From Chapter 1 of The Three Character Triangle

It was loud. It was like . . . super loud. In fact, of all the smacks Logan Cooper had ever heard in his sixteen years of life, it was the raunchiest one he’d ever witnessed. And to make matters worse, it had happened in Mrs. Harrington’s classroom of all places, right in front of a bunch of college prep juniors studying for a quiz on The Great Gatsby. It almost felt like the whole world had stopped spinning for a moment: Mrs. Harrington jumped up from behind her desk, staring a hole in the back of Hailey Zakaryan’s head, while Hailey smirked at a dumbfounded Jaxson Diaz, Agooza Hills’ starting quarterback, whom she’d just smacked across the face. Everyone had frozen at their desks, seemingly in shock, and Logan gazed across the suddenly dead-silent room, watching as at least three of his classmates got busy recording the incident on their phones.

“Excuse me, young lady. What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Harrington asked, her booming voice as loud and commanding as ever. Hailey winked at Jaxson before turning back around, sitting back down in her seat. Jaxson’s face was beet-red with embarrassment, and he glanced at some of his friends—Logan included—just to make sure they weren’t laughing at him. No one was. Nope, all eyes were on Mrs. Harrington, whose wrath was both infamous and well-documented: She was known to write up students left and right for the most minuscule of infractions, and each year, a plethora of juniors would do whatever they could to get out of her class. She was one of the toughest teachers at Agooza, and everyone knew it.

“Nothing,” Hailey said softly. She began leafing through some papers on her desk as if nothing was wrong. Mrs. Harrington glared at her for a long, awkward moment, saying nothing.

“Did you see that, Mrs. Harrington? She hit me,” Jaxson complained, motioning for his friends to back him up. Logan looked down at his quiz notes for a moment, not wanting to get involved—especially not with Hailey. After all, they’d been friends, and even more than friends, a few times in the past, and besides, he still had feelings for her—even though she’d been dating Jaxson ever since eighth grade. The two lovebirds had been an untouchable item for over three years now, and who knew what Hailey’s smack implied. Was their relationship finally coming to an end? Was Jaxson headed for an inevitable heartbreak? Logan would never admit it, but . . . he could only hope.

“Who said it was OK to take out your phones?” Mrs. Harrington suddenly yelled. Her glaring eyes whipped across the room, taking note of each and every student aiming a device at Hailey and Jaxson, who were seated conveniently in the middle of the classroom. Slowly but surely, phones disappeared into purses and backpacks. Someone whispered something in the back of the room, and Mrs. Harrington quickly snapped her fingers for them to be quiet. “Ms. Zakaryan, I want to talk to you outside,” Mrs. Harrington said quietly, eyeing her sixteen-year-old prey for another long moment before motioning Hailey to join her out on the walkway. Hailey took a deep breath, glancing at Logan for a quick second. He raised his eyebrows frightfully at her, looking away once he saw Jaxson scowling at him.

“Why?” Hailey asked, taking a chance—a big chance.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Harrington questioned. She stopped dead in her tracks, turning to face her period one class of thirty-six hardworking but sometimes mischievous juniors. All eyes were on Hailey, her shiny, jet-black hair and stern blue eyes a perennial source of jealousy for hundreds of girls at Agooza, ever since she’d stepped foot on campus three years ago.

“Well, it’s just . . . you didn’t hear what Jaxson said to me. He said—”

“I don’t care what Jaxson said to you, young lady. There’s never a good reason to hit another student. Now . . . I suggest you follow me outside before you make matters worse,” Mrs. Harrington suggested.

“You’re only gonna talk to me? What about him?” Hailey blurted out. She stood up from her desk and shoved it away aggressively, heading for the door . . .