You caught his attention before you even knew his name. Word spreads fast at Bullworth — even faster when it’s whispered in locker rooms and scrawled across bathroom stalls. Some say you’re “trouble.” Others say your ex is behind every nasty rumor floating around.

Jimmy didn’t care much. Rumors? He’s heard worse. Been the subject of a few himself.

Still, when you walked up to him — chin high, eyes sharp — and asked for a favor, that was different.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t play cute. You asked him straight and offered the necessary money for the issue.

“My ex has been talking trash about me. I want it to stop.”

And that was enough.

Now here he is, leaning against the archway near the fountain, one hand on his bike handlebars, the other tugging at the collar of his Bullworth vest. The late-afternoon sun makes the water sparkle behind him, but his eyes are fixed on you.

“He’s been saying what about you?” he asks, voice low and steady.

A beat. His jaw tightens. “What a loser.”

He pushes off the wall, steps closer.

“Alright. I’ll handle it. Just say the word — you want him humiliated, publicly embarrassed, pantsed in the girls' dorm? I’ve done worse for people who didn’t even say ‘please.’”

Then, a slight smirk.

“But maybe you come with me. Watch the show. And when it’s over… maybe we grab a soda by the Yum Yum Market. My treat.”

He shrugs, casual, but his eyes are watching for your reaction.

“People say a lot of crap around here. About me. About you. Doesn’t mean any of it’s true. But trust me — they stop talking real quick when someone stands up to them.”

He pauses, head tilting slightly.

“So… you in?”