Page 123 of The Jack*ss in Class

“And the identity of the leakers—both of them—before I sign anything,” I added. “Or I walk away and take my books somewhere else. I hear Flamebird is very interested.”

Franklin’s face fell. “That may not be realistic?—”

“It’s nonnegotiable,” I said firmly. “I need to know who I can trust.”

Melissa studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “We’ll find them. You have my word.”

I opened the folder, scanning the revised terms. They were far better than what I’d initially been offered. The kind of deal authors dreamed about.

“I’ll review these with my attorney and get back to you,” I said, closing the folder.

“We look forward to your decision,” Melissa replied, extending her hand. “And Tempest? For what it’s worth, I’ve been a fan of your books since the first one. Whatyou’ve created deserves to be celebrated. On your terms, of course.”

As Gloria and I left the hotel, she turned to me with undisguised admiration.

“That,” she said, “was masterful. Where has this Tempest been hiding all along?”

I smiled, thinking of Flynn, of my sorority sisters, of the Kingman Queens, and Abuela with her unflinching pride in who I was. “She was always there. She just needed to realize it.”

“Well, I’m glad she showed up today,” Gloria said. “Those updated terms are incredible. If they do identify the leakers as promised, I strongly advise accepting.”

“I know.” I glanced down at the folder in my hands. “But first I need to figure out who in my life would do this. Because that hurts more than any stranger at FlixNChill.”

“Sometimes success brings out jealousy in the most unexpected places,” Gloria said gently. “People you’d never suspect can resent what you’ve achieved.”

As my rideshare pulled up, I thought about my family, my classmates, my friends. Who among them would betray me this way? And more importantly, what would I do when I found out?

My father was waiting on a bench in the park not far from our house. He stood as I approached, his expression unreadable behind his scholarly glasses.

“Mija,” he said by way of greeting, offering a brief, awkward hug. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Of course, Papá.” I sat beside him, suddenly nervous.Despite the support he’d shown during the confrontation, we hadn’t spoken one-on-one since everything happened.

For a moment, we simply sat in silence, watching ducks glide across the water’s surface.

“I’ve been rereading your books,” he finally said. “I enjoyed theMuch Ado About Nothingadaptation.”

I tensed, waiting to hear he thought it all went downhill from there. For criticism or disappointment.

He paused. “Your adaptation of Benedick and Beatrice’s dynamic is quite inventive. Setting it in the world of college hockey has excellent parallels to the social hierarchies of Shakespeare’s era.”

I blinked, stunned by the scholarly analysis. “You’re rereading all of them?”

He adjusted his glasses, a gesture I’d mimicked my entire life. “Of course. You wrote them. Now that I know they’re yours, I can appreciate them on an entirely different level.”

“But they’re romance novels,” I said, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice. “With... you know.”

“Sex scenes?” A hint of amusement crossed his face. “I’m a Shakespeare scholar, Tempest. The bard wasn’t exactly subtle about physical desire. ‘The beast with two backs’? That’s fromOthello.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “I know, Papá. I just never expected you to read my books, let alone talk about them like... like they’re real literature.”

“They are real literature,” he said firmly. “Commercial fiction has just as much cultural value as the classics. It reflects and shapes contemporary values, explores humanrelationships, and connects with readers on a meaningful level.”

I stared at him, this man who had shaped my literary education, who had always pushed me toward the classics, toward academic rigor. “Mamá doesn’t see it that way.”

He sighed, removing his glasses to clean them meticulously with his handkerchief. “Your mother... will need more time. She worries about appearances, about what others will think.”

“About her daughter writing sexy books?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

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