The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Chapter 17: At the Library

Jason’s POV:

I showed up to our little "study session" fully intending to make Ella—Hoodie Girl—feel as small and dumb as I assumed she was. I figured I’d talk circles around her, throw in some complex terms I’d picked up from my dad’s board meetings, and watch her squirm. I’d done it before—hell, most adults couldn’t keep up with me when I joined my father at business discussions. They always asked me to "elaborate" or "simplify" something. It was a power play, one I’d perfected over the years. frёewebηovel.cѳm

So, when I sat down and started dropping words like "systematic analysis," "data optimization," and "strategic bifurcation," I expected her eyes to glaze over. I expected her to whine about how difficult it all was, like every other girl who pretends to be smart just to stroke a guy’s ego. They always act like they need your help. That’s what Amber would have done. Hell, that’s what *anyone* would’ve done—because who could keep up with me? freeωebnovēl.c૦m

But then Ella started talking.

And I mean really talking. Not just nodding along, pretending to understand. She was throwing back terms that I hadn’t even mentioned yet, making connections that even impressed me. And she didn’t just parrot what I said; she added her own ideas, dissecting the concepts and challenging them.

At first, I thought maybe she was bluffing, you know? Trying to sound smart without actually knowing what she was saying. So I upped the ante, made my explanations even more convoluted, using jargon that would’ve sent anyone else spiraling. But she didn’t even flinch. Instead, she kept up—no, she *kept ahead*. It wasn’t just impressive, it was unsettling.

I sat there, listening to her, waiting for the inevitable moment when she’d falter. The moment she’d look at me with that pleading, lost expression that said, "Please, Jason, help me understand." But it never came.

And as the minutes passed, I realized something that irritated me to my core: she wasn’t just keeping up, she didn’t even seem to notice how intentionally overboard I was going. I had thrown everything I could at her, and she took it in stride, like it was no big deal. No wide eyes, no praise for how "smart" I was. Nothing. It was like she expected this level of difficulty, and for the first time, I felt a crack in my confidence.

The most frustrating part? She wasn’t whining. Not once. No complaints about the complexity, no sighing about how "hard" the work was. She wasn’t fishing for compliments, trying to stroke my ego like every other girl I’d met. She didn’t need to. She held her ground—*better* than held her ground. She matched me, step for step, like we were equals.

And as much as it irritated me, a part of me was relieved. I didn’t have to dumb things down, didn’t have to waste time explaining every concept in layman’s terms. For once, things were moving smoothly, and I could focus on the project instead of playing teacher.

But then, just as we started to get into a good rhythm, she announced she had to leave. She looked at the clock, packed up her stuff, and said, "I have to go." we barely had made any progress!

I frowned, clearly not ready to stop. "We’re almost done, though. Can’t you stay a little longer?"

"No," she said flatly, closing her notebook. "I’ve got a job."

"A job?" I raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. "Where do you work?"

She shot me a glare. "That’s none of your business."

A job. Who at this university, an elite institution where most students came from wealth or influence, had a job? Her shabby clothes already hinted that she wasn’t well-off like the others, but the fact that she had a job solidified it.

My jaw tightened again. "You’re not taking this seriously, are you?"

Her eyes met his, calm and unbothered. "I am. But I have other responsibilities, Knight. The project will get done. I’ll work on my part, and you do yours."

It pissed me off. She was this close to ditching the assignment halfway through, as if she had somewhere more important to be. And a job? We were at one of the most elite schools in the country. No one here had a job—at least not unless they were slumming it for some "character-building" experience to pad their resumes. That wasn’t her, though. Her shabby clothes, the way she kept to herself, the fact that no one knew who she really was... it all clicked. She wasn’t like us.

The school fees here were ridiculous high. Only the rich or well-connected got in—or, in some rare cases, someone on a full scholarship. But that didn’t seem to fit either. I would’ve heard if she were some scholarship success story. That only left one explanation: she must have used some other means to get in. Something... shady. The administration here was almost entirely male, and she was a woman. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

Bingo.

I could practically see her weak spot shining through. This was it—this was the key to breaking her. She thought she could embarrass me, humiliate me by asking to switch partners like I wasn’t good enough to work with. And Amber, bless her soul, couldn’t even manage to crack her with the usual social sabotage. But now? Now I had something.

I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when I brought this up—how she got into the school. There was no way she’d walk away unscathed. Nobody crosses Jason Knight and gets away with it. *Nobody*. She may have outsmarted me in the study session, but this was a game of more than just brains. She wasn’t going to win—not when I had this card to play.

I leaned back in my chair as she gathered her stuff, already thinking ahead to how I’d confront her about it. She might think she was so clever, but she had no idea what was coming.