Mia's POV
"Guys, listen! Attention please! Attention!" I turned to look at the one speaking. Well, guess who? Cynthia the Great. She's been our class president since 7th grade. I even want to impeach her sometimes, but I can't deny it—she's got real leadership skills, just like her mom. So I let it slide.
"Please take your seats, everyone! I have an announcement to make!" she called out, clapping her hands. We all settled into our seats. We're known to be prim and proper sometimes, but most of the time, the complete opposite.
"So here's the deal, a month from now, we are going on an outing! Isn't it exciting?!" Cynthia's voice hit that squeaky pitch she uses when she's pretending not to scream. Of course, I already knew about it—I'm one of the class officials, and we had a meeting yesterday.
"And guess what? We're staying on a private island owned by our very own Mia! Well, technically by her family, but still." Cynthia gestured to me dramatically.
Yup, that's my suggestion. We own a private island in Palawan. It's not far from a hotel we also own, but I wanted it exclusive. The place is gorgeous—white sand beach, crystal-clear water, and a cliff nearby that's perfect for diving. My favorite spot.
"How much are the fines?" Shinzou asked immediately. Typical. The guy's got an unlimited allowance, but he pinches pennies like his life depends on it. Unlike Merida, Shinzou's not a spoiled brat despite his family's massive business empire.
"Don't worry about transportation, because it's covered by our soon-to-be Fly Asia owner, Lexi Rivera!" Cynthia added, grinning at Lexi.
Yup, you heard it right. Since we're in Manila and Palawan is far, we need to take a plane. Palawan's an island—what do you expect, for us to go on a road trip? Or take a boat the whole way? Geez.
"And for ground transport, we'll use my van. Some of the boys here already have licenses, so they'll be the ones driving to make things less hassle."
Cynthia's eyes swept the room. "Guys, please, no buzzkill vibes, okay? You, Mariah, no excuses—you're coming! Now we're settled." She clasped her hands dramatically, like she was closing a business deal.
The classroom erupted right after. Everyone started chattering about the outing, their voices overlapping. Some were too excited, while a few—like Lexi—pulled out books to study. Finals were just around the corner, after all.
"Cliff diving, what do you think?" Lexi leaned over and asked me, her signature smirk in place. She's my favorite girl in town. And no, that's not sarcasm. We even have a dumb nickname—the Porn Star Girls. Not because we are porn stars, but because of our names: Mia and Lexi. Mia Khalifa, Lexi Lore—you get it. They quit the industry for love. Weirdly, I admire them. And no, I'm not a porn addict.
"Nice. There are cliffs there, we just need to ride a boat. There are boats in the area," I answered casually. I know how to maneuver a boat; I've been doing it since I was sixteen. Rich kid, sure, but I'm no helpless princess. I can do things on my own—better than most guys here. Unlike Merida, I don't just sit pretty and wait for someone to serve me.
"Nice. Gotta study," Lexi muttered, heading to Missy's desk. They're behind me, but because our classroom is huge and we're few, we're spaced out. Actually, it's an advantage—it prevents cheating during exams.
I hate cheaters. We once had a classmate who tried to cheat his way into this section. Guess what? He even bribed Hiro not to tell anyone he cheated on a minor exam. Why bribe Hiro of all people? The guy's loaded. What a shameful move.
I also hate try-hards. Some students desperately climb their way into Class A. Few succeed, like Kisses—she's been with us since Grade 8. Most don't last; they fly up, then crash hard.
Why? What's the obsession with being here? Opportunities? I doubt it. It's about power. This class is a powerhouse. Everyone in Chevalier fears us—and not without reason.
Hiro, for example. Basketball captain. If anyone thinks he pulled strings, they're delusional. Watch one game and it's clear—he's the real deal. MVP three years straight, killer leadership skills, and he maintains top grades. More than maintains—he improves.
"Good afternoon, class."
We all stood to greet Ms. Samonte, our Pre-Calculus teacher. Contrary to what outsiders think, we don't intimidate our teachers for grades. Chevalier hires only the best—the kind whose principles can't be bought, even by our parents.
Well, most of them. There was this one teacher who took a bribe to push a student into our class. Big mistake. We—yes, we students—did our own investigation.
Missy traced a bank transfer through her parents' bank (biggest in the world, by the way). Three million pesos to the teacher. Stupid move. The student hadn't even transferred yet when the teacher got caught. License revoked, three million forfeited and donated to school scholars.
Justice served—by us.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Samonte," we chorused. Respect where it's due.
"Take your seats and get one whole sheet of paper. I hope you studied your Pre-Calculus notes last night."
We obeyed, pulling out yellow pads and pens. Ms. Samonte started writing problems on the whiteboard. The room went silent, except for the squeak of markers, the hum of the aircon, and the scratch of pens on paper.
Quizzes here aren't just quizzes. Even a ten-point quiz, we treat seriously. No one turns their head left or right—one glance, and you're branded a cheater. It's strict. It's serious. That's life in Class A.
Thirty minutes later:
"Pass your papers. Get your next test from my desk."
We lined up, dropped our quizzes, and grabbed the next sheet. Fifty items. Half an hour. No multiple choice. I wanted to groan, but instead, I got to work. I'm no genius—I just study hard. Doesn't mean I don't struggle.
I finished five minutes before the bell. Unusual.
"Geez, that was hard!" Merida groaned immediately. She always complains post-exam. Can't help herself.
"Mariah! Get your ass here!" she barked. Her usual. "Buy me milk tea—the usual, okay?"
And, like always, Mariah followed. The good girl. Always obedient, even when she shouldn't be. I never understood her. She's richer than Merida, yet acts like her servant.
"Geez, Mariah! Stop being a stupid slave, you scaredy cat!" Lexi snapped. She doesn't hate Mariah, but she sure doesn't respect her either.
"Oh, my pretty porn star. Stop meddling. You're out of this," Merida shot back, smiling that fake, sugar-coated smile of hers.
"Uhu? First off, I'm not a porn star. Second… who was that bitch who got laid in the school bathroom, huh?" Lexi fired back without hesitation. That's Lexi—no filter, no mercy.
Merida's eyes rolled, her only defense. Defeat.
"A bitch you want, a bitch you'll get. Lexi Belle Rivera, everyone!" Zeke announced dramatically, patting Merida's shoulder, which only pissed her off more. She stormed out with Sandra trailing behind.
"Mariah! Now!" Merida's voice echoed from the hallway.
But Mariah didn't move. She stayed put, silent, her face blank. Lexi just stared into space, jaw tight. Those two were oil and water. Our class week wouldn't be complete without at least one fight between them.
"What just happened there?" Shawn asked casually while trying to grope Missy.
The hell. Perverted as ever.
"Ew! Shawn, can you not?!" Missy yelled, smacking his hand.
"Psst, Mariah. Later," Shawn whispered, grinning.
I knew what that meant. We all knew. Mariah was everyone's target—Merida's servant, Shawn's stress relief, the class's punching bag. We're supposed to be the "big brains" of Chevalier, but when it comes to humanity? I'd say we're bankrupt. Manners? Easy to fake.
Honestly, I think if someone in this class ever committed murder, we'd get away with it. I'd know—I'm president of the Theater and Arts Club. Faking emotions is second nature.
"Geez, Shawn. Can you, like, fuck yourself sometimes? You're disgusting," Lexi groaned.
"Fuck me instead," Shawn teased.
Typical. I'm flirty too, but not that shameless. You can touch anything, sure—except my pearl. You know what I mean.
"Why don't you just pair up with Merida!" Lexi snapped, storming out and dragging Zeke with her. Missy followed when Lexi gave her the look. Hiro too.
Me? I stayed seated. Watching. Thinking.
Ting.
I fished my phone out of my pocket and checked the screen.
From: Skylar
Hey. I'm at the locker room. You need to see this.
Skylar's a boy, but his name always confuses people. Anyone who hasn't met him but only heard his name assumes he's a girl. Even I made that mistake once.
To: Skylar
Better be worth it, or I'll wring your neck.
I slipped my phone back and stood up. My classmates were still chatting about the outing, but I didn't bother explaining. I headed straight for the elevator, rode it to the 7th floor, and walked to the Class 12-A locker rooms.
All Class A lockers are here—six rooms total, split by gender, each with its own shower room divided into cubicles. Boys and girls separate, obviously.
I pushed open the boys' locker room door and found Skylar leaning against a row of lockers, phone in hand. The moment he saw me, he walked forward and kissed me—completely ignoring the fact the door was still wide open. His hand started wandering down my side, fingers trailing lower, but before they reached their destination, I pushed him back and arched a brow.
"What?" He blinked, looking genuinely confused. Seriously.
"Hey, lover boy. I didn't come here for a make-out session. You said you had something juicy."
"This is juicy." He smirked, eyes flicking downward toward his own crotch.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Skylar, I swear—this better be worth my time."
"Okay, okay. Chill." He unlocked his phone and tapped through his gallery.
Finally, he held it up.
On the screen was Mariah.
Half-dressed. Moaning. Her teary eyes told a different story—I couldn't tell if it was from Shawn's… enthusiasm… or because she hated every second of it. And speaking of Shawn, of course, it was him. Grinning, rough, oblivious—or maybe not.
"That," I said, a slow smile curling on my lips, "is definitely juicy."
This wasn't just gossip material. This was leverage. Power.
And in Class 12-A, power is everything.