hot bath, something sweet, maybe even a glass of wine if her mother didn’t notice. Today chaos disguised as order, and she needed a moment to calm herself.

Gretchen and Karen were already waiting for her by the door, as always. They could tell by the rhythm of her steps that she was angry. Years of following Regina had taught them to read the room like a survival skill.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gretchen asked carefully.

“There’s a new boy,” Regina said, her tone sharp. “A loser. The principal assigned him to help with Halloween.”

Karen blinked. “Isn’t that good? You were complaining yesterday about how much work you had to do.”

Regina stopped walking, turning slowly toward her. “You know what I was also complaining about? How everyone there is a total moron. They can’t think, they can’t execute, and now I have another one to babysit. We have enough people. What we need is competence, not charity cases.”

“Maybe we can help you with something,” Gretchen offered quickly.

“Actually, you can,” Regina said, her tone calculating again. “I need to know about Rodrick Heffley. Anything that’ll get him out of my way.”

“I think I know who he is,” Gretchen said hesitantly. “He’s Janis and Damian’s new friend.”

Of course he was.

Regina didn’t even need to think twice. She’d seen him with them in the cafeteria. The freaks, the outcasts. It made perfect sense. He fit right in with the misfits, and yet, somehow, he didn’t. That smirk didn’t belong to a background character.

All the more reason to remove him from her path.

She pressed a quick kiss to each of her friends’ cheeks. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”

As she walked away, she was already planning.

Notes: Here is the link to read on Ao3. Excited to write the next chapter my head is bubbling with ideias. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well, please leva comments and suggestions! 🖤💖

Chapter 3

“So who is she?” Rodrick asked, his voice lazy but curious, his back pressed against the cold wall of the staircase.

“She who?” Janis replied, lifting a brow.

It was almost lunchtime, and they’d decided to skip class. The hidden staircase behind the gym was their favorite place; quiet, secret, and free from nosy teachers. A perfect little corner for forbidden gossip and bad ideas.

“She,” Rodrick said, smirking like he was holding a secret. “The Queen Bee.”

Damian, sitting a few steps below with his legs crossed and his phone in hand, rolled his eyes. “He’s talking about Regina, obviously. Who else could it be? There’s only one Queen Bee in this hive.”

“Regina,” Rodrick repeated, testing the name like a new flavor on his tongue. He liked the way it sounded, smooth, powerful, expensive. A slow grin crept onto his lips. “Nice name.”

Janis groaned immediately. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?” he asked innocently, his grin widening.

“Rodrick,” she warned, voice sharp. “I know that look. Don’t.”

“Overreacting much?” he teased, leaning back. “I just saw her in the hallway. Got curious, that’s all.”

“It’s not just curiosity.” Janis folded her arms. “I saw the way you smiled. It’s that look you get when you find a new toy to break. She’s not a toy. She’s evil.”

Rodrick tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “She does look dangerous. But evil?”

“Oh, boy,” Damian sighed dramatically, locking his phone and looking up. “Nothing good ever starts with that tone, and I’ve seen enough movies to know this is going to be entertaining.”

“Rodrick, you don’t understand,” Janis continued, her voice rising slightly. “She’s a bitch.”

Rodrick smirked, unbothered. “Oh, I bet she is. You know that’s kind of my type, right?”

Janis groaned louder, dragging her hands down her face. “Exactly my point.”

Damian snorted. “Relax, Janis. He wouldn’t stand a chance with her anyway.”

That made Rodrick’s smirk deepen. Wouldn’t stand a chance? Please. He’d made teachers cry, principals retire early, and entire classrooms bow to his chaos. He didn’t believe in “can’t.” Now he was more interested than ever.

“Relax, guys,” he said with a half-smile. “It’s not that deep. I’m just curious.”

Janis gave him a look so sharp it could cut glass. “Regina is the meanest of the mean girls. She’s a total control freak, manipulative, terrifying, and two steps ahead of everyone. She’ll offer you a hand just to push you off a cliff. She’ll help you stop bleeding with a kind smile while telling the sharks to attack. That’s who she is.”

Rodrick chuckled. “You don’t think you’re exaggerating a little?”

Janis didn’t answer. She just stared at him like she could already see the disaster forming. “You’ll see for yourself,” she muttered finally.

She was worried, though she’d never admit it out loud. She knew both of them too well. Rodrick and Regina were like gasoline and fire. And once they met, there’d be no stopping the explosion.

Damian, meanwhile, was barely holding in his laughter. “Oh, this is going to be delicious,” he whispered.

When they entered the cafeteria, Janis and Damian started doing what they always did, narrating the social hierarchy like a nature documentary. Rodrick, however, wasn’t listening. He didn’t care about who was dating who, or who cheated on who. His eyes were locked on one person.

Regina George.

She was sitting at the center of the room, right where the sunlight from the big cafeteria windows hit perfectly, bathing her in a golden glow. It was like even the universe had chosen her spotlight. She was laughing, her head tilted slightly, that perfect blonde hair catching the light like silk.

If the cafeteria was a movie set, she was the lead actress, and everyone else was just part of the background.

“The people you’re staring at, Rodrick,” Damian said, following his gaze, “are The Plastics.”

Rodrick raised a brow. “Plastics?”

“Yeah,” Damian said, smirking. “They’re like… the teen royalty of North Shore. If this school was a magazine, they’d always be on the cover.”

Rodrick could see that. Especially her.

“The one on Regina’s left is Karen,” Damian continued. “Beautiful, dumb as a doorknob, bless her heart. The one on her right is Gretchen rich, neurotic, and she knows everyone’s business before they do. She’s basically the FBI with lip gloss.”

Rodrick’s eyes never left Regina. “And the queen herself?” he asked.

Janis sighed. “Regina George. The devil in human form. She’s your typical selfish queen bee on the outside, but trust me, she’s so much worse. You won’t understand until you see it for yourself.”

“Oh, I plan to,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her.

He was already watching, fascinated. There was something hypnotic about her. She looked relaxed, laughing, playing with her hair, whispering to her friends, but he could tell she was scanning the room, reading everyone like open books. The way she glanced around wasn’t random. It was strategic. She was royalty inspecting her kingdom, making sure her subjects behaved.

Then, she saw him.

Their eyes locked across the cafeteria, and time froze.

Her smile faltered,  just for a split second, replaced by something sharper. She looked him over, calculating, as if she could already tell he didn’t fit into her perfect world. Then she gave him a small, polite smile. A fake one. The kind that said don’t cause problems.

Rodrick smiled back, slow and confident, a silent challenge in his eyes, like he was telling her that he would in fact cause lots of problems to her perfect world.

And she understood. He could tell by the way her fake smile vanished, replaced with a cold, assessing stare. Then she turned her head and went back to her conversation, but not before Rodrick noticed the tiny flicker of irritation in her eyes.

His grin widened.

Oh yeah. This was going to be fun.

After lunch, he headed to the principal’s office. He knew the drill, the fake warm welcome that was really just a pre-expulsion briefing. He’d done this dance too many times.

He knocked on the door, already rehearsing his performance.

“Thank you, Ms. Graham,” the principal’s voice said from inside. “I’m sure that Regina, as the student council president, will take care of it.”

Regina.

Rodrick’s grin returned. The universe clearly loved him.

As Ms. Graham walked out, the principal gestured for him to come in.

“Rodrick, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

The principal’s desk was buried under a thick file, his file. And Rodrick couldn’t help feeling a little proud. Pages and pages of disciplinary brilliance.

“I see you have quite the record,” the principal said, raising a brow.

Rodrick put on his best remorseful face, the one that had fooled countless adults before. “Yes, sir. I’ve made mistakes. I’m… embarrassed about it. But I want to do better. My mom really believes in me, and I don’t want to disappoint her anymore.”

The principal’s expression softened, predictably. “That’s good to hear. North Shore believes in second chances. If you need support, my door is always open.”

Rodrick nodded, all fake sincerity. “Thank you, sir. Actually, I was thinking… maybe I could help around the school. Like, do volunteer stuff. Help the student council, maybe?”

The man’s face lit up. “That’s an excellent idea! The student council is organizing our Halloween party, and they could use an extra pair of hands.”

Perfect.

Rodrick smiled. “That would be amazing, sir. I really want to do things right this time.”

When he left the office, he could barely hold in his laughter. If this were a movie, the camera would’ve zoomed in on his smirk, cueing the dramatic music.

Because now, the game has officially begun.

The first thing he did was find Janis and Damian.

“Guess who just joined the student council?”

They looked at him in unison. “What?”

“Me.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?” they said together.

Janis looked seconds away from combusting. “Rodrick, what are you doing? You can’t get expelled again!”

“Can’t a guy just want to change?” he asked, pretending to look offended. “I’m reformed now.”

Damian clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh my God. This is because of Regina, isn’t it?”

Janis’s head snapped toward him so fast that Damian flinched. “WHAT?”

He raised his hands in mock defense. “Did you forget who the president of the student council is?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “No. No, no, no. Rodrick, tell me you didn’t—”

Rodrick grinned.

“Rodrick, you’re crazy!” Janis shouted. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea!”

“Crazy in lo—” Damian started, but one deadly glare from Janis made him cut himself off mid-word.

Rodrick chuckled. “You guys are being so dramatic. It’s not that serious.”

Janis pointed at him like she was casting a curse. “You’re a traitor, Rodrick Heffley. I can’t believe you fell for her bullshit, too.”

“I’m not in love with her,” he said, amused. “I’m just… curious.”

Janis groaned so hard it echoed. “God help me. You’ve officially lost it. I know you’re weak for mean girls, but she’s too much. Even for you.”

She stormed off, practically smoking from her ears.

Rodrick watched her leave, hands in his pockets, a slow grin spreading across his face. He cared about Janis, he really did. But curiosity had always been his downfall. And Regina George? She was a mystery begging to be unraveled.

And Rodrick Heffley never ignored a challenge.

Notes: I really enjoy dual povs, hope you do too! Please leave comments and suggestions, it means a lot to me! 🖤💖

chapter 2

Everything was perfect. As always. Regina made sure of it.

Everything around her worked the way she wanted; flawlessly, precisely, obediently. She was the sun, and everyone else were the planets orbiting around her. She was the maestro, and life itself was her orchestra. Every movement followed her rhythm. Every note played at her command.

Regina controlled everything, and she loved it. Every smile, every word, every laugh, every compliment was perfectly calculated, carefully designed to keep her world exactly how she wanted it: beautiful, polished, and predictable. She wasn’t just part of the system. She was the system. The queen. And everyone around her were her loyal subjects, waiting for her next order, desperate to please her.

The morning began like every other one, flawless. She arrived at school in her spotless white convertible, the engine purring softly like it knew its owner’s worth. As always, Gretchen and Karen were already waiting at the front gates. They knew better than to keep Regina waiting. She hated waiting. So they always arrived early, perfectly in place before she even stepped out of the car.

After the usual squeals, kisses on the cheek, and little screams of excitement, the trio began their walk toward the entrance. Regina, naturally, walked in the center, Gretchen on her right, Karen on her left, like two satellites revolving around their sun.

Gretchen immediately launched into the morning gossip update, and Regina listened, half-amused, half-bored, offering her signature mix of fake sympathy and cutting humor. They all laughed, tossing out sharp comments disguised as jokes. Regina adored this part of her day; the rhythm, the predictability, the perfection of it all.

Sometimes she wondered if maybe she was a sociopath. The thought had crossed her mind once or twice, her obsession with routine, her need for control, her love for the order she created. But then she decided it wasn’t that deep. She wasn’t crazy. Just exceptional. So, naturally, she dismissed the idea and never thought about it again.

She loved mornings like this, the calm before the applause. Because the best part was about to begin.

As soon as she stepped into the school’s main corridor, the atmosphere changed. Voices dropped. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Every pair of eyes followed her.

Regina George didn’t walk, she arrived.

The hush that fell over the hallway was the kind of silence reserved for royalty. The faint scent of her perfume, vanilla and strawberries, lingered in the air like a signature. She felt the eyes on her and loved every second of it. This was her red carpet. And inside these walls, she was a star.

North Shore High was her kingdom, and she was its undisputed queen. Everyone respected her. Even the teachers, some feared her, others adored her. And Regina knew exactly how to balance the two. Too much fear would make people hate her; too much kindness would make her seem weak. She was a master of equilibrium. A sweet word here, a compliment there, perfectly balanced with a biting remark sharp enough to draw blood.

That’s why everyone wanted her approval so badly. They craved it; her attention, her validation, her affection, because it meant they mattered, even just for a moment. They were all the same: hungry for her spotlight but never quite able to stand in it.

Because no one could touch her. No one had her looks, her brains, her power. Regina George was the apex predator in this high school jungle. Everyone else was just trying to survive.

She walked with her usual poise, eyes forward but awareness everywhere, that subtle, practiced skill of looking without really looking. Everything was exactly where it should be: the art kids huddled near their posters, the nerds clutching their laptops, the athletes leaning against lockers pretending not to care. Everything was in its place.

Except one thing.

Her gaze caught on a face she didn’t recognize.

A boy.

He stood out, not in a good way. His jeans were so ripped she would’ve mistaken him for a street kid if she’d seen him outside. She’d probably have felt generous enough to hand him a few dollars. His sweater was huge, swallowing him whole, his hair messy like he’d never even met a comb. Dark eyeliner circled his eyes, giving him that brooding, rebellious look that screamed emo band poster reject.

He looked like a disaster.

A walking, talking mess.

Regina’s lips curved in mild disgust. Loser.

And yet… she didn’t know him. That was the problem. Regina George knew everyone. Every student, every teacher, every rumor before it even became one. So how had she missed him?

A new transfer, maybe? But she would’ve heard about that. She always did.

Her jaw tightened. The unknown made her uneasy. She didn’t like not knowing things. She didn’t like when her perfect world had cracks, even small ones. And this boy? He looked like a crack waiting to split everything open.

He smelled like trouble. Like chaos. Like something that didn’t belong in her perfectly orchestrated life.

And she hated it.

The moment he walked out of her line of sight, she turned to Gretchen, her voice smooth but sharp underneath.

“Do we have a new student?” she asked.

Gretchen blinked, clearly trying to remember. “Um… I think I heard something about a new girl coming from Africa?”

Regina’s eyes narrowed, the kind of look that could melt glass. Gretchen immediately realized that wasn’t the answer her queen wanted to hear.

“I’ll check,” she said quickly, fumbling for her phone.

Regina didn’t reply. She just gave a slow, satisfied nod and continued walking down the corridor, her heels clicking like punctuation marks in the silence.

And then, just like that, they parted ways.

The day was far from over. But something told her that whatever, or whoever, that boy was, he was about to ruin the perfect balance of her universe.

And Regina George did not like surprises.

Notes: I'm currently obsessed with Regina x Rodrick so I had to do this. I'm sorry for any mistakes, comments and suggestions are really apreciated hope you all enjoy! 🖤💖

chapter 1

Rodrick was the typical troublesome kid. The kind teachers whispered about in the teachers’ lounge and parents prayed their kids wouldn’t sit next to. He had quite the history at school, and not the kind worth bragging about. Warnings, suspensions, and expulsions were practically badges of honor to him. Four schools down, and now he was heading to his fifth.

But honestly? None of it was really his fault. He was just… free. He didn’t see the point of rules or limits. He liked doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and nobody, not a teacher, not a principal, not even the law, was going to tell him otherwise. The world didn’t get him, that was all. He wasn’t a bad guy, just someone who refused to be tamed.

And that’s how he ended up here, North Shore High. His fifth school. A fresh start, or, in his mind, a brand-new playground. Luckily, his cousin Janis went here, which made things a little less miserable. He loved Janis, she was like the female version of him. Of course, he was better, but she came close. Almost as cool as he was. Almost. If he could trade Greg for her as a sister, he’d do it every single time.

It was his first day, and to his own surprise, he was actually excited. New people to mess with, new teachers to torment, and no one here knew who he was yet. That was the fun part. They had no idea what kind of chaos was about to hit them. He smirked just thinking about it. This school had no clue it was about to become his personal playground.

As he walked down the hallway, everything felt… too clean. Too polished. The floors shone, the lockers were spotless, and the air smelled like vanilla and strawberries. Vanilla and strawberries? What kind of school smelled like that? He missed the mess of Westmore already; the graffiti, the cracked tiles, the broken desks. But then again, he could always fix that. Give him a few weeks, and North Shore wouldn’t look this perfect anymore.

He was in the middle of that thought when the sound of heels clicking echoed through the corridor. Click. Click. Click. Sharp, steady, confident. And just like that, the noise around him, the chatter, the laughter, the casual chaos of the first period, fell silent. The energy shifted. Everyone turned their heads.

Rodrick frowned, confused. What the hell was happening?

Then he saw her.

She moved like she owned the place, and judging by the way everyone reacted, she did. Every pair of eyes followed her. Admiration. Envy. Desire. It was all there. And Rodrick, for once, couldn’t blame them.

Her strides were long, graceful, and full of authority. Each step of her heels hit the floor like a command. Her legs seemed to go on forever, and she carried herself with the kind of confidence that made people move out of her way without realizing it.

And she was stunning. Not just pretty, the kind of beautiful that knocked the air right out of your lungs. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine cover. The kind of girl photographers begged to capture. Perfect blond hair that shimmered under the hallway lights, a narrow waist, legs for days. Her face, God, her face, was something else entirely. Her eyes had that “don’t mess with me” kind of spark, and her lips looked like trouble and Oh Rodrick loved trouble.

Rodrick had never simped for a girl in his life. Not once. But right now? He was dangerously close. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was magnetic. The kind of girl men wrote songs about. The kind that deserved to be admired, spoiled, worshiped. And honestly? He’d volunteer for that job without a second thought.

Even after she disappeared around the corner, he just stood there, dazed. His mouth slightly open, his lungs forgetting how to work. The scent of vanilla and strawberries lingered in the air for a few seconds longer before fading completely. That’s when he realized. The hallway hadn’t smelled like that before. She did. That scent was hers.

“Wow,” he muttered under his breath, still stunned. So this was what people meant by love at first sight. He’d always thought it was a bad joke, just something for sappy movies and bad songs. But now? He got it. His chest felt tight, his pulse racing like he’d been hit by Cupid’s damn arrow.

Suddenly, the idea of destroying this school didn’t seem like the most exciting plan anymore. Because now, Rodrick had found something, someone, way more interesting. And for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

He had a feeling this was going to be the best year of his life.