If you don’t mind and if you don’t have like a million other requests could you please write Jimmy Hopkins x an extremely smart honouroll student reader who is like mildly socially awkward and pretentious without meaning to be. Like she doesn’t know how to respond lots of the time due to nerves and ends up coming off as rude. Maybe he finds her stuck up and rude at first, and she finds him annoyingly hotheaded and unnecessarily violent and like over time they warm up to one another either through forced proximity or just naturally ending up around one another.
Please ignore this request if it’s not enough to work off of or if it doesn’t interest you, I just absolutely adore your writing and characterization and definitely knew I had to at least ask!
𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋
syn; when an important history project pairs bullworth’s most accomplished honor-roll student with its most notorious troublemaker, neither of you is pleased. jimmy thinks you are a cold, pretentious know-it-all, while you see him as an impulsive delinquent who solves every problem with his fists. however, as forced study sessions turn into constant arguments, quiet acts of kindness, and reluctant friendship, you both begin to realize that first impressions are rarely accurate—and that the person who irritates you most may also be the one who understands you best.
wc; 8,0k
characters used; jimmy hopkins from bully (2006) video games.
a/n; three posts in ONE MONTH??? oh my goodness. 3 spam post coming up! then, i’ll probably be finished for this month.. since i have a lot of new requests and im writing them :) but please enjoy this one! anyways, please leave any feedback commentary, constructive criticism, or any suggestions what i should write next! enjoy & have a good day!
you had been at bullworth academy for less than two months when you decided that jimmy hopkins was everything wrong with the institution condensed into one irritatingly short person.
he was loud without seeming to notice it. confrontational without ever questioning whether a confrontation was necessary. perpetually untidy, too, with his white shirt hanging over his khaki trousers and the collar beneath his blue bullworth vest spread open as though buttons were a personal insult. his reddish hair was shaved close to his freckled head, and the small gold stud in his left ear caught the classroom lights whenever he turned to glare at someone.
which was often.
jimmy seemed to move through bullworth with the permanent expectation that somebody was about to start trouble. judging by the bruises frequently darkening his knuckles, he was normally correct.
you, meanwhile, preferred order.
you arrived early to every lesson, maintained carefully organized notes, and had never received anything beneath an excellent grade unless the teacher had made an error. you had earned a place on the honor roll before most of your classmates had learned your name. your uniform was always neat, your handwriting was precise, and your books contained so many carefully marked passages that beatrice once called your copy of julius caesar “academically terrifying.”
you had thanked her.
she had stared at you for several seconds afterward, apparently waiting for something else.
social exchanges frequently ended that way.
it was not that you disliked the other students. you simply had trouble understanding what people expected you to say, particularly when they looked at you suddenly and demanded an answer before you had time to arrange one properly. nervousness emptied your mind of every reasonable sentence and left behind the sort of statements that made people narrow their eyes.
during your first week, pinky had complimented your hair.
you had responded, “that is surprising. i assumed you would dislike it.”
you had meant that your styles were different.
pinky had spent the following month telling everyone that you considered her tastes inferior.
when petey asked whether you enjoyed sitting beside him in biology, you had said, “you are substantially less distracting than the alternatives.”
he had gone quiet.
you had attempted to explain that it was a compliment, but by then he looked too confused to appreciate the clarification.
bullworth had therefore decided that you were stuck-up, and jimmy hopkins appeared to believe this more strongly than anyone.
you first spoke to him properly during history class.
mr. galloway stood at the front of the room with a stack of papers pressed against his faded jacket, looking even more exhausted than usual. behind him, written across the chalkboard, were the words bullworth founders’ exhibition.
“you’ll be working in pairs,” he announced. “each pair will prepare a presentation about an important period in the academy’s history. research, visual materials, oral presentation. all of it.”
a low chorus of complaints spread throughout the room.
jimmy, seated two rows behind you, placed his forehead against his desk.
“wake me up when education stops being painful,” he muttered.
mr. galloway ignored him and began reading the pairings.
you listened with mild interest until he reached your name.
then he paused.
“you’ll be working with… mr. hopkins.”
your pencil stopped against the page.
behind you, jimmy lifted his head.
“what?”
mr. galloway gave him a tired smile. “i thought the partnership might benefit both of you.”
“how?” jimmy asked. “she already knows everything.”
several students laughed.
heat crept beneath your collar. you turned in your seat and found him slouched behind his desk, brown eyes fixed on you with open suspicion. there was a faint cut through one eyebrow and a yellowing bruise along the side of his jaw.
you should have ignored him.
instead, your nervousness selected the worst possible arrangement of words.
“perhaps you will benefit from working with someone capable of completing the assignment.”
the laughter stopped.
jimmy straightened slowly.
“and maybe you’ll benefit from working with somebody who don’t sound like a dictionary swallowed a person.”
your face grew warmer.
“that sentence was grammatically questionable.”
“yeah?” he leaned forward. “this partnership is gonna be questionable.”
“enough,” mr. galloway said, although he looked dangerously close to laughing. “you will meet in the library after lessons. i expect cooperation.”
jimmy stared at you.
you stared back.
neither of you appeared capable of providing it.
jimmy was twenty-three minutes late to the library.
you knew because you had checked the clock repeatedly, each passing minute confirming every negative conclusion you had reached about him. by the time he finally appeared between the shelves, you had arranged the reference books, divided the required tasks, and drafted nearly half of the opening section alone.
he approached your table with a canvas satchel hanging from one shoulder. his uniform was more disordered than it had been that morning, and a fresh reddish mark ran across one cheek.
you looked at the clock.
then at him.
“you are late.”
“good observation.”
“twenty-three minutes.”
“you counted?”
“there is a clock.”
“that ain’t an answer.”
jimmy dropped into the chair opposite you, causing its wooden legs to scrape loudly against the floor. several students looked over. you lowered your voice automatically.
“were you involved in another fight?”
“no.”
you examined his cheek.
he scowled. “what?”
“either you were involved in a fight or bullworth has developed unusually aggressive doorframes.”
“some jock had a problem.”
“and naturally, your only available response was violence.”
“naturally, you got an opinion.”
“violence rarely provides a lasting solution.”
jimmy leaned over the table. “you know what else don’t provide a lasting solution? standing there explaining things while somebody’s trying to punch you.”
“you could walk away.”
“he was taking some kid’s lunch money.”
that gave you pause.
jimmy noticed.
his expression turned smug. “go ahead. explain how walking away fixes that.”
“you could have reported him.”
“to who? the prefects?” jimmy snorted. “those guys only show up when i do something.”
“perhaps because you frequently do things.”
“there she is.”
“who?”
“the stuck-up girl everybody warned me about.”
the words struck harder than you expected.
you looked down at your notes before he could see that. “i do not believe i am superior to you.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
“your interpretation of my behavior is not necessarily accurate.”
“and the way you talk to people ain’t your fault, right?”
you gripped your pencil tighter. there were several answers available to you. none seemed safe enough to say.
jimmy waited.
when you remained silent, he leaned back with a humorless smile, apparently taking your discomfort for confirmation.
“yeah. that’s what i thought.”
the next half hour passed in tense near-silence.
you assigned him a section on the academy’s original disciplinary system, mostly because it was the shortest portion of the research. jimmy complained that you were treating him like an idiot. you informed him that you had selected the section most suited to his familiarity with punishment. he accused you of making another insult.
you had not intended it as one.
at least, not entirely.
however, once jimmy began reading, you discovered something inconvenient.
he was not unintelligent.
his attention wandered whenever the text became overly detailed, and he complained under his breath each time he encountered a word he disliked, but his observations were unexpectedly sharp. he noticed contradictions between the academy’s supposedly honorable principles and its history of bribery, favoritism, and violence. when you suggested presenting the founders as progressive educators, he looked at you as though you had proposed praising a criminal.
“they built half the punishments before they built the library,” he said. “that tells you what kind of place they wanted.”
you glanced between him and the old records.
“that is… a compelling interpretation.”
jimmy raised an eyebrow. “did you just admit i had a good idea?”
“do not make it unbearable.”
“too late.”
he pushed the book toward you, tapping one of the faded photographs.
“look at this guy. tell me he didn’t spend all day thinking of new ways to make kids miserable.”
“that is headmaster ebenezer bullworth.”
“he looks like he bites people.”
you tried not to smile.
the effort produced a small, embarrassing sound in your throat.
jimmy stared.
you immediately returned your attention to the book.
“was that a laugh?”
“no.”
“it sounded like one.”
“you are mistaken.”
“you laughed at my joke.”
“the photograph is objectively unusual.”
jimmy’s grin widened. “sure, professor.”
the nickname irritated you.
it also remained in your thoughts for the rest of the evening.
after that first meeting, you began seeing jimmy everywhere.
he appeared outside the girls’ dormitory one morning, arguing with a prefect while petey stood several feet away holding what appeared to be a stolen garden gnome. you encountered him behind the auto shop with grease across his cheek and a wrench tucked through his belt. during lunch, he sat near the end of the cafeteria table, trading insults with russell while casually stealing french fries from petey’s tray.
every time jimmy noticed you, his expression changed into that same infuriating look of amusement.
“morning, professor.”
“my name remains unchanged.”
“that’s good. i was worried.”
“about what?”
“nothing. just trying to be friendly.”
“you are doing it incorrectly.”
petey nearly choked on his drink.
jimmy placed a hand over his chest. “see? this is what i mean. i come over here, nice as anything, and you treat me terribly.”
“you approached me solely to be irritating.”
“you can’t prove that.”
“your face provides sufficient evidence.”
his mouth twitched.
you began to realize that jimmy enjoyed your arguments.
worse, you occasionally enjoyed them too.
he was irritating, certainly, but he did not react to your bluntness the way most people did. other students became offended, whispered behind your back, or decided that speaking to you was not worth the trouble. jimmy simply returned each remark with one of his own. if you told him that his handwriting resembled the final movements of an injured insect, he informed you that your notes looked like they had been written by a “very boring machine.”
if you criticized his tendency to arrive with damaged knuckles, he examined your perfectly sharpened pencils and asked whether you had ever considered “doing something dangerous, like having fun.”
you told him his definition of fun was medically concerning.
he told you that your definition of fun probably required an index.
the project progressed regardless.
you met in the library three afternoons each week. jimmy continued arriving late, although the delay gradually decreased from twenty-three minutes to fifteen, then ten, then barely two. he never acknowledged the improvement. you did not mention that you noticed.
he also began bringing food.
the first time, he dropped a chocolate bar beside your notebook without explanation.
you looked at it.
“what is this?”
“a chocolate bar.”
“i can identify it.”
“congratulations.”
“why did you give it to me?”
jimmy opened his own and took a bite. “you missed dinner yesterday.”
your embarrassment arrived quickly. “you were observing me?”
“you get meaner when you’re hungry.”
“i do not.”
“you told petey his question was ‘structurally unsound.’”
“it was.”
“eat the chocolate.”
you did.
afterward, jimmy looked unbearably satisfied with himself.
by the middle of october, the table you shared had become crowded with research cards, sketches, old photographs, and several pages of jimmy’s messy handwriting. you built a miniature model of the original academy building while he painted small figures representing the founders.
jimmy possessed far more artistic ability than you expected.
you watched him add shadows to the face of a tiny headmaster, his broad fingers unexpectedly careful around the narrow brush.
“you are good at that,” you said.
he glanced up. “what, painting ugly old guys?”
“painting generally.”
“it ain’t a big deal.”
“it is considerably better than my work.”
“that almost sounded normal.”
your shoulders tightened.
jimmy’s teasing expression changed.
you placed your brush down. “i was attempting to compliment you.”
“i know.”
“then why did you criticize the way I said it?”
“I wasn’t criticizing you.”
“you implied that my usual manner of speaking is abnormal.”
“well—”
you gathered your papers with unnecessary force.
jimmy frowned. “come on. don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like i said something terrible.”
“you did not.”
“then why are you packing up?”
“because our scheduled meeting has concluded.”
he looked at the clock. “we still got twenty minutes.”
“i have completed my section.”
“right. so you’re leaving because you’re done, not because you’re mad.”
“I am not angry.”
“You look angry.”
“That is simply my face.”
“That ain’t true. Your normal face looks like you’re deciding whether everybody around you is stupid.”
you froze.
jimmy seemed to realize his mistake a second too late.
“wait,” he said. “i didn’t mean—”
“no, I believe you did.”
you lifted the model carefully and walked away before the pressure behind your eyes could become visible.
jimmy did not call you professor as you left.
the following morning, the model was destroyed.
you found it on the classroom floor before history, one wall broken from the base and the painted figures crushed beneath a heavy textbook. several of your research cards had been torn in half. black ink had been poured across the remaining pages.
gord vendome stood near the windows with two other preppies, laughing beneath his breath.
you stared at the damage.
for several seconds, the room seemed strangely distant. all the work, the careful measurements, the evenings spent searching through brittle books—it had been reduced to splintered cardboard and smeared handwriting.
gord spoke behind you.
“what a tragedy. perhaps the honor-roll princess should learn to keep her opinions to herself.”
the day before, he had asked you to complete part of his chemistry assignment.
you had refused.
more precisely, you had told him, “your continued reliance on other students may explain why your academic performance is so unimpressive.”
in retrospect, the statement could have been gentler.
it did not justify this.
“you destroyed it,” you said.
“can you prove that?”
his friends laughed.
you knelt beside the scattered pieces. your fingers trembled as you picked up one of the crushed figures. embarrassment burned through you, not because the project was ruined, but because half the class was watching and you had no idea what expression belonged on your face.
anger would have been reasonable.
tears would have been understandable.
you felt both and displayed neither, leaving you rigid and silent beneath their attention.
“what happened?”
jimmy’s voice came from the doorway.
he entered with petey behind him, his satchel hanging across his chest. his gaze moved from you to the broken model. then it settled on gord.
jimmy’s face hardened.
“you do this?”
gord smiled. “do you honestly think i would touch that pathetic little craft project?”
jimmy dropped his bag.
you stood immediately. “do not.”
“stay out of it.”
“fighting him will not repair anything.”
“maybe not.”
jimmy advanced.
gord’s smile faded. “you better watch yourself, hopkins.”
“or what?”
“jimmy,” you said more firmly. “stop.”
he looked over his shoulder. “why? so he can get away with it?”
“because attacking him will result in punishment, and we will lose more time.”
“you think i care about the project right now?”
the question startled you.
“you should.”
“he did this to hurt you.”
gord laughed. “she don’t need your protection. look at her. she probably thinks you’re as pathetic as the rest of us.”
jimmy struck him before you could speak.
gord crashed into a desk, sending books and papers across the floor. his two friends lunged forward. jimmy met the first with a hard shove and ducked the second boy’s swinging arm. chairs scraped. students shouted and rushed toward the walls.
“jimmy!”
he ignored you.
gord managed to catch him across the mouth. jimmy staggered, wiped blood from his lower lip, and charged again.
the fight lasted less than a minute before mr. burton and two prefects entered. they pulled jimmy away while gord shouted about expulsion and legal consequences. jimmy fought against the prefect’s grip long enough to point at him.
“touch her stuff again and see what happens.”
the room became quiet.
everyone looked at you.
your heart was pounding so hard that it seemed to press against your throat.
you wanted to tell jimmy that you understood. you wanted to explain that part of you was grateful, even if his actions had been reckless. you wanted to ask whether his mouth hurt.
instead, with every student watching, you said, “this was completely unnecessary.”
jimmy stopped struggling.
his expression changed.
the anger disappeared first. what replaced it was quieter and somehow worse.
“right,” he said.
“i meant that you could have handled it differently.”
“yeah. i heard you.”
“jimmy—”
“forget it.”
the prefects dragged him from the room.
petey lingered near the doorway, looking between you and the hallway.
“he was trying to help,” he said softly.
“I am aware.”
“you didn’t sound aware.”
then he followed jimmy.
you remained beside the broken model, wishing for the first time that intelligence made speaking any easier.
jimmy received three days of detention.
you did not see him in the library during that time.
he attended lessons, but he stopped looking in your direction. when you crossed paths in the hallway, he moved around you without comment. there was no professor, no irritating smile, not even an argument.
the silence should have been peaceful.
instead, it followed you everywhere.
you repaired the model alone in your dormitory. the broken walls could be rebuilt, and most of the research existed in your original notes, but jimmy’s painted figures had been crushed beyond repair. you attempted to reproduce them.
your versions looked stiff and lifeless.
on the second afternoon of his detention, you found petey sitting outside the main building with a stack of comics in his lap.
“where is jimmy?”
petey stared at you. “why?”
“i need to speak with him.”
“he’s cleaning the gym.”
you hesitated. “is he still angry?”
“probably.”
“that is not a precise answer.”
“with jimmy, it’s as precise as you’re getting.”
you lowered yourself onto the stone ledge beside him, smoothing your skirt beneath your legs. petey watched you carefully.
“did he tell you what gord said to me?”
“no. he just said gord wrecked the project.”
“gord implied that jimmy was pathetic and that I believed the same.”
“yeah, that sounds like gord.”
“I should have answered him.”
petey closed his comic.
you looked down at your clasped hands. “i should have told jimmy that gord was wrong. instead, I criticized him in front of everyone.”
“jimmy shouldn’t have hit him.”
you looked at petey, surprised.
he shrugged. “he shouldn’t have. but jimmy gets mad when people pick on somebody. especially somebody he likes.”
your heartbeat stumbled.
“he does not like me.”
petey gave you an expression of remarkable disbelief.
“what?”
“nothing.”
“you are suggesting something.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“your facial expression communicated it.”
“maybe you should ask jimmy.”
“I cannot ask him whether he likes me.”
“why not?”
“because the question would be humiliating.”
“for who?”
“both of us.”
petey smiled faintly. “you two got more in common than you think.”
you considered that an absurd statement.
then you remembered jimmy pretending not to care that his painting was good. you remembered the chocolate bar placed beside your notebook without explanation. you remembered him arriving earlier each day but refusing to acknowledge that he had made the effort.
perhaps jimmy also had difficulty saying what he meant.
he merely concealed it beneath anger rather than formality.
the gymnasium smelled of old wood, cleaning chemicals, and sweat.
you found jimmy near the bleachers, pushing a mop across the floor with enough aggression to suggest that he blamed it personally for his detention. his blazer had been discarded on a bench. the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to his elbows, revealing fading bruises along his forearms.
his lower lip was still split.
“jimmy.”
the mop stopped.
he did not turn immediately.
“what?”
“I came to speak with you.”
“thought talking to me was a waste of time.”
“I have never said that.”
“you didn’t have to.”
you stepped farther onto the gym floor. the doors closed behind you with a heavy wooden thud.
“I am sorry.”
jimmy finally looked at you.
he appeared more suspicious than surprised. “for what?”
“for what I said after the fight.”
“you were right. it was unnecessary.”
“that is not entirely what I meant.”
“then what did you mean?”
you had rehearsed the explanation several times while walking there. under jimmy’s direct attention, every prepared sentence vanished.
“I meant that your behavior was reckless.”
his expression flattened.
“that was not the apology.”
“you’re doing great so far.”
“please allow me to finish.”
“go ahead, professor.”
the nickname no longer sounded playful.
you swallowed. “i was embarrassed.”
“by me?”
“by everyone looking at me.”
jimmy’s brow tightened.
“I did not know how to respond,” you continued. “gord destroyed something important to me, and then you were injured because of it, and the entire class was watching. I became nervous.”
“you didn’t look nervous.”
“I rarely do.”
“you looked annoyed.”
“i frequently look annoyed when I am nervous.”
“that don’t make any sense.”
“I am aware.”
jimmy rested both hands on the mop handle.
you forced yourself to continue before courage deserted you completely.
“I do not always know what I am expected to say. when people speak to me unexpectedly, I choose words too quickly. they often sound… harsher than I intend.”
he studied your face.
“so when you told me i was incapable of completing the assignment—”
“i had been attempting to say that working with me might improve your grade.”
“that still sounds stuck-up.”
“I know.”
“and when you said my handwriting looked like a dying bug?”
“that was deliberate.”
jimmy’s mouth twitched.
you released a quiet breath.
“the point is that I did not mean to dismiss what you did. I was upset that you were punished for defending me, and I expressed that badly.”
“really badly.”
“yes.”
“like, impressively badly.”
“I have admitted the problem.”
“just making sure.”
you looked at his split lip. “does that hurt?”
jimmy touched it with his thumb. “not much.”
“that is probably untrue.”
“you calling me a liar now?”
“I am calling you someone with a strange need to appear unaffected.”
he tilted his head.
you immediately regretted the statement. “that was an observation, not an insult.”
“you observe me a lot?”
your face warmed.
jimmy noticed, and the last of the coldness left his expression.
“you’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“you are.”
“the gymnasium is warm.”
“it really ain’t.”
you looked away.
jimmy leaned against the mop, openly pleased with himself now. “so all this time, you weren’t looking down on everybody?”
“no.”
“you just don’t know how to talk?”
the wording was blunt enough to make you wince.
then you recognized the genuine question beneath it.
“not naturally,” you admitted. “academic rules are consistent. people are not. a correct answer in one conversation may be offensive in another, even when the circumstances appear nearly identical.”
“you make talking sound like math.”
“math is substantially easier.”
jimmy considered you for a moment.
“and you thought I was stupid.”
“I thought you were needlessly violent, irresponsible, disorderly, impatient, and overly defensive.”
“that’s a lot of words for stupid.”
“I did not think you were stupid.”
his expression shifted again, more subtly this time.
you stepped closer. “you notice things other people ignore. you understand why students behave the way they do, even if you pretend not to care. your ideas for the presentation are good. and your paintings are considerably better than mine.”
“considerably?”
“much better.”
jimmy looked down at the mop handle.
“well,” he said, “you’re not as terrible as I thought either.”
you waited.
he glanced up. “what?”
“that is your response?”
“you want a speech?”
“I provided several specific compliments.”
“fine.” he sighed dramatically. “you’re smart. obviously. and you work harder than anybody I know, which is probably unhealthy. you’re funny sometimes, even when you ain’t trying to be. and you don’t run around telling teachers every time somebody breaks a rule.”
“I reported your fight to mr. galloway.”
jimmy stared at you.
“because he asked.”
“you almost ruined it.”
“I also told him that gord deliberately provoked you and requested that the presentation remain eligible for full marks.”
“oh.”
“I spoke with dr. crabblesnitch as well.”
his face went pale. “you did what?”
“I argued that expulsion would be disproportionate.”
“they were talking about expelling me?”
“gord’s father complained.”
jimmy’s grip tightened around the mop.
“I provided statements from three witnesses confirming that gord destroyed the model. dr. crabblesnitch agreed to limit your punishment to detention.”
he stared at you in complete silence.
nervousness rushed back into the space between you.
“I am uncertain whether this is another occasion when I have said something incorrectly.”
“you stopped me from getting expelled?”
“I contributed to the decision.”
“why?”
the answer felt dangerously obvious.
“because you did not deserve it.”
“after you told me the fight was unnecessary.”
“both things can be true.”
jimmy shook his head, a slow smile appearing.
“what?”
“nothing.”
“your expression suggests otherwise.”
“you’re weird.”
your chest tightened.
before you could withdraw, he continued.
“but I don’t think that’s bad anymore.”
you blinked.
jimmy pushed away from the mop and walked toward the bench. his satchel rested beside his blazer. he reached inside and removed three small painted figures, each wrapped in a piece of newspaper.
“I redid these during detention,” he said. “figured yours probably looked terrible.”
you accepted them carefully.
the miniature founders had been reproduced in precise detail, complete with severe expressions and tiny black coats. one of them had been painted with unusually large teeth.
you examined it. “is this headmaster bullworth?”
“yeah.”
“why does he appear to have fangs?”
“historical accuracy.”
a laugh escaped you before you could suppress it.
jimmy smiled.
“there it is.”
this time, you did not deny it.
the remaining weeks before the exhibition changed the rhythm between you.
you still argued.
jimmy continued criticizing your schedules, and you continued informing him that schedules were only oppressive to people incapable of respecting time. he called you professor so frequently that other students began doing it too. when earnest used the nickname in a mocking tone, jimmy stepped close enough to make him reconsider.
“that’s mine,” he said.
you pretended not to hear.
jimmy pretended not to notice how long you looked at him afterward.
you began spending time together outside the library. at first, it happened accidentally. he walked beside you after lessons because you were both returning to the main building. you sat with petey at lunch, and jimmy appeared with his tray moments later. when you needed paint from bullworth town, he offered to accompany you because, according to him, “you look like somebody would charge you twice and call it a service fee.”
“I am capable of shopping alone.”
“didn’t say you weren’t.”
“then why are you coming?”
“maybe I need paint.”
“do you?”
“maybe.”
he did not buy anything.
on the walk back, you passed two older boys surrounding a younger student near an alley. jimmy stopped at once.
you caught his sleeve before he could approach.
“wait.”
he looked at your hand around his arm, then at you.
you released him quickly. “perhaps we could attempt something other than violence.”
“they ain’t gonna listen.”
“allow me to try.”
you approached the boys before your confidence could disappear.
“the prefects are patrolling the street behind us,” you said. “if you leave immediately, they may not see you.”
the boys glanced toward the corner.
there were no prefects.
after a few muttered threats, they left.
the younger student thanked you and hurried away.
jimmy looked impressed.
“you lied.”
“I provided strategically inaccurate information.”
“that’s lying.”
“it prevented a fight.”
“you’re getting dangerous.”
“I learned from observing your mistakes.”
he laughed and bumped his shoulder lightly against yours.
the contact was brief, but you felt it for the remainder of the walk.
you also began noticing details you had previously ignored.
jimmy always positioned himself between you and groups of aggressive students, even when no one approached. he carried your model without complaint because he did not trust you to watch where you were going while reading. he mocked petey constantly but never allowed anyone else to do the same. when a homesick younger girl began crying outside the dormitory, jimmy disappeared into town and returned with candy, insisting that he had bought too much.
he was still hotheaded.
he still solved far too many problems with his fists.
but his anger was rarely senseless. jimmy became angry because cruelty offended him, even though he would rather have swallowed one of his stink bombs than admit that he cared.
the realization made it increasingly difficult to concentrate when he sat near you.
one evening in the library, you became aware that you had been staring at the line of his profile for an unreasonable amount of time. jimmy was bent over the presentation cards, his brow lowered in concentration. the overhead light emphasized the freckles across his cheeks and the small scar through his eyebrow.
without looking up, he said, “what?”
you immediately returned to your book. “nothing.”
“you were staring at me.”
“I was thinking.”
“about my face?”
“your face happened to be within my line of sight.”
“you could’ve looked somewhere else.”
“I could say the same when you stare at me.”
jimmy’s pencil stopped.
you realized what you had revealed.
slowly, he looked up.
“you notice that?”
“I notice most things.”
“thought you only noticed books.”
“books are generally less obvious.”
a faint redness appeared across his cheeks.
you had never seen jimmy embarrassed before. the discovery filled you with a surprising confidence.
“you are blushing,” you said.
“I am not.”
“the library is not warm.”
he narrowed his eyes.
you smiled.
“you think you’re funny now?”
“occasionally.”
“this is what I get for being nice to you.”
“you are rarely nice.”
“I brought you chocolate.”
“once.”
“I carry your books.”
“because you said I walk poorly.”
“you do.”
“I have never fallen.”
“because I carry the books.”
you turned a page, hiding your widening smile.
jimmy watched you for another moment before returning to the cards.
beneath the table, his shoe rested against yours.
neither of you moved away.
the morning of the exhibition, bullworth’s auditorium was crowded with students, teachers, and several wealthy parents who looked as though they regretted entering the building.
projects filled the stage and the surrounding tables. the preppies had constructed a polished display about the school’s athletic traditions, most of which appeared to have been completed by hired professionals. earnest and the nerds had built a mechanical model that emitted smoke every few minutes. one of the jocks had glued a football to a poster board.
your exhibit stood near the center.
the repaired academy model rested beneath a glass case, surrounded by photographs and selected documents. jimmy’s painted founders occupied the courtyard. the fanged headmaster remained among them because jimmy had refused to change it, and because, secretly, you found it charming.
your confidence lasted until mr. galloway announced that your presentation would be next.
then your carefully memorized words disappeared.
you stood behind the curtain with your note cards pressed between both hands. the sound of the audience seemed to expand until every cough and whisper became distinct.
jimmy adjusted his blue vest beside you.
“you all right?”
“yes.”
“you’re bending the cards.”
you looked down.
the paper had curved between your fingers.
“I am experiencing a minor difficulty.”
“you’re nervous.”
“I am familiar with the condition.”
“we practiced this like twenty times.”
“practice did not involve an audience.”
“it involved me.”
“you are not an audience.”
jimmy looked strangely pleased. “what am I?”
the curtain began to open.
you stared at him.
“that question is poorly timed.”
“yeah, probably.”
the light struck your face.
mr. galloway introduced you both. polite applause followed. beyond the edge of the stage, dozens of faces waited.
you walked toward the display.
your shoes seemed too loud against the wooden floor.
you reached the marked position, looked at the first card, and opened your mouth.
nothing happened.
the audience remained quiet.
your pulse climbed into your throat. the first line was simple. you had written it. memorized it. repeated it until jimmy claimed he could recite it in his sleep.
you still could not speak.
someone near the preppies’ section whispered, “maybe the machine broke.”
a few students laughed.
your vision fixed on the card.
then jimmy stepped forward.
“bullworth academy,” he began, “was founded by a group of rich old men who thought students learned best when they were cold, miserable, and terrified.”
the teachers shifted uncomfortably.
the students laughed.
jimmy glanced at you.
not impatiently.
not mockingly.
he simply waited until you looked back.
“which,” he added, “ain’t that different from now.”
more laughter followed, louder this time.
the pressure in your chest loosened.
you took a breath.
“although jimmy’s description lacks academic refinement,” you said, your voice quieter than usual but steady, “it is not entirely inaccurate.”
jimmy smiled.
you continued.
the words returned gradually. you explained how bullworth’s founders had presented themselves as reformers while maintaining severe disciplinary practices. jimmy discussed the contradictions in the records, giving each point with blunt confidence. when you became too formal, he translated your statement into ordinary language. when he wandered from the prepared material, you redirected him.
the two of you moved through the presentation as you had moved through every argument—challenging, correcting, and unexpectedly balancing one another.
by the end, the audience was attentive.
when you revealed the miniature headmaster’s fangs, even mr. galloway laughed.
the applause afterward felt genuine.
behind the curtain, you released a breath that seemed to have been trapped in your lungs for several weeks.
jimmy leaned against the wall.
“see? easy.”
“the first thirty seconds were extremely unpleasant.”
“you did fine.”
“you rescued the opening.”
“yeah, well. couldn’t let everybody think the smartest girl in school forgot how to read.”
you looked down at the note cards.
“thank you.”
“don’t get all emotional.”
“I expressed gratitude.”
“that’s how it starts.”
you looked back at him. “you appeared nervous too.”
“no, I didn’t.”
“you adjusted your vest six times.”
“the thing don’t fit right.”
“you also failed to insult anyone for nearly four minutes.”
“now you’re making things up.”
“I counted.”
jimmy smiled, then looked toward the curtain as another group began their presentation.
“come on,” he said. “let’s get out of here before somebody asks us to help clean.”
“the exhibition has not concluded.”
“exactly. nobody’ll notice.”
“leaving would be irresponsible.”
he started down the backstage stairs.
you followed him.
outside, the afternoon air was cool and bright.
autumn leaves covered the paths between the academy buildings, collecting against the stone steps and beneath the benches. the distant noise from the auditorium faded as jimmy led you toward the fountain.
“I cannot believe you persuaded me to abandon a school function.”
“you chose to come.”
“under misleading circumstances.”
“I said we were leaving.”
“I assumed you had a destination.”
“we do.”
he stopped beside the fountain and reached into his satchel.
“I got something.”
“if it is another stink bomb—”
“why would I give you a stink bomb?”
“you have previously described them as educational.”
“they teach people to move faster.”
jimmy removed a folded sheet of paper and held it toward you.
you accepted it cautiously.
the paper was slightly wrinkled, and one corner had been smudged with graphite. when you unfolded it, you found a drawing.
it depicted you sitting in the library, one hand resting against an open book. the details were careful: the folds in your uniform skirt, the loose strands of hair near your face, the slight crease between your eyebrows when you concentrated. stacks of books surrounded you, but your expression was softer than you remembered ever feeling while studying.
beneath the image, in jimmy’s uneven handwriting, were the words:
the professor, temporarily not insulting anybody.
you stared at it.
“well?” he asked.
“I do not know what to say.”
“that ain’t exactly new.”
you looked up.
jimmy’s confidence had become slightly forced. his hands were pushed into his pockets, shoulders raised as though he were preparing for a blow.
“It is beautiful.”
he glanced away. “it’s all right.”
“no. it is extraordinarily good.”
“you don’t have to make a big deal.”
“I am not making a big enough one.”
jimmy’s ears turned red.
you traced one finger near the edge of the paper without touching the graphite.
“when did you draw this?”
“couple days ago.”
“you remembered the exact book I was reading.”
“it was that giant one you carry everywhere.”
“you also remembered my hair.”
his eyes returned to your face.
“I notice things too,” he said.
the words settled quietly between you.
you folded the drawing with far more care than jimmy had and held it against your chest.
“i have nothing to give you.”
“you don’t owe me anything.”
“I dislike unequal exchanges.”
“all right. help me pass math.”
“that may require an intervention beyond my abilities.”
“see? you’re insulting me already. we’re even.”
he sat on the stone edge of the fountain.
you lowered yourself beside him, leaving a careful distance between your skirt and his trousers. for several moments, you watched leaves drift across the courtyard.
“I owe you an answer,” you said.
jimmy frowned. “to what?”
“you asked what you are to me.”
“that was right before the presentation.”
“I remember.”
“I wasn’t being serious.”
“I believe you were.”
jimmy looked toward the main building. “you analyze everything this much?”
“generally.”
“must be exhausting.”
“frequently.”
he rubbed one thumb against the seam of his trousers.
you could feel yourself becoming nervous again. your body always recognized vulnerable moments before your mind did: warmer skin, unsteady breathing, the urge to say something overly precise so no one could misunderstand.
but precision had never protected you from misunderstanding.
perhaps honesty required some disorder.
“you are my friend,” you said.
jimmy nodded once. “yeah.”
“although that description has recently begun to feel insufficient.”
his head turned.
you focused on the fountain water.
“I think about you more than I consider reasonable. I anticipate seeing you in places where you are normally present, and I am disappointed when you are absent. your approval has become disproportionately important to me. additionally, I find your face more attractive than I initially did.”
jimmy stared.
you closed your eyes briefly.
“that final sentence was poorly structured.”
“hold on.”
“I would prefer not to.”
“did you just say you think I’m attractive?”
“I said several things.”
“yeah, but that was the important one.”
you looked at him.
jimmy was grinning.
“I regret this conversation.”
“no, you don’t.”
“I regret your reaction.”
“you called my face attractive after spending two months criticizing it.”
“I did not criticize your face.”
“you said it was evidence of bad intentions.”
“your expression was evidence. not the face itself.”
“so you always thought I looked good?”
“I did not say always.”
“when did it start?”
“I am ending the conversation.”
you stood.
jimmy caught your hand.
the movement was gentle, almost uncertain. his fingers closed around yours without pulling.
you looked down at him.
his teasing expression had softened.
“wait,” he said. “I’m giving you a hard time.”
“I noticed.”
“because I don’t know what to say either.”
that surprised you enough to sit again.
jimmy kept your hand in his.
his palm was rough, the knuckles marked with old cuts and fading bruises. you turned his hand slightly, examining the most recent scrape.
“don’t start lecturing me.”
“I have said nothing.”
“you got the face.”
“what face?”
“the one that says I’m an idiot.”
“I no longer believe that.”
“good.”
he shifted closer.
the distance between your shoulders disappeared.
“I think about you too,” jimmy said. “even when I’m trying not to. especially when I’m trying not to, actually. you’re annoying like that.”
“that is not romantic.”
“I ain’t finished.”
“my apologies.”
“you make me want to show up on time.”
your eyebrows rose.
“yeah, I know,” he said. “terrible. I hate it.”
“you are still frequently late.”
“that ain’t the point.”
you smiled.
jimmy squeezed your hand once.
“I like that you’re smarter than me,” he continued. “sometimes. other times, it makes me want to throw your books in the fountain.”
“That would end our friendship.”
“I know. that’s why I haven’t done it.”
“How considerate.”
“And I like that you don’t get scared of me.”
“I have seen you lose a fight to a small dog.”
“That dog cheated.”
“It bit your trousers.”
“Exactly.”
you laughed again.
jimmy watched you with that same attentive expression he wore when painting, as though he was attempting to memorize something.
“you should do that more,” he said.
“what?”
“laugh.”
your smile faded from embarrassment.
“don’t,” he said.
“I have done nothing.”
“you’re trying to hide.”
“I am sitting in an open courtyard.”
“You know what I mean.”
unfortunately, you did.
jimmy lifted your joined hands and rested them against his knee.
“you don’t gotta think of the perfect thing every time.”
“I am beginning to understand that.”
“good, because most people here don’t think at all.”
“That explains a considerable amount.”
“There she is.”
the fondness in his voice made your chest ache in a pleasant, frightening way.
jimmy’s gaze lowered briefly to your mouth, then returned to your eyes.
for once, you understood the expected response.
you still struggled to provide it.
“you are staring,” you whispered.
“you notice everything.”
“not everything.”
“want me to explain?”
your pulse quickened. “that may be helpful.”
jimmy leaned closer.
he stopped with only a small distance remaining between you, giving you enough time to withdraw. the sharpness usually present in his expression had disappeared. up close, you could see the individual freckles across his cheeks and the faint healing line on his lower lip.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” he said.
your nervous mind immediately attempted to create several responses.
that appears appropriate.
I consent to the proposal.
your warning is appreciated.
every available sentence sounded disastrous.
so you placed your free hand against his cheek and kissed him first.
jimmy made a quiet sound of surprise.
then his hand tightened around yours.
the kiss remained soft and brief, more uncertain than anything you had previously associated with him. his cheek was warm beneath your palm. when you pulled away, he followed for half a second before catching himself.
you stared at one another.
jimmy recovered first.
“you could’ve warned me.”
“I believed explanation was unnecessary.”
“what happened to clear communication?”
“I am experimenting with spontaneity.”
“dangerous.”
“you may be a negative influence.”
“may be?”
you attempted to remove your hand from his face, but he caught your wrist gently.
“wait.”
“why?”
“I’m experimenting too.”
“With what?”
jimmy kissed you again.
this time, he was smiling.
your embarrassment dissolved into warmth. you curled your fingers lightly against his cheek while his other hand settled at your waist, careful despite the roughness of his knuckles.
when the kiss ended, you remained close enough that your forehead nearly touched his.
“I have a criticism,” you said quietly.
jimmy groaned. “of course you do.”
“your lip is injured.”
“that ain’t criticism.”
“It negatively affects the experience.”
“wow.”
“it was still enjoyable.”
“you really know how to make a guy feel special.”
“I am attempting to improve.”
“You are.”
jimmy brushed his thumb across the back of your hand.
from somewhere near the main building, the auditorium doors opened. students poured into the courtyard, their voices carrying over the stone paths.
you instinctively moved away.
jimmy’s hand remained around yours.
“what are you doing?” you asked.
“holding your hand.”
“people can see.”
“let them.”
your stomach tightened at the approaching crowd.
jimmy noticed.
his expression became serious. “you want me to stop?”
you looked at your joined hands.
several students were already watching. pinky whispered something to gord. beatrice stared openly. petey stood near the auditorium doors with an expression that suggested none of this surprised him.
the attention made you want to retreat into the library and remain there until graduation.
but jimmy’s thumb moved slowly against your skin.
steady.
patient.
you tightened your fingers around his.
“No,” you said. “you may continue.”
“how generous.”
“do not make me reconsider.”
he stood and pulled you gently to your feet.
“come on, professor.”
“where are we going?”
“somewhere without teachers.”
“That description includes several dangerous locations.”
“you trust me?”
you considered him: the untidy uniform, the bruised knuckles, the mischievous light in his brown eyes. he was still impatient, confrontational, and far too willing to challenge people twice his size.
he was also holding your hand as though it were something worth protecting.
“within reason,” you said.
jimmy smiled. “good enough.”
you walked across the courtyard together.
students moved aside when jimmy approached, some because of his reputation and others because the expression on his face warned them against commenting. when earnest opened his mouth, jimmy merely looked at him.
earnest closed it again.
“I thought you said you were not frightening,” you murmured.
“I never said that.”
“you are enjoying this.”
“a little.”
as you reached the path toward the dormitories, jimmy swung your joined hands once between you.
the movement was childish, obvious, and entirely unnecessary.
you allowed it.
“jimmy?”
“yeah?”
“I still believe you rely too heavily on violence.”
“I know.”
“And you are irresponsible.”
“probably.”
“And your handwriting remains nearly illegible.”
“you done?”
“for now.”
he glanced at you. “you know, you’re still stuck-up sometimes.”
“I am not.”
“you told mandy her essay had ‘no defensible structure.’”
“She requested my honest assessment.”
“She was crying.”
“The conclusion did require revision.”
jimmy laughed.
you leaned slightly into his shoulder as you walked, feeling the warm brush of his vest against your sleeve.
perhaps neither of you had been entirely wrong in the beginning.
jimmy was hotheaded. you could be pretentious. he frequently spoke before considering the consequences, while you considered so many consequences that speaking became nearly impossible. he charged directly into every problem. you observed problems until they grew too complicated to approach.
together, however, you had begun to find something between those extremes.
jimmy taught you that imperfect words were better than silence.
you taught him that not every conflict required a bruised fist.
neither lesson had been fully absorbed, but there was time.
at the base of the girls’ dormitory steps, jimmy stopped.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“we have history together.”
“I know.”
“then your statement was unnecessary.”
“it’s something people say.”
you looked at him.
jimmy waited, visibly attempting not to laugh.
understanding arrived.
“yes,” you said carefully. “you will see me tomorrow.”
“good.”
he began to release your hand.
you held on.
jimmy raised an eyebrow.
“there is another expected social behavior,” you said, “typically performed at the conclusion of a romantic interaction.”
his smile widened. “you asking me to kiss you?”
“I am providing contextual guidance.”
“sounds like asking.”
“the distinction is insignificant.”
jimmy stepped closer.
“say it normally.”
you frowned. “I have explained that normal speech is difficult.”
“I know.”
“then why—”
“because I wanna hear you try.”
your nervousness returned, but it no longer felt like a locked door. it was simply something you could move through.
you looked into his eyes.
“kiss me goodbye, jimmy.”
his expression softened.
“see?” he murmured. “wasn’t so hard.”
“It was moderately difficult.”
“I’ll make it worth it.”
“You are excessively confident.”
“and you talk too much.”
he kissed you before you could answer.
behind you, one of the dormitory windows opened. somebody whistled loudly from an upper floor. you felt jimmy smile against your mouth.
normally, the attention would have made you pull away.
instead, you remained where you were, one hand resting against the front of his untidy bullworth vest while his fingers curled gently around yours.
for once, you did not need to determine the correct response.
you simply kissed him back.
I hope you enjoyed this one! i personally didn’t like that one, feel like it was poorly executed but I hope I did what you asked right! Hope everyone had/have a good day or night!
