You were sitting on your bed, twirling the phone cord around your fingers, the glow of your lamp casting soft light over your room. The cheer squad practice had drained you, but it wasn’t the toe-touches or pyramid fails that were stressing you out—it was Zack Morris.

Ugh. Zack Freakin Morris.

You couldn’t stand how much he got to you. One minute he was ignoring you in the hallway, too busy cracking jokes with Slater or charming Kelly; the next, he was asking if you liked strawberry shakes, then not showing up for the group hang. Of course, Zack had no idea you liked him.

He was infuriating. And, unfortunately… kinda irresistible.

So, naturally, you did what any confused girl in the ’90s would do—you called the hottest teen advice line in Bayside.. You heard about it from a friend on the squad. Supposedly the guy on the other end actually gave decent advice. You rolled your eyes at yourself but dialed anyway.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello, you’ve reached Teenline. This is Nitro. What can I do for you?” Zack lazily flipped onto his stomach on his bed, propping his chin in one hand while holding the phone to his ear with the other, thinking of dollar signs. The whole Teenline thing? Originally, it was just a way to score some extra cash—easy job, right? Talk to a few random people, give out vague advice, get paid. Boom.

He wasn’t expecting anything actually interesting.

Until you called.

You didn’t recognize him. Not over the phone, not through the “Nitro” act. He adjusted his tone, dropped it a notch.