Aria Whitmore didn't need enemies when she had a 3.8 GPA to maintain—unfortunately, she'd been assigned Kai Blackwell, who was proving to be both her academic partner and her biggest threat.
The Powell Library buzzed with pre-departure energy as study abroad students scrambled to perfect their cultural presentations. Laptops glowed like campfires in the dimly lit study areas, and the scent of desperation mixed with overpriced coffee created an atmosphere thick enough to cut.
Aria claimed her usual spot at a corner table, surrounded by a fortress of color-coded research materials. The assignment was straightforward: partner presentations on European cultural traditions, worth fifteen percent of their pre-departure grade. For someone whose scholarship hung by the thread of academic perfection, it should have been simple.
Except her partner had vanished.
Three nights running, she'd sat in this exact spot, waiting for Kai to show up for their scheduled prep sessions. Three nights of solo research while other pairs whispered over shared screens and divided responsibilities like functional human beings.
Her phone remained stubbornly silent. No texts, no emails, not even a casual "hey, can't make it" message. It was like he'd decided their partnership was optional.
By Thursday night—presentation day minus twelve hours—Aria had highlighted every relevant source twice, organized her note cards by historical period, and created a backup presentation just in case Kai's complete absence was some kind of elaborate test of her dedication.
She was running on three hours of sleep and four iced americanos when she finally spotted him the next morning, sauntering into Kaufman Hall five minutes after presentations had started. Same backwards cap, same effortless confidence, carrying nothing but his phone and what looked like a energy drink from a vending machine.
"You missed every single prep session," she hissed as he dropped into the seat beside her, his casual sprawl making her rigid posture look even more uptight by comparison.
Kai shrugged, not even having the decency to look apologetic. "Relax, sunshine. You've obviously got enough prep work for both of us."
Her jaw dropped. The audacity was breathtaking. "You think you can just coast on my research?"
"That's exactly what I think." His grin was pure arrogance, like he'd just complimented her organizational skills instead of admitting to academic parasitism. "You love this stuff anyway. Win-win."
Before she could formulate a response that wouldn't get her expelled, Professor Marlowe called their names.
"Whitmore and Blackwell, you're up."
Aria's stomach clenched as they walked to the front of the auditorium. She'd practiced this presentation until she could recite it in her sleep, but having Kai as her supposedly equal partner made her feel like she was walking to her execution.
She launched into her meticulously researched portion on French café culture—the historical significance of Parisian coffeehouses as centers of intellectual discourse, their role in the French Revolution, the social protocols that had evolved over centuries. Every fact was cited, every transition smooth, every slide perfectly timed.
The audience actually leaned forward, engaged by her passion for the subject matter.
Then she finished her section and turned expectantly to Kai.
He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, glanced at the projection screen like he was seeing it for the first time, and delivered exactly two sentences:
"So, yeah. French croissants are pretty cool, I guess."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Scattered laughter rippled through the auditorium—not the appreciative kind that followed a clever joke, but the uncomfortable kind that filled awkward silences. Someone in the back row actually whispered, "Is that it?"
Aria stood frozen at the podium, watching her carefully crafted presentation crumble under the weight of Kai's spectacular indifference. She could have stepped in. Could have smoothed over his non-contribution with additional research, covered his section with her backup material, salvaged their grade through sheer force of preparation.
Instead, she snapped her presentation binder shut with deliberate finality and walked off the stage.
The auditorium fell completely silent except for the soft click of her heels against the floor. Even Professor Marlowe looked stunned, her pen hovering over her grading sheet like she wasn't sure how to document what had just happened.
"Thank you..." Marlowe said slowly, consulting her notes. "Whitmore and Blackwell. That was... certainly memorable."
Heat burned Aria's cheeks as she returned to her seat, but for the first time in three years of academic perfectionism, she didn't regret letting someone else's failure speak for itself. If Kai wanted to play careless with their shared grade, fine. She wasn't going to be his safety net.
The presentations continued around them—other pairs seamlessly tag-teaming through research on Italian Renaissance art, Spanish flamenco traditions, German beer culture. Every collaboration highlighted exactly what theirs wasn't.
When the session ended, Blake Sterling materialized at her elbow with the timing of someone who'd been watching for the perfect moment to approach.
"That was completely unfair to you," he said, his voice pitched low with just the right blend of sympathy and outrage. "You deserved a partner who matched your intellectual commitment. Someone who takes academic excellence seriously."
He angled a sleek portfolio toward her, and she caught a glimpse of his transcript through the clear cover—rows of perfect A's stretching back to freshman year, dean's list recognition, academic honors that read like a greatest hits collection.
"If you want to request a partner switch, I'll provide a character reference," Blake continued smoothly. "Professor Marlowe respects students who prioritize academic integrity."
Aria's breath caught. A switch? Freedom from Kai's chaotic approach to everything? The chance to work with someone who understood that grades actually mattered?
But before she could respond, Kai's phone buzzed loudly enough to cut through her contemplation. The sound was followed by his voice, low and tense, carrying clearly across the emptying auditorium.
"I get it, Dad, but one subpar presentation doesn't mean I'm throwing my entire future away." A pause, then his voice cracked slightly. "What do you mean, cut funding? You wouldn't actually—"
Aria froze in the doorway, Blake's offer suddenly forgotten. Through the glass partition, she could see Kai pacing in tight circles, one hand pressed against his ear, the other running through his dark hair with increasing agitation.
"No, I understand the expectations. I just—" His voice broke off entirely, and for the first time since she'd known him, Kai Blackwell looked genuinely rattled.
The untouchable quarterback who coasted through life on charm and family money was apparently one phone call away from losing everything—and Aria was the only witness to his carefully constructed world starting to crumble.