If there was one thing Alexandra Dunphy was good at—besides literally everything—it was making a plan and sticking to it.
AP English wasn't part of that plan until about two weeks before senior year started. But after her counselor hinted that her transcript was looking "a little science-heavy," Alex decided to diversify. She liked reading. She could handle metaphor and mood and whatever else English class threw at her. Besides, it would look good on a college app. And Alex Dunphy always played the long game.
She entered the classroom ten minutes early, clutching her color-coded folder and a brand new pack of highlighters. The room smelled faintly of dry erase markers and stale air-conditioning.
Front row, center. The power position.
She sat, set her bag down with purpose, and pulled out her notebook. One glance around the room confirmed what she already knew—this was her turf. No one else here looked remotely prepared. One kid had their head down on the desk. Another was using a highlighter like it was eyeliner.
Then the door opened, and in walked him.
Jasper Allister.
They'd gone to the same school since freshman year, but she'd never shared a class with him. She only knew of him by reputation: lazy, too smart for his own good, always late, never tries, still aces everything. Teachers either loved him or wanted to strangle him.
Today, he walked in wearing a hoodie, headphones around his neck, and a black notebook in one hand. He didn't look at anyone. He just slid into the back row, second seat from the window, and leaned back like he was about to take a nap.
Alex frowned. Why was he here?
Before she could wonder too long, the door opened again—Miss Holloway, tall, energetic, and clearly fueled by a dangerous amount of espresso.
"Good morning, my future wordsmiths," she greeted, slapping her tote bag onto the desk. She grabbed a marker and turned to the whiteboard.
In tall looping letters, she wrote:
"We are all fools in love." — Jane Austen
Then, with a smile that meant trouble, she turned to the class. "Let's open the year with a little fire. Who wants to tell me what this means?"
Alex's hand shot up before Miss Holloway even finished speaking. Of course.
"Yes, Miss Dunphy."
Alex straightened, already slipping into her answer voice. "Jane Austen uses this line to underscore the irrationality that often accompanies romantic emotions. It's a commentary on how love can override reason, especially within the restrictive social structures of her time—"
From the back: "Or maybe it just means love makes smart people do dumb things."
Alex turned her head slightly. That voice was definitely Jasper. She hadn't even seen him raise his hand. Had he?
Miss Holloway grinned. "Mr. Allister, care to elaborate?"
Jasper shrugged, flipping a pen between his fingers without looking up. "People fall in love, people make mistakes. Austen just said it with better punctuation."
A few people chuckled.
Alex scowled. "That's reductive. There's historical context, nuance, depth—"
Jasper finally looked up. His eyes were sharp, amused. "And you can't enjoy any of it unless you let go of the need to overanalyze everything."
Alex opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "I'm not overanalyzing. I'm engaging."
"Engaging is one thing," he said with a half-smile. "Waging war on the sentence is another."
Miss Holloway clapped her hands, clearly delighted. "Now that is what I call a lively debate. Excellent. This class is going to be fun."
Alex didn't think it was going to be fun.
It was going to be war.
Miss Holloway paced to the center of the room, hands clasped like she was about to conduct a symphony.
"Let's go deeper," she said, eyes gleaming. "Love in literature. Is it a strength? A flaw? An illusion? Pick your position—and defend it."
Alex straightened her spine. "Love is often used to show personal growth. It's a motivator. A catalyst. Think Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice—her love for Darcy challenges her assumptions. She becomes more self-aware."
From the back: "Or it blinds her to all logic and makes her ignore his red flags. Tall guy with money insults her family and she's like, 'Yup. Let's do this.'"
Miss Holloway smiled. "Counterpoint noted, Mr. Allister. Anyone else?"
Alex didn't even wait. "Darcy wasn't perfect, but neither was she. That's the point. Love helps them see each other clearly."
Jasper scratched something in his notebook without looking up. "Sure. Or she just falls for the first guy who gives her attention and a mansion. Happens in real life too. Ever seen The Great Gatsby?"
Alex narrowed her eyes. "That's not the same."
He looked up, finally. "Love is a flaw in Gatsby. It destroys him. Literally."
She scoffed. "You're comparing Gatsby's delusion to Elizabeth Bennet's self-discovery?"
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. "They're both classics. One ends in marriage. One ends in a pool. Literature's balance, I guess."
A few snickers echoed through the room.
Alex pursed her lips. "Gatsby was obsessed. That's different from love."
Jasper grinned like he was enjoying this way too much. "Ah, so now we're defining love by outcomes? Let me quote something: 'Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.'"
Alex blinked. "Shakespeare?"
"Romeo and Juliet," he confirmed. "A classic example of teenagers in love—and look how that turned out."
"Oh, come on," she said, her voice rising. "That was drama. Not love. They met for two seconds and—"
"—and immediately planned a double funeral," he finished, still smiling. "Very healthy."
Miss Holloway cut in, trying to hide her laugh. "Well, this is definitely my most spirited first period class in years."
Alex crossed her arms. Jasper flipped a page in his notebook.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Do you have a quote for everything?"
"Only the important stuff," he said. "Death, books, and why love makes people write terrible poetry."
"I like poetry," she said.
He smirked. "That explains your optimism."
She clenched her pen a little tighter. This was going to be a very long year.