Alex stepped into the classroom ten minutes early, expecting the usual sleepy silence before the AP crowd trickled in.
Instead, she found a small group of students gathered near the back corner, eyes fixed on a makeshift chessboard laid out on a desk. There was no chatter, no phones—just a tense silence hanging in the air.
She paused in the doorway.
At the center sat Jasper, leaning lazily in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, notebook half-open in his lap. Across from him, looking slightly sweaty and rigid, sat Nolan Grant—the Chess Club president, national runner-up, and proud wearer of a turtlenecks.
Between them: a game nearly finished. Only a handful of pieces remained on the board.
Nolan made a move with forced confidence. "Bishop to C6. Check."
Jasper didn't even look at the board. He was writing something in his notebook, humming under his breath.
After a beat, he glanced up with a flicker of amusement. "Cute." He moved a single piece with a lazy flick. "Knight to E5. Counter-check."
Nolan's eyes widened. He stared at the board for a moment too long.
Alex inched closer, curiosity outweighing her irritation.
"W-what?" Nolan sputtered. "That wasn't possible. You'd have to have seen—"
"That you were setting up the trap five moves ago?" Jasper finished for him, flashing a relaxed, infuriating smile. "Yeah. You play like someone who watched Queen's Gambit twice and got too excited."
A beat.
Then Nolan pushed his chair back, standing up with visible reluctance.
"Checkmate," Jasper said softly, almost kindly, as if he didn't want to humiliate him—just win.
Nolan grabbed his bag with a grumble and muttered something about "luck" before leaving. The small crowd dispersed.
Jasper didn't gloat. He just leaned back, pen dancing over the edge of his notebook.
Alex folded her arms. "So you play chess?"
"Since boredom and insomnia met me in eighth grade," he replied without looking up.
" Enough beat Nolan?"
He looked at her, blue eyes sharp behind a deceptively sleepy expression. "Didn't know that was on your list of impressive feats."
"I didn't think you cared about anything enough to try," she said honestly.
He chuckled. "That's the trick, Dunphy. I don't try. I just… think."
"Must be exhausting," she muttered, sitting in her usual front-row seat.
"On the contrary," he said, smiling as Miss Holloway walked in. "It's actually fun when the world is one big puzzle."
Miss Holloway walked in, coffee in hand and a stack of books balanced precariously in the other. She gave a distracted smile to the class as she dropped her things onto the desk.
"Good morning, literary minds," she said brightly, brushing a curl behind her ear. "Today we're shifting focus a bit. We're going to talk about unreliable narrators, and why authors use them."
Alex sat a little straighter, grateful for the change in topic. She needed something to shake Jasper's smug little victory out of her head.
Miss Holloway wrote on the whiteboard:
"We are all unreliable narrators of our own lives."
She turned to the class. "Thoughts? Interpretations?"
Alex's hand shot up instinctively.
"It means we all see life subjectively," she said. "We can't separate our emotions and experiences from how we tell our stories. So, in literature, unreliable narrators mirror real life. They force us to question what's true."
"Excellent," Miss Holloway said with a nod. "Anyone want to add to that?"
Of course, his voice floated in like a breeze from the back row.
"It also means," Jasper said, tapping his pen against his notebook, "that sometimes the most honest people are the ones who admit they're lying."
Miss Holloway raised a brow. "Interesting. Care to explain?"
Jasper shrugged, but his eyes sparkled.
"People like Holden Caulfield or Humbert Humbert—they don't try to be likeable. They're not pretending to be heroes. That kind of brutal honesty? That's what makes them trustworthy in a weird way. You know they're a mess, and they're not hiding it."
There was a pause. A few students exchanged glances.
Alex didn't want to agree—but she did.
Miss Holloway grinned. "Very well said. Jasper, next time I'll let you lead the discussion."
"Oh, please don't," he said dryly, flipping a page in his notebook. "I might accidentally inspire someone."
Alex glanced over her shoulder.
He wasn't even looking at her.
And yet, somehow, she felt like he knew she was watching him.
---
The bell rang a few moments later, and students began packing up. Alex grabbed her bag, but her eyes drifted to the empty chessboard in the back of the room.
She hated to admit it… but maybe there was more to Jasper Allister than irritating comebacks and smug smirks.
Still.
He was so annoying.
Alex slung her bag over her shoulder, still thinking about the way Jasper had played that chess game—calm, focused, and maybe even… elegant? No. No, she wasn't going to use that word. Not for him.
He was standing by the door, notebook tucked under his arm, chatting with a sophomore who clearly thought he hung the moon. He smiled at something she said, charming as ever, and then caught Alex's gaze across the room.
For a second—just a second—his smirk faded. Something sharper passed between them. Curiosity. Maybe even challenge.
He gave her a mock salute and stepped out into the hallway.
Alex exhaled slowly. "Unbelievable."
Miss Holloway, still gathering her materials, glanced over with a knowing smile. "He's something, isn't he?"
Alex blinked. "Something infuriating, yes."
The teacher laughed softly. "He's been in my class since junior year. Brilliant mind. Disruptive when he's bored, but when he engages—oh, it's like watching a storm calm itself."
Alex frowned. "You're not seriously impressed by him?"
"I'm a teacher, Alex. I'm impressed by anyone who can quote Dostoevsky and 'Ferris Bueller' in the same sentence and still make sense."
Alex muttered something under her breath and turned to leave, but Miss Holloway called after her.
"Keep challenging him. He likes that."
Alex didn't respond, but as she stepped into the hallway, her mind was already swirling.
Jasper Allister: chess hustler, quote machine, lazy genius, and now apparently some kind of literary storm-in-a-teacup.
How incredibly annoying.
And just a little bit fascinating.
Later
The sun spilled in through the windows of the school library. Alex sat with her laptop open, headphones in, typing away at a biology report. She was focused. Efficient. Purposeful.
Until a familiar voice cut through her bubble of concentration.
"You know, most people don't furrow their brows that hard unless they're plotting something illegal."
She looked up, and there he was—Jasper Allister, the human migraine, dropping lazily into the seat across from her.
Alex pulled out one earbud. "Do you ever knock?"
"It's a library, Alex. Not your house."
"Still. Boundaries."
He opened his notebook. "Boundaries are for people who don't write in the margins."
That line caught her off guard. "What?"
Jasper held up a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, the cover frayed at the edges. She recognized it from class. "People who write in the margins are the ones who see between the lines. That's you."
She blinked. "I don't write in the margins."
"You will," he said with a half-smile. "Once you stop reading like you're collecting trophies."
Alex narrowed her eyes. "I don't collect—"
"Grades, achievements, extra AP classes, early college credits," he listed off casually, like he'd read her academic transcript. "You're not reading for joy. You're reading to win."
"And what exactly are you doing?" she shot back.
He leaned in a little, eyes glinting. "I'm playing."
There was silence. The kind that hums with meaning just under the surface.
Alex looked at him, really looked, and for the first time she didn't just see the boy who contradicted her in class or crushed the chess club president like it was nothing.
She saw someone who loved stories.
Not because they made him smarter.
But because they made him feel something.
"You know," she said slowly, "if you actually applied yourself—"
"You'd like me better?" he teased.
She gave him a cold stare, but her lips twitched just slightly. "I was going to say you might actually scare the valedictorian."
Jasper grinned. "I don't need a podium to make an impact, Dunphy."
He stood, sliding his book and notebook under one arm. "See you in class."
As he walked away, Alex's eyes flicked to the notebook he carried. She'd never seen anyone guard something so casually and yet so closely. He never let it out of his sight. Not once.
What was in it?
Ideas?
Quotes?
Secrets?
She pushed her thoughts aside, but her fingers hesitated over the keyboard.
For the first time in a long while, Alex Dunphy felt like she was playing a game she hadn't quite mastered yet.
And that made her want to win.
Even if she wasn't sure what the prize was.