Chapter 290: Teasing Ms. Bloom

"I want to show you exactly where you’re losing points," she said, moving around the desk. All business. All professionalism. "Come here."

Phei stood. Moved to meet her.

Close now. Close enough that when she laid the grade breakdown on the desk between them, he caught her

scent

—something floral, subtle, expensive. Layered underneath with something warmer. Something that was just

her

.

His senses drank it in without permission.

"Here,"

she said, pointing at the paper. "Lab participation. You’ve missed three entirely. That’s thirty points you can’t—" She lifted her eyes to meet his.

She stopped.

Phei had leaned in to look at where she was pointing. A normal movement. Reasonable. But it brought him closer—close enough that she could smell

him

now.

And whatever she smelled made her lose her train of thought.

"Ms. Bloom?"

"I—" She blinked. Refocused. "Thirty points. Lab participation. You need to..." She trailed off again.

"I need to?"

"Focus."

The word came out strangled. "You need to focus."

"I am focusing."

"On chemistry."

"What else would I be focusing on?"

She didn’t answer. Didn’t move either. Just stood there, close enough to touch, breathing in something she shouldn’t be noticing.

"The labs," she said finally. "You can make them up. Tuesdays and Thursdays after school."

"With you?"

"With me."

"Alone?"

"That’s typically how tutoring works, Mr. Maxton."

"Phei."

"Excuse me?"

"My name.

It’s Phei

." He held her gaze. "You’ve been calling me Mr. Maxton like I’m a

forty-year-old

accountant. Makes me feel

ancient."

"Using first names would be inappropriate."

"More inappropriate than private tutoring sessions? After hours? Just the two of us?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

"Phei," she said finally. Testing it. "Fine. But only in private."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Something flickered in her eyes—warning, maybe. Or invitation. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"Don’t make me regret this," she said.

"I’ll do my best."

"Your best hasn’t been very impressive lately."

"Ouch."

"Truth hurts."

"So does chemistry, apparently." He smiled. "But I’m a fast learner."

"You know," Phei said, settling back into the uncomfortable chair like it was a throne, "for someone who’s supposed to be lecturing me, you’re doing an awful lot of listening."

Ms. Bloom’s lips twitched. Fighting something. "Maybe you’re more interesting than your attendance record suggests."

"Was that a

compliment?"

"It was an observation. Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late. It’s already there. Growing. Becoming

unmanageable."

She made a sound—half snort, half laugh—then caught herself, straightening like she’d been caught stealing.

"You have a sense of humour," Phei said. "I wasn’t sure."

"I have a

selective

sense of humour. Most students don’t qualify."

"But I do?"

"The jury’s still out."

He grinned. She looked away—but not before he caught the slight colour rising in her cheeks.

"Why did you really call me in here?"

The question landed softly. No accusation. Just curiosity.

She shifted in her chair.

"I told you. Your grades. Your attendance."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"Ms. Bloom." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You’ve been teaching years. You’ve seen a hundred students worse than me.

You don’t keep them after hours for private conversations

."

She was quiet for a moment.

"I was curious," she admitted finally. "About the changes."

"Changes?"

"You."

She gestured at him—all of him. "Three weeks ago, you were furniture. Background noise. Now you walk like you own the hallways. Girls watch you. Boys avoid you." She held his gaze. "I wanted to understand."

"And do you? Understand?"

"Not even slightly."

"Good." He held her gaze. "

Mystery is underrated

."

"The whole school’s talking about it, you know."

"About what?"

"The challenge." She raised an eyebrow. "Don’t play coy. You stood up in front of everyone and challenged Marcus Heavenchild."

"I challenged the basketball team."

"The basketball team... Marcus’s family essentially owns."

"Semantics."

"Suicide,

more like."

"Ms. Bloom." Phei pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I’m hurt. You don’t think I can beat a few rich boys at basketball?"

"I think you could beat them blindfolded and with one hand tied behind your back." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "I also think that’s not the point, and you know it."

"What is the point, then?"

"You tell me."

"Maybe I just really like basketball."

"Do you?"

"

Not particularly, no

."

"Then why—"

"Someone had to."

The words landed heavier than he’d intended. She noticed.

"That’s very noble," she said. "Very stupid, but noble."

"I prefer ’courageously reckless.’"

"I’m sure you do."

Silence.

Then Phei stood.

For a moment, Patricia tensed—uncertain, suddenly aware of how empty the school was, how alone they were, how the golden afternoon light made everything feel dreamlike and dangerous.

But he didn’t move toward her.

Instead, he swept into a bow.

Not casual.

Theatrical

—the kind you saw in period dramas, one hand pressed to his chest, one leg extended behind him, head dipped in exaggerated courtly grace.

"

My lady

," he intoned solemnly, "

I am but a humble servant

. I would

never

presume to challenge

royalty."

Patricia stared at him.

Then burst out laughing.

"What—" She couldn’t finish. "What are you

doing

?"

"Being humble.

Your words implied I wasn’t

."

"My words implied you were being

sarcastic

about being humble—" She waved at his ridiculous pose. "Stand up. You look ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming?"

"Ridiculously

ridiculous

."

But she was still laughing. Still soft. Still open in a way she hadn’t been ten minutes ago.

Phei straightened, grinning. "Made you laugh though."

"Against my will

."

"The best

laughs

usually are."

She shook her head slowly. Wonderingly.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me—" She stopped. Started again. "I’ve been teaching for years. I’ve had students try to

charm me, manipulate me, flirt

their way out of bad grades. I’ve seen every trick." She looked at him with something like frustration.

"You’re not doing any of that. You’re just...

being

. And somehow it’s working."

"Maybe I’m not trying to get anything from you."

"Everyone wants something."

"True."

He held her gaze. "But sometimes what people want isn’t what you’d expect."

"

And what do you want,

Mr. Maxton?"