Oops my crush is an alpha

The alarm clock was screaming at me like it had a personal vendetta. I smacked it off the nightstand (it fell, obviously, because my life is a disaster) and rolled over, realizing immediately that the sun was way too high in the sky.

Crap. Late. Again.

I shot out of bed so fast I tripped over the hoodie I'd worn yesterday and faceplanted right into the floor. Nose still intact (barely), I scrambled to throw on something that wasn't technically pajamas. Found jeans. Found one sock. Could not, for the life of me, find my other shoe.

"Mom!" I yelled, hopping around like a deranged flamingo. "Where's my-"

"Check under the couch!" she yelled back. Which... okay, why would my shoe be under the couch? Spoiler: it was. Because my little brother likes to "borrow" my stuff for his stupid Nerf battles.

By the time I finally had shoes on, I was already ten minutes late. I grabbed what I thought was toast from the counter, only to realize it was basically charcoal. Black, crunchy, smoke-alarm-toast. My mom gave me that look like, why are you the way you are, but didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

I bolted outside, chewing on burnt bread like it was punishment, and sprinted for school. Backpack bouncing, hair a mess, mascara smudged on one eye but not the other. Basically, if anyone saw me, they'd think: yep, she's thriving.

Halfway down the street, I nearly got run over by a guy on a motorbike. He didn't slow down. Just roared past, leather jacket, dark hair flying, attitude basically dripping off him. Everyone knew who he was.

The bad boy.

The one parents warned you about.

The one teachers sighed about.

The one girls whispered about in bathrooms.

And, okay... yeah, the one I maybe, possibly, definitely had the dumbest crush on.

By the time I made it to school, I was already sweating and wheezing like I'd run a marathon. My backpack strap had nearly sliced off my shoulder, my burnt-toast breakfast was still glued to the roof of my mouth, and to make things worse-he was there.

Bad Boy on Motorbike, leaning against the bike rack like a scene from a movie he didn't even audition for. Leather jacket, messy dark hair, bored expression that said he hated everyone but somehow still looked stupidly hot doing it.

I ducked my head, pretending to be very, very interested in the cracks on the sidewalk. Did not look at him. Definitely didn't notice that he looked up right as I passed.

"Girl," a voice hissed, making me nearly choke on my spit. My best friend, Riley, materialized at my side like a demon summoned by gossip. She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the cafeteria before I could collapse on the spot.

"Did you see him?" Riley whispered, eyes bugging out like she'd just spotted a celebrity. "Motorbike. Jacket. Literal jawline of a god. I swear, he's the reason I believe in reincarnation."

I snorted, dropping my tray on the cafeteria table. "Please. He looks like the reason people don't believe in parole."

Riley gasped. "You're just jealous."

"Of what? His bad attitude? The fact he probably smells like gasoline and broken dreams?" I stabbed my pizza slice with a fork (yes, I eat pizza with a fork, fight me).

Riley leaned in, lowering her voice dramatically. "Rumor is, he got expelled from his last school for fighting. Like, broke some guy's nose in three places."

"Rumor also says our principal is secretly a vampire," I muttered. "Doesn't make it true."

"Okay, but admit it," she pressed, grinning like she already knew my deepest darkest secret. "You think he's hot."

I choked. Literally choked on cafeteria soda. "I do not."

Riley raised an eyebrow. "Sure. That's why you went bright red the second he looked at you this morning."

"He didn't look at me," I shot back. "He probably didn't even notice I exist. Which is exactly how I like it, thanks."

But even as I said it, my stupid brain replayed the way his eyes had flicked up when I walked past. Sharp. Intense. Like he saw too much.

Great. Now I couldn't finish my pizza.

I stared at my pizza like it might give me life advice. It didn't. It just drooped sadly off my fork, mocking me for being pathetic.

Riley nudged me. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

"No." Too fast. Too defensive. Totally obvious.

"Yes," she sang, grinning so wide I wanted to stuff my pizza in her mouth just to shut her up.

Thankfully, the bell rang before she could roast me further. Less thankfully, the next class was gym.

Now, listen. Some people are born athletic. Graceful. Built to run and jump and not fall on their face. I am not those people. I am the opposite of those people. If there were Olympic medals for tripping over flat ground, I'd own the record.

So, of course, the gym teacher picked dodgeball. Again.

The teams split, everyone grabbing balls, and I immediately tried to melt into the corner. Which didn't work, because the second whistle blew, I got nailed in the stomach by a ball so hard I saw stars.

"Get your head in the game, Ivy" Coach barked.

Yeah, okay, Coach, let me just detach my soul from my body real quick.

And then-because the universe loves making me suffer-guess who got shoved onto my team at the last second?

Motorbike Bad Boy. Jacket ditched for a black T-shirt, muscles like-no, stop it, brain. He moved like he'd done this a hundred times. Fast. Precise. Dangerous.

Meanwhile, I was crouched on the floor trying not to die.

"Move," a voice growled above me.

I looked up. And there he was. Standing over me like I was the world's dumbest inconvenience. His eyes were sharp, his jaw tight, like he couldn't believe he was forced to breathe the same air as me.

"Uh," I said intelligently. Then, because apparently my mouth has no filter:

"Oh my god... are you part dog or something?"

Dead. Silence.

He froze. The ball in his hand slipped and hit the floor with a soft thunk. His eyes snapped to mine, too sharp, too bright.

And for one terrifying second, I thought they... glowed.

The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to eat them. Shove them back in. Pretend I'd said literally anything else, like "Nice weather we're having" or "Have you tried the cafeteria meatloaf?" But no. I went with dog.

His eyes-no, I wasn't imagining it-they flickered gold. Just for a second. Like headlights switching on, then gone.

My stomach dropped into the floor.

Before I could process, the whistle blew. Game over. Saved by the bell? Not really. Because he never stopped looking at me.

And that was way worse.

I tried to bolt the second class ended, shoving books into my bag, speed-walking like a grandma with somewhere very important to be. But the second I hit the hallway, a hand slammed against the locker next to my head.

I yelped. Like, actual squeak-yelp.

He was there. Too close. Too tall. His shadow swallowed me whole.

"You think that's funny?" he said, voice low. Smooth. Dangerous.

"Wh-what?" My brain turned to scrambled eggs.

"Calling me a dog." His lips twitched, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to smirk or snarl. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I-I was kidding," I stammered. "You know, like, ha-ha. Humor. People laugh sometimes? Not you, apparently."

He leaned in closer. So close I caught a whiff of his cologne-something sharp, clean, with an edge of smoke. "Listen, princess," he murmured, eyes locked on mine, "keep your mouth shut. About what you saw. About me."

I swallowed hard. My heart was sprinting laps faster than I ever could.

"I didn't see anything," I lied. Terribly.

His gaze sharpened, pinning me. For a second-just a flicker-his irises glowed gold again. My breath caught.

"Good," he said finally, voice rough. "Because next time you make a joke like that..." His mouth curved, the world's most dangerous almost-smile. "...you won't be laughing."

And then he was gone. Just like that. Walking off like he hadn't just threatened my life and possibly revealed he was a literal supernatural creature.

I stayed frozen against the locker, trying to breathe, trying to figure out what just happened.

And all I could think was:

Oops.