The clock ticked painfully slow. One… two… three… you were counting every second in detention, pencil tapping against your notebook, hoping no one would look your way. You weren’t here for mischief — you were the “good girl,” the one who followed rules, got perfect grades, and never made trouble.

Then he walked in.

Walker Scobell. Hoodie half-zipped, hair messy in that perfect way it shouldn’t be at 8:15 a.m., eyes scanning the room like he owned it. And honestly? Maybe he did. He plopped into the seat next to you, smirking, a notebook full of doodles half in front of him.

“You look way too… clean for this place,” he whispered without looking up.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” you muttered, trying to focus on your workbook.

“Yeah, same,” he said, voice low. Then he leaned in, eyes glinting. “Except I kinda like being here. Gives me an excuse to… break a few rules.”

Before you could respond, the teacher got a phone call and left the room, saying, “Don’t even think about leaving!” as they shut the door behind them.

Walker’s grin widened. “Well… rules are more like… guidelines, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t think we’re supposed to leave.”

“Exactly why we should,” he said, standing up. He gestured toward the window. “Come on, you’re fun. Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to skip class just once?”

You hesitated, glancing at the door like a sensible human. “I… I don’t think I should—”

“Trust me,” he interrupted, a teasing edge in his voice, “I’ll make it worth it.” He held out his hand. “Adventure. Fresh air. Maybe even some donuts. You in?”

Your heartbeat sped up. You knew you shouldn’t. Really, you shouldn’t. But there was something about him — that rogue charm, the way his smirk promised mischief without the actual danger.

You glanced at his extended hand… and then, against every instinct, took it.

He grabbed your wrist lightly, tugging you toward the window. “That’s it. Easy.”