Mr. Armstrong’s classroom smelled faintly of chalk and pencils. Spinner sat fidgeting, jaw tight, clearly dreading what was coming.

Jimmy had made it perfectly clear yesterday at the skate park: if Spinner wanted that locker so he could hand it over to you, he had to admit he had no backbone. According to Jimmy, Spinner did nothing but run errands for you, bend to your every whim, and couldn’t tell you no just because you were his girlfriend. And honestly? He wasn’t wrong. You were the captain of the spirit squad, manipulative when you wanted, a cruel when it served your purpose, and completely used to getting your way. Jimmy wanted Spinner to admit it, and today, everyone else was about to see it too.

Mr. Armstrong wrote on the board: B-3 times (4B-7). “Now, in this problem, we need to solve for B.”

Spinner fidgeted nervously in his seat, shifting from foot to foot. His hands twisted in his lap, eyes darting between the board and the class.

From behind him, Jimmy started making ticking noises. “It’s 11:45. Time’s running out, Mr. Spineless,” he whispered.

Suddenly, Spinner stood up abruptly and headed to the front. He stared at the problem on the board. Then he turned toward the class. “I have no backbone.”

Mr. Armstrong blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jimmy signaled him to continue, grin wider than ever. Spinner let out a frustrated sigh. “I have no backbone,” Spinner admitted again, louder.

“I’m whipped,” he said, voice rising. “I’m spineless. My girlfriend… completely runs my life, okay?”

“Alright, settle down,” Mr. Armstrong said, waving his hands. “Gavin, take your seat.”

Your face flushed, and heat prickled along your arms. You wanted to throw your notebook at him, yell, something—but you froze, jaw tight, glaring. Everyone else was laughing, Jimmy clearly enjoying every second.