Page 120 of The Jack*ss in Class

“Then I have nothing more to say to you,” her mother declared, rising to her feet. “When you’re ready to be a Navarro again, to live up to the standards of this family?—”

“You mean, your standards,” Abuela corrected sharply.

“—then we can discuss your future,” Dr. Navarro finished, ignoring her mother. “Until then, I suggest you consider very carefully the consequences of your choices.” She turned to her husband, and when he didn’t immediately back her up, she stomped away.

The professor looked torn, glancing between his retreating wife and his daughter. Then, surprising everyone, he bent to press a kiss to Tempest’s forehead. “I’m proud of your talent, mija,” he said quietly. “It takes your mother a while to adjust to changes to her expectations. I’ll work on her.”

With that, he followed his wife from the room, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.

Catalina and Rosalind exchanged glances, then rose in unison to follow their parents. Neither looked at Tempest as they left. But Freddie immediately bounded over to take their place on the couch.

“That was EPIC,” she said, eyes wide with excitement. “Abuela bringing out Abuelo’s spy novels and throwing them in Mamá’s face? I did not see that coming.”

“Freddie,” Ophelia admonished, though she too had moved closer, perching on the arm of the loveseat next to Tempest. “Maybe not the time.”

“Sorry,” Freddie said, not looking sorry at all. “Butseriously, Tempest, it took Mamá a while to accept that I wasn’t ever going to be the sweet daughter she wanted. You saw how she stumbled with my name today. But she’s come around, and she will with this too.”

“I don’t know how you managed.” Tempest grabbed her sister in a hug.

“Being true to yourself is hard sometimes. But I would have been your cheerleader, just like you were mine, if you’d told me. I still can’t believe you’re Miranda Milan. Can I get signed copies? Will you tell me what happens in the next one? Is it about the hockey player’s brother? Because I have thoughts?—”

“Freddie,” Tempest cut her off, but she was smiling now, a small, surprised smile. “You really read my books?”

“Duh,” Freddie rolled her eyes. “They’re amazing. The scene in book three where the baseball player finally admits he’s in love with the ice princess? I literally threw my Kindle across the room and then had to buy a new one.”

“I’ve read them too,” Ophelia admitted with a small shrug. “They’re good, T. Really good.”

I watched emotion well up in Tempest’s eyes. She’d been prepared for unanimous condemnation from her family—this support, however small, seemed to hit her harder than the criticism had.

“I—thank you,” she managed.

Abuela approached, gently taking Tempest’s face in her hands. “You stood tall, mi corazón. I am so proud of you.”

Tempest nodded, leaning into her grandmother’stouch for a moment before turning to me. “Can we go? I need to... process.”

“Of course,” I said immediately, standing and offering her my hand. “Whatever you need.”

As we headed for the door, Freddie called after us, “Does he know about the scene in book two chapter seventeen? Because if he hasn’t tried that move yet?—”

“FREDDIE!” Tempest and Ophelia shouted in unison.

“What?” Freddie asked innocently. “I’m just saying, art should inspire life, you know?”

Oh, we were getting a copy of book two on the way home. That was for sure.

TAKING THE THRONE

TEMPEST

Ipulled the baseball cap low over my eyes, shrugging myself down into Flynn’s oversized DSU hoodie, and donning the biggest pair of sunglasses Parker could find in our room. I felt ridiculous, but my sisters assured me it was “peak celebrity undercover realness.”

“You look like a hungover pop star avoiding the paparazzi,” Hannah said, nodding approvingly as our group claimed the back corner of Cool Beans Cat Café. “Very on-brand for your new famous author status.”

“I’m not a celebrity,” I protested, though the past forty-eight hours suggested otherwise. My phone hadn’t stopped buzzing with notifications since The Dracarys article broke, and according to Parker’s surveillance, there were still two enterprising journalism students camping outside the KAT house.

“Tell that to the three news vans that were outside our house this morning,” Alice said, setting down a tray of coffee mugs.

Flynn slid into the booth beside me, his arm settling comfortably around my shoulders. “No news vans followed us, so the decoy plan worked. We should be safe here for a while.”

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