I wrap up the kids' ballet class with a smile, clapping my hands to get their attention. "Great job today, everyone!" I call out, trying to sound upbeat despite the exhaustion and stress tugging at me. "Remember to keep practicing your positions, and we'll work on more fun combinations next week."

The kids scatter, gathering their bags and chattering excitedly. Just as I'm starting to collect my own things, I notice a familiar figure leaning against the doorframe: Bryan. My stomach twists, and the smile I had plastered on my face vanishes. He looks as infuriating as ever, with his arms crossed and that arrogant, smirking expression that makes my blood boil.

Lily's eyes light up when she sees her older brother, and she runs over to him with her little ballet bag. Her usual shyness fades a bit when she's with him, and he greets her with a brief nod. But when he turns his gaze to me, his eyes narrow and his smirk grows even more annoying.

"Still playing dress-up, Ballerina?" he taunts, his voice dripping with mockery. "You know, I'm not sure whether to be impressed or embarrassed for you."

I bristle, heat rising to my cheeks. "Nice to see you too, Bryan," I snap, trying not to let him get under my skin. "You're late, by the way."

He scoffs, completely unbothered. "Yeah, well, I've got better things to do than hang around a bunch of wannabe ballerinas," he says, his tone cold. "But don't worry—I'm sure your little class of future prima donnas survived without me."

I clench my jaw, refusing to let him see how much his words sting. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to show a little respect," I shoot back. "Especially since your sister happens to be one of those 'wannabe ballerinas.'"

He raises an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. "Lily knows I'm not talking about her," he replies, turning his attention to his sister. "¿Lista para irnos, hermanita?" he asks, his voice softening slightly. You ready to go, little sister?

Lily nods, looking between us with wide eyes. "Thank you, Miss Amber," she says shyly.

I force a smile, my annoyance fading slightly. "You did great today, Lily," I say warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

She nods again, clutching her bag, but Bryan cuts in before she can respond. "Speaking of tomorrow," he says, turning back to me with a glint of irritation in his eyes, "how exactly is this tutoring thing supposed to work? Because I'm not planning to waste my time catering to your little panic attacks over Spanish."

My fists tighten at my sides. "We have to meet regularly," I say through gritted teeth. "And don't act like this is some massive inconvenience. It's part of our grade, and I'm not letting you drag me down."

He laughs, a harsh sound that grates on my nerves. "Oh, relax," he sneers. "You're not important enough to drag me down. I'll show up, but I'm not holding your hand through every little verb conjugation. Figure out a schedule and let me know."

I can feel my face burning, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. "Fine," I snap. "Just don't flake out. I don't have time to babysit your ego."

He smirks, leaning down to grab Lily's bag. "Nos vemos, Ballerina," he says, his voice laced with mockery. See you, Ballerina.

"Don't call me that," I mutter, but he's already turning away, his laughter echoing in the hallway.

I watch them leave, seething with a mix of anger and frustration. Bryan is insufferable, and it seems like he's only getting worse

—----

I make my way back to the dorm, my mind still spinning from Bryan's taunts and that whole infuriating encounter. The walk across campus does little to calm my nerves, and by the time I reach our suite, I'm practically vibrating with frustration.

I push the door open to find Izzy sprawled on the couch in her pajamas, munching on a bag of chips. She's got her hair pulled back into a messy bun, and there's a half-empty soda can sitting on the coffee table. And sitting across from her, to my utter disbelief, is Blake. Again.

Blake looks up and gives me his easygoing smile. "Hey, Amber," he says, waving casually. "Didn't know you were babysitting Bryan Munzo's sister today."

I pause, my eyes narrowing as I kick off my shoes. "How do you know about that?" I demand, shooting Izzy a look. "Did you tell him?"

Izzy shrugs, looking far too pleased with herself. "Maybe I mentioned it," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I mean, it's not every day your best friend gets stuck with Bryan."

I groan, dropping my ballet bag by the door and collapsing onto the armchair. "You won't believe how awful he is," I rant, throwing my hands up. "He's the worst. The absolute worst. He called my class a bunch of 'wannabe ballerinas,' made fun of me, and then had the nerve to act like tutoring me is some huge inconvenience."

Izzy and Blake exchange a look, and Izzy snorts, trying not to laugh. "Sounds like he's got a serious attitude problem," she says, but there's a teasing lilt to her voice. "Maybe he secretly likes you, you know? The whole 'mean boy pulling your pigtails' thing."

I nearly choke. "Absolutely not." I glare at her. "Do not put that idea into the universe."

Blake, who has been watching our exchange with an amused grin, raises an eyebrow. "I don't know, Amber. Sounds like you two have a lot of... chemistry," he says, dragging out the last word like he's enjoying my discomfort.

I groan again, throwing a pillow in Izzy's direction. "Don't even joke about that," I say, my voice muffled as I press my hands to my face. "Anyway, why are you here again, Blake? Are you two actually studying this time, or is this another 'study' session?"

Izzy grins, her cheeks turning a little pink. "We were studying," she insists, though the stack of untouched textbooks on the table suggests otherwise. "But then we got distracted by the sheer drama of your life. Honestly, Amber, you're way more entertaining than any business lecture."

Blake chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "It's true," he says. "I think I'm going to need regular updates on your adventures with Bryan."

I groan, shaking my head. "Great, just what I needed—an audience for my suffering." But even as I say it, I can't help but feel a small smile creeping onto my face. Despite everything, having Izzy and Blake here, making me laugh, makes the whole ordeal a little more bearable.

Izzy nudges Blake with her elbow. "See? We're a great support system," she says, winking at me. "Now, tell us everything. And I mean everything."

—----

Amber stands in front of the mirror, curling the last few strands of her long black hair. The soft, cascading waves fall perfectly over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that makes her feel a little more put together, even if it's just for a night of babysitting. Her outfit is minimalist but polished: a fitted black top tucked neatly into cream high-waisted trousers that elongate her figure. She drapes a tan sweater over her shoulders, the kind of classic touch that says she knows what she's doing—at least on the outside. Her black handbag hangs from the crook of her arm, and she does a final check in the mirror, making sure everything is in place.

"Alright, Amber," she mutters to herself, taking a deep breath. "You've got this. Just a relaxing evening with Lily. No stress, no Bryan. You look like an adult who has her life together, so go act like it."

She grabs her phone, keys, and a book she plans to read after Lily goes to bed—Pride and Prejudice. With everything in hand, she steps out of her dorm, the crisp autumn air hitting her cheeks. The sky is beginning to darken, the sun setting slowly and painting the horizon with streaks of orange and pink. The campus pathways are scattered with students, some rushing to evening classes and others sitting in groups, laughing and sharing snacks.

She takes a shortcut through a quieter part of campus, where the noise dies down and the streetlights begin to flicker on. Amber pulls out her phone and checks the time. I'm a little early, she thinks, feeling slightly relieved. She hates the idea of being late for anything, and Lily's mom is always appreciative of Amber's punctuality.

Before long, she arrives at the familiar neighborhood. The houses are cozy, with warm lights glowing from the windows, and the smell of someone's barbecue wafts through the air. It's that perfect time of the evening where families are settling in, and there's a feeling of peace in the air.

Amber reaches Lily's house and knocks gently on the door. Almost immediately, the door swings open, and Lily's mom greets her with a grateful smile. "Amber, thank you so much for coming," she says, a hint of relief in her voice.

Amber smiles back, the warmth of the house already making her feel welcome. "No problem at all," she says. "I'm happy to help."

She steps inside, feeling the comforting warmth and familiar coziness of the home. The scent of freshly baked cookies lingers in the air, and she can hear Lily's soft giggles coming from the living room.

I stand in the middle of the living room, paint-splattered and breathless from laughing, clutching a paintbrush that's seen better days. The entire space looks like a rainbow exploded, with streaks of blue, red, and green decorating the floor, the coffee table, and, well, me. My cream trousers are dotted with paint, and there's a bright orange handprint smudged on my cheek, thanks to Lily's enthusiastic artistry.

Lily, giggling uncontrollably, points at my face. "Amber, you look like you got attacked by a giant pumpkin!"

I gasp in mock horror, pretending to be scandalized. "Oh, really? Well, you look like Picasso's latest masterpiece—if he painted blindfolded!" I swipe some pink paint onto her already colorful forehead, making her burst into another fit of giggles.

Just as I'm about to snap one more ridiculous selfie, the front door slams open. I freeze, and the laughter dies in my throat. There he is, standing in the doorway, looking like he walked into a crime scene. His dark eyes narrow, sweeping over the absolute chaos before landing on me. His jaw clenches, and he crosses his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt.

"What the hell happened here?" he demands, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. The irritation radiating off him is palpable, and my stomach twists. "Did a kindergarten class escape, or are you two just incapable of not making a mess?"

Heat rushes to my face, partly from embarrassment and partly from anger. I stand up, trying to look composed despite the orange handprint on my cheek. "It's called having fun, Bryan," I say, my voice defensive. "We were being creative."

Bryan lets out a short laugh, but it's not one of amusement. It's more like he's laughing because he can't believe what he's seeing. "¿En serio?" he mutters, switching to Spanish. Seriously? He glances around at the paint-splattered room, then back at Amber. "This place looks like a rainbow exploded and then had a meltdown."

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stand my ground. "Relax," I snap. "We'll clean it up. It's not the end of the world."

He steps closer, and his presence is almost suffocating, making the room feel even smaller. "Yeah, you better," he says coldly. "Because if my mom comes home to this mess, she's going to think you can't handle babysitting. And I'd hate to see you lose that 'responsible, put-together' image you're so desperate to keep."

His words cut deep, and I feel a surge of frustration. "I'm perfectly capable of handling this," I say through gritted teeth, my hands clenching. "And for your information, Lily had a great time."

Lily, who's been watching the exchange with wide eyes, looks up at Bryan with a hint of nervousness. "It was really fun, Bryan," she says softly, clutching her little hands together. "Miss Amber is the best."

Bryan's expression softens for a split second when he looks at his sister, but it's fleeting. His gaze snaps back to me, cold and unyielding. "Just clean it up," he mutters. "I don't care how much fun you had—this place better be spotless, or you'll have more than just me to deal with."

My face burns with a mix of anger and humiliation. "Don't worry," I bite out, my voice shaking slightly. "I'll make sure it's perfect. Wouldn't want to inconvenience you in any way."

His smirk is infuriating, almost cruel. "Good," he says, his voice low and mocking. "And for the record, that orange handprint on your face? Real classy, Ballerina."

I stand there, stunned and fuming, as he turns and walks away, leaving me seething. "Come on, Picasso," I manage to say, forcing my voice to sound cheerful for Lily's sake. "Let's get you ready for bed."

I follow Lily to the bathroom, trying to put Bryan's infuriating comments out of my mind. Lily's still giggling, though she looks sleepy, and I help her up onto the stool by the sink. Grabbing a washcloth, I gently wipe the paint from her face, focusing on getting every last streak of blue and yellow off her forehead.

Lily looks up at me with wide, tired eyes, her little smile softening my frayed nerves. "Thank you, Miss Amber," she whispers, and I feel my heart melt a bit. It's moments like these that make the chaos worth it.

"Anytime, Picasso," I whisper back, ruffling her hair. I'm so focused on making sure her face is spotless that I completely forget to clean the bright orange handprint still stamped on my own cheek. Lily doesn't seem to notice, and I'm too tired to remember, so I lead her to her bedroom and tuck her into bed.

"Do you want a story?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Lily nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up despite her fatigue. I grab a book from her nightstand—The Tale of Peter Rabbit—and settle into the chair beside her bed. My voice is soft as I read, and by the time Peter is sneaking into Mr. McGregor's garden, Lily's eyes are fluttering shut. I finish the story quietly, and when I'm sure she's asleep, I tiptoe out of the room, closing the door gently behind me.

I let out a small sigh of relief and run a hand through my hair. At least Lily's bedtime had gone smoothly. But as I make my way back downstairs, I freeze mid-step when I see Bryan sitting on the couch in the living room. His legs are stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch, and his gaze is fixed on his phone. He doesn't look up immediately, and for a split second, I contemplate just sneaking past him and escaping.

Of course, that would be too easy. Bryan's eyes flick up, and when he sees me, his lips curl into that signature, infuriating smirk. "Nice look, Ballerina," he says, nodding toward my face. "You planning to start a new trend, or did you forget to wash off your war paint?"

My hand flies to my cheek, and I feel the dried, crusty orange paint still stamped there. Great. Just great. My face heats up, but I force myself to stand tall, refusing to let him see how embarrassed I am. "I was busy making sure your sister was ready for bed," I shoot back, crossing my arms. "But I guess you wouldn't know what that's like, would you?"

He smirks, but there's something almost... thoughtful in his eyes, as if he's trying to figure me out. "Whatever," he says, shrugging. "Let's get this tutoring and project thing settled. I'd rather not drag it out."

I roll my eyes but step closer, grabbing my phone from the coffee table to pull up my schedule. "Fine," I mutter. "Let's get this over with."

We go over our class schedules, arguing over the best times to meet. Bryan keeps trying to pick times that don't work for me, like he's doing it on purpose, and I shoot down every one of his suggestions until we finally settle on a plan.

Bryan leans back, his smirk not faltering. "Fine," he says, sounding bored. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, right? We'll combine the project work and tutoring so you don't freak out over the Spanish. Thursdays can be after you babysit, but where are we meeting on Tuesdays?"

I bite my lip, thinking. "We can meet at my dorm," I suggest, trying to sound confident. "Izzy won't mind, and it's... convenient."

Bryan considers this, his gaze narrowing. "Your dorm," he repeats, like he's weighing the pros and cons. "Alright, Ballerina. Your dorm it is. But if your room is as chaotic as this—" he gestures to the paint-covered floor, "—I'm not wasting my time cleaning up."

I scowl, fighting the urge to throw a paintbrush at him. "Deal," I say through gritted teeth. "Just don't show up late or flake out."

Bryan's smirk only widens, as if my anger is the most entertaining thing he's seen all day. "I wouldn't dream of it," he says. "See you Tuesday, Ballerina."

—---

I burst through the door of our dorm, my face still marked with the now-iconic orange handprint, my cream trousers splattered with paint, and my hair slightly frizzed from the chaos of babysitting. Isabella, who is lounging on the couch in her pajamas with a face mask smeared on, looks up from her laptop and immediately bursts out laughing.

"Amber, oh my God!" she cackles, clutching her stomach. "Did you get attacked by an art project, or is that just the latest fashion trend?"

I groan, dumping my bag onto the floor and dramatically collapsing into the armchair. "You have no idea what kind of night I've had," I moan, rubbing my temples. "And to make matters worse, you're never going to believe what I'm about to tell you."

Izzy's eyes light up with intrigue. "Oh, spill the tea," she says, leaning forward and nearly getting face mask on her laptop. "What happened? Did Bryan Munzo magically turn into a decent human being?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, not even close," I say, rolling my eyes. "In fact, he's going to invade our personal space next Tuesday."

Izzy blinks, her mouth falling open. "Wait, what?" she says, staring at me like I've just announced that aliens landed in the quad. "Invade our space? What are you talking about?"

I sit up, waving my hands dramatically. "Bryan and I have to work on the Spanish project together," I explain, cringing as I say it. "And we settled on meeting here, in our dorm, every Tuesday. Every Tuesday, Izzy! Do you realize the horror of this situation?"

Izzy gasps, her eyes going wide with mock horror. "You mean Bryan? The guy you hate more than waking up for 8 a.m. classes?" She pauses, then adds with a mischievous grin, "The same guy who, might I add, kind of looks like he walked straight off a romance novel cover?"

I glare at her. "Don't even go there," I snap, though my face flushes at the thought. "This isn't a romance novel. It's a nightmare! And now I have to make sure he doesn't think our room is some chaotic disaster zone."

Izzy taps her chin, pretending to think deeply. "Well, I guess we could clean," she says, then gives me a wicked grin. "Or we could leave Steve the Plant in the middle of the room and hope Bryan trips over him."

I burst out laughing, my stress melting away for a moment. "Honestly, that's tempting," I say. "But if he even touches Steve, there will be blood."

Izzy laughs and flops back on the couch. "This is going to be entertaining," she says. "I can't wait to see Mr. Too-Cool-For-Feelings trying to act all serious in our humble abode. Just... maybe make sure you wash that paint off your face before he shows up, yeah?"

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Ugh, Izzy, I'm doomed."

She just grins, leaning forward to hand me a wet wipe. "Here," she says. "Consider this the first step in preparing for the Bryan Munzo apocalypse."

—---

Thank You for Reading Chapter Thirteen!

Hey there! Thank you so much for joining Amber and Bryan's journey— there's plenty more to come.

Let me know what you thought—I love hearing your reactions!

See you in the next one! ✨