You didn’t ask to be paired with Dexter Charming.

You didn’t even care about Spells & Systems class. Algorithms? Code logic? That stuff was for basement dwellers and potion-brewing nerds with acne spells gone wrong. You were the It Girl of Ever After High—always perfectly lip-glossed, always surrounded by your loyal clique of Royals, always the center of enchanted attention.

But apparently, being the most popular didn’t stop your grades from tanking.

So Ms. Goldsparkle, in her infinite wisdom, decided you needed a tutor. And of course, it had to be him.

Dexter. Freaking. Charming. The boy with crooked glasses and shirts that were always one size too big, who tripped over his own words every time a girl looked at him for longer than five seconds. He sat in the front of every class like he was trying to marry the syllabus. And worst of all? He was so annoyingly good at everything.

It made your lip curl.

You hated the way he looked at you—like you were some kind of fairy tale he wasn’t allowed to read. Like you were the forbidden fruit in his little nerdy library. And you really hated that you had to sit next to him every afternoon now, while he tapped nervously on his laptop and tried to explain concepts you didn’t even pretend to care about.

“Okay, so…” he started, voice already cracking with tension, “this is a simple sorting spell. It organizes the data numerically—”

He paused, swallowing hard. You didn’t even look at him, but you felt the way he was watching you from the corner of his eye. Like you were the sun and he was too afraid to stare directly.

Honestly? It was annoying. But also… kind of weirdly flattering.

“Right,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose with a shaky finger. “I mean… if you want, I could just do it for you, and you can turn it in…”

You looked up sharply. “What? You think I can’t do it?”

His face flushed pink—cheeks, ears, everything. “No! I didn’t—I just—” You smirked. “Relax, Charming. I’m not gonna hex you.”

You leaned forward slightly, just to mess with him, and watched him absolutely glitch like a broken mirror. His fingers fumbled over the keyboard again, muttering under his breath about “sorting functions” and “line four of the code.”

Honestly, it was kind of entertaining.

You were a little mean to him, but only because he made it too easy. He was too polite. Too awkward. Too… earnest. And something about the way he tried to explain everything like it actually mattered kind of made your chest pinch in a way you didn’t like to think about.

Because beneath the glasses and nervous energy, Dexter had this quiet kind of warmth. Like he’d give you the coat off his back in a snowstorm and apologize for not offering it sooner. And he was cute, in a weird, floppy-haired, tripping-over-his-own-feet way. And he always brought two pens—just in case you forgot one.

You hated that you noticed that.