The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV:

After the disaster I created for myself yesterday, it was clear—I needed to fix this. If I wanted any chance with Ella, the bet had to go. I had to tell Dylan and Max to back off, let this whole thing die before it did even more damage. They could have the damn yacht if they wanted it, though none of them deserved it. Neither of them had made any progress with Ella anyway. If we were being technical, I was the winner. I’d kissed her, even if it wasn’t consensual (and yeah, I still hated myself for that), and I’d figured out her double life as the hoodie girl and the waitress. But that didn’t matter anymore. The bet wasn’t worth it.

I’d told her I liked her. Really liked her.

And now? Now I needed to fight for her—without the shadow of a stupid, juvenile bet hanging over my head.

I texted Dylan and Max before class: We need to talk. Meet me after class.

As I pulled into the school parking lot, the atmosphere was charged with an unusual energy. Everyone seemed more animated than usual, whispering in hushed tones, phones glued to their hands. Something was definitely up. Curiosity got the better of me, so I opened The School Scoop.

Amber. Of course.

The headline was brutal: "Amber’s Apology Backfires: Heiress or Villainess?"

I skimmed through the post, my eyebrows climbing higher with every line. Turns out, Amber’s little apology conference last night—where she was supposed to make amends for humiliating my family at the party—had gone catastrophically wrong. Instead of owning up to her actions, she’d claimed the whole thing was a joke, something we "always did" because we were "such close friends."

The comments didn’t hold back.

Worse, the article was filled with accusations that Amber had bullied Ella into withdrawing from the LBJ competition. People speculated that she’d used her wealth and connections to push Ella out, leaving her to win by default. The public wasn’t buying her apology or her excuses, and the backlash was relentless.

I wasn’t going to lie—it was satisfying. Watching Amber crash and burn after everything she’d pulled? Poetic justice. And the best part? I didn’t have to lift a finger. Karma was doing all the work for me.

I made my way to the lecture hall, glancing around for Dylan and Max. They weren’t at our usual spot near the entrance, so I leaned against the wall to wait. Dylan showed up first, looking better than expected after last night’s drinking. Max strolled in ten minutes later, dragging his feet like he’d just crawled out of bed.

"I guess Amber will be skipping class today," Dylan said as we headed inside. "She always disappears when the gossip gets this bad."

"Probably crying into her designer pillows," Max muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

But when we entered the room, there she was—front and center.

Amber sat alone, hunched over her phone, completely engrossed. For once, she didn’t have her usual entourage of minions surrounding her. No one was fawning over her, and the isolation was almost jarring. It was like she’d been dethroned, and no one wanted to be caught in the fallout.

Then my gaze shifted to the back of the room.

Ella.

She was in her usual seat, head down, scribbling in her notebook like nothing in the world could bother her. She didn’t even glance in my direction when I walked past. Not once. It was like I didn’t exist.

Okay, fine. She was still mad at me.

I couldn’t blame her. After what I said yesterday—implying she had a sugar daddy and then offering to "outbid" him—I was lucky she hadn’t punched me in the face.

The whole class, I kept sneaking glances at her, hoping for some sign, some acknowledgment. But nothing. She never looked my way, never spared me a second of her attention. Max and Dylan stayed unusually quiet too, no jokes or casual remarks. Even Max, who always had something to say, was silent.

When class ended, Ella bolted for the door like the room was on fire. She didn’t look back. Not even once.

"Okay," Dylan said, turning to me. "What’s this big talk about?"

"Not here," I told him. "Let’s go to our spot."

We walked outside to the bench under the tree, the one we always used when we wanted privacy. As soon as we sat down, I decided to rip the bandage off.

"I want to end the stupid bet," I said.

Dylan blinked at me, surprised. Max leaned back, crossing his arms with a skeptical look.

"What?" Dylan asked. "Why?"

"Because I like Ella," I said, meeting their eyes. "I really like her. And this bet—it’s going to ruin any chance I have with her."

Silence.

Dylan looked stunned, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. Max, on the other hand, let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"You’re serious," Max said.

"Dead serious," I replied.

"So, let me get this straight," Dylan said slowly. "You’re backing out because you caught feelings?"

"I’m not backing out," I shot back. "I’m calling it off. There’s a difference. And let’s be honest—neither of you were going to win anyway."

Max narrowed his eyes. "And you think you’ve already won, huh? Just because you kissed her?"

I flinched at the accusation. "I’m not proud of that. But yeah, I’ve made more progress than either of you."

"Progress?" Max repeated, his voice cold. "She hates your guts, Jason. You think that’s progress?"

"Better than her not knowing I exist," I retorted.

Dylan raised his hands, trying to diffuse the tension. "Okay, okay, let’s not turn this into a pissing contest. Jason, you like her. Fine. But what does that mean for us? You get to pursue her guilt-free while we’re stuck on the sidelines?"

I clenched my jaw. "None of us are entitled to her. But if you’re asking if I want a fair shot, then yeah. That’s exactly what I want. And if you’re really my friends, you’ll let me have that."

"I like her too," Dylan says shocking me.

"Wait...wait I also want a shot with her, I like her too," Max chimed it.

Ooh boy. This is not happening.