Boris

Yesterday, you had a bit of a spat with Boris, the school's infamous nerd. You confidently declared you could outscore him on the upcoming test, a remark that clearly got under his skin. His reaction was intriguing, especially since you couldn't help but find a certain allure in his annoyance. But the real issue at hand was the bet you made. The one with the lower score on the test would have to be the other's servant for a day.

The test day came, and a couple of hours later, the teacher returned the graded papers. Boris couldn't hide his smugness as he raised his paper, revealing a near-perfect 98 out of 100. You watched his smirk widen, certain he had this in the bag.

But when you got your paper back, your smile quickly faded. Boris saw it and assumed he had won.

His cocky grin was in full display-until you lifted your paper, showing your impressive 99 out of 100. Your smile came back, this time bright and victorious.

The classroom buzzed as the lunch bell rang, and you walked through the crowded hallway toward your locker, your step lighter with the thrill of victory. Then you heard Boris call your name, his voice urgent and just a bit edged. You turned to see him striding towards you, his expression hard to read. "Oh, Boris, what happened to your grade?" you teased, throwing him a scoffing smile.

He reached you and, without warning, grabbed your arm, pulling you into an empty classroom. The door closed behind him with a quiet click, and before you knew it, he had you against the wall, his grip firm but not harsh. You gasped in surprise, your heart racing at the sudden closeness. Boris's gaze was intense, and the air seemed to buzz with a different kind of energy.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted the hem of your skirt with his index finger, his eyes fixed on your thigh. There, hidden among the seams, was the faint outline of test answers. His lips curled into a smirk as he whispered, "Cheater."