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  Don’t Kiss Your Lab Partner

  Billionaire Academy YA Romance

  Lucy McConnell

  Orchard View Publishing LLC

  Don’t Kiss Your Lab Partner

  Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 1

  I'm ready to rock Sophomore year...

  Until I get the party kid as a lab partner...

  I've dreamed of winning the TACS Award since I could type. But, the school board decided we needed to learn to work well with others and gave us partners for the computer programming project. Lucky me, I’m assigned to work with John Herrington III, whose big idea is a dating app for teens.

  I'm so flunking.

  I'm also crushing on him--hard.

  Jumping into the social lives of our fellow students backfires when the mean girl gets dumped because of our app. She sets out to sabotage our project and ruin the Homecoming Dance for anyone we matched.

  There's only one way to salvage the project--but it will mean my first broken heart because I'll have to choose between my lab partner and my dream.

  You'll love this sweet, young adult romance because everyone loves a smart, strong girl who is undone by love.

  Copyright © 2020 by Lucy McConnell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Now Available from Bestselling and Award-Winning Author Lucy McConnell

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  This was my year.

  The year I’d win the Teen Advancement in Computer Science Award and pretty much have the rest of my life figured out.

  I mean, as a female in the male-dominated world of coding, there were a lot of doors open for my future. And since my mom was the highest-paid programmer in the world, I was set.

  But that didn’t mean I could coast on her lab coattails. I hated coasters. There were plenty of them at my school. We didn’t nickname it Billionaire Academy without reason. Each one of us was expected to go on to do great things in the world—to revolutionize products and industries. To run for presidential office and win. To guide our generation into the next revolution.

  I was down with that. Because I had the skills.

  I paused at the threshold to the computer science room. This moment where I began my sophomore year of high school and became eligible for the TACS award would be one small step for me but also a giant leap forward, and I wanted to savor it.

  There were the same giant green circles on white walls; there were the abstract drawing of a computer screen outlining the windows that looked out over the track. The weird desks, with their three arms intersecting at the middle point—like drops of ink pulled together by thin lines—were scattered over the wood floor. We called them blobs.

  “Excuse me,” came a small voice.

  I turned to see Emery trying to get by. She was a scholarship student, shy but honest about who she was and determined to make her way at the school. I had worked with her on a science project last year. She was great, but had turned away from my invitations to hang out. I think I scared her a little. I could be pretty intense.

  She hugged a worn folder to her chest and kept her eyes on the ground.

  “Hey, Emery. You ready for a new year?”

  She nodded. Her eyes darted longingly toward a seat at the back of the class.

  I stepped aside to let her through. “I’ll see you later?”

  She hmmed in response as she hurried away. I’d discussed Emery’s reserved nature with my dad, one of the top psychologists in his field. He’d told me she needed constant overtures of friendship from people she trusted. I don’t know that she trusted me quite yet, but I hoped one day she would.

  The noise level in the hall rose, and I felt an urgency to get through the door before my big moment was snatched up in the rush of students before the tardy bell rang. I took a deep breath, lifted my foot, and crossed into the classroom. That was … actually quite average-feeling.

  I shrugged and headed to my desk. Not all great moments go down in history, especially at the moment they happen. Sure, walking on the moon was a first footstep that was broadcast and replayed for decades. But the first time Steve Jobs sat down at a computer was probably pretty normal.

  I headed for my seat-blob, which was in the front row, on the far right by the window. Only it wasn’t empty and waiting for me like it should have been. John Herrington III sat in my rolling chair. I stumbled over my own two feet in shock.

  It wasn’t like I owned the spot. But everyone and their poodle knew that was where I sat. I’d been in that chair every computer science class since seventh grade. Before that, I’d taken up the same seat in the elementary school computer class.

  John Herrington III? He was the party kid. Literally. Like, people referred to him as that on the internet, and his Insta handle was “PartyKid.”

  His mom was a mommy blogger who made it big posting pics about his birthday parties, Halloween parties, back-to-school parties—parties were her thing, and she did them well. Crafts. Kid games. Themes. Face paint. She created the kind of events that made other moms feel bad about themselves. From there, she opened a chain of party stores that grew into a family legacy.

  At some point along the blogging journey, she’d moved over to make room for John. He had light-brown hair, green eyes that grabbed attention, and an easy smile. Everyone in our class loved him and did their best to be on his guest list, because not only was a gathering at his house epic, but your social presence doubled the moment you posted your invite.

  I adjusted my hold on my backpack straps. It suddenly weighed twenty pounds more and dug into my shoulders. This was my year, and that was my seat. But I didn’t have the Chloe Davenport ability to kick someone out of a seat—or a social group. Her mean-girl skills were legendary.

  Still, this was a big moment for me, and I wanted—no, needed—to grab it.

  Well, there was nothing to it—he’d have to move. I marched over, my pleated uniform skirt bouncing against the back of my legs. I did my best to smile—a polite request wasn’t out of my depth.

  If he refused?

  I faltered. Well, if that happened, I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  A hush went over the five other people who had made it to class early. It was like one of those bad Spaghetti Westerns my grandpa used to make me watch when the sheriff walks into the saloon and singles out the bandit. At any second, I expected someone to play The Good, the Bad and the Ugly soundtrack on their phone.

  “Hey.” I walked to John�
��s side, looking down at him.

  He didn’t answer.

  I waited a beat. I mean, he could have been finishing a text or something.

  He didn’t look up.

  “John?” I said louder.

  He kept his head down, looking at his phone in his lap.

  Of all the rude … There are certain social rules we all abide by to keep society running smoothly, and answering someone who is talking directly to you is one of them.

  I was trying to be nice. This was his first programming class. Wait. He shouldn’t even be here. Advanced programming had prerequisites. I should know; I’d aced all of them.

  I grunted and kicked his chair.

  He blinked and looked up at me, pulling a tiny earbud out. It was so small it could have been an alien implant.

  Oh. And with one swift kick, I became the bad guy.

  “Hey, Adelle.”

  John and I ran in different social circles—meaning he had a social circle and I did not. So it had been years since we’d had a reason to actually speak to one another, even though we’d attended the same schools since kindergarten.

  Something weird happened inside of me when he said my name. My stomach felt … lighter, and then it flipped over. Not in the way it did when I’d eaten bad sushi, but in a new way. One that had me feeling off-center. I grabbed the back of his chair to steady myself.

  He smiled, tossing his honey-colored hair off his forehead with a jerk of his head. That move was High School Musical old, and yet he managed to keep it fresh. Some guys had Zac Efron magnetism down, and John was one of them.

  I wasn’t falling for his charms. “You’re in my seat,” I said as nicely and as firmly as I could.

  His face flushed deep red. One second he was all I-have-it-together and the next he’d gone a completely different color. I’d never seen anything like it. “I-I didn’t know they were assigned.” He scrambled to grab his things and stuff them in his messenger bag.

  “They’re not.” His reaction was way more than I’d expected. He could have lounged in his chair and said some inane remark about it not having my name on it. Instead, he’d jumped like I’d hit him with an electrode. I held out both hands to slow him down.

  He did, his forehead wrinkling under that flop of hair that had come forward again. “Then how is this your seat?” He stood tall, making me have to look up to him.

  Had he grown over the summer? I’d have to go to my tiptoes to look him in the eye. No matter.

  I pulled my hands behind my back and twisted my fingers together. “I’ve sat in that seat for the last four years.” All summer long, when I visualized the time spent working on this project, I’d pictured myself in that desk. All my meditation work would be for nothing if I didn’t get to sit here. I felt my lungs begin to tighten with anxiety.

  “Bro, she’s totally serious,” said Trevor, who sat one blob-table over. I threw him a grateful look; at the same time, I realized everyone was watching us. Though we didn’t do more than interact in class, it was nice to know they had my back. Er—chair.

  The red color spread to John’s ears. “All right. Take it.” He moved one ink-dot over.

  Conversations started up again. I pulled out my laptop, a gift from my parents for maintaining my 4.0 for another year, and opened it up. The chair was too high, so I pulled the lever and lowered it. Then it was too low. Who was I, Goldilocks or the three bears? You’re in my chair!

  While the computer booted and went through the school’s facial recognition sequence, I glanced at John. He had his head down and was doing his best to be unnoticed.

  I’d embarrassed him. Unintentional as it might have been, that didn’t excuse the fact that I’d kicked his chair or confronted him in front of our peers.

  “How’d you get into this class?” I asked, trying to strike up a conversation. Advanced coding wasn’t for wimps.

  His head popped up, his eyes wide, asking: Are you talking to me?

  I nodded for him to answer.

  He gulped. “I took the prerequisites at Seattle U over the summer and tested in.”

  “You did? That’s … impressive.” And unexpected. I’d seen his mom’s posts over the summer. Waterskiing. Sailing. Trampoline parties. The works. It looked … fun. And kind of exhausting. There hadn’t been anything on her blog about summer school.

  “Thanks.” He smiled, but it wasn’t huge. It was almost as if he were testing the waters with me.

  I frowned. I thought we had one of those established positive acquaintance things going through the years. It wasn’t like we were friends who hung out together, but if we were the only two people in the hallway, we said hi.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, pointing to the desk.

  Normally, the seat was empty. I liked to spread out while I worked, and I tended to go into my own head when I coded. I glanced around—the room was filling, with at least two people per blob desk, so I’d have to share with someone. I lifted a shoulder. “Go ahead.”

  I tried to ignore him as I pulled out my folder with the list of projects I’d brainstormed over the summer. To win the TACS award, I’d have to come up with something that helped my peers with a common problem as well as provide innovation in programming.

  John rummaged in his bag and scooted his chair around, the wheels making a rumbling noise on the floor. I felt the vibration under my shoes.

  I tried to block him out, to focus on my password and realign my thoughts for success for the semester and beyond, but I’d never felt so out of place in this room before. I’d also never been so aware of another person. John’s movements were easily discernible out of the corner of my eye, and I watched him, curious about what spurred him to take summer classes in coding.

  He jerked his head, moving his hair out of his eyes again.

  The bell rang, and I straightened in my seat. This was my year, and I wasn’t going to let some honey-haired party boy distract me from my goal.

  Chapter Two

  “This year, we’ve decided to try something new.” Mr. Hubert leaned against his desk and crossed his ankles. “Well, I didn’t decide it so much as the parental board did. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  I chuckled politely like the rest of the class, but inside, my stomach churned. The board was made up of parents who wanted a say in how Billionaire Academy was run. Because we were a private school, funded solely on tuition payments and donations, the staff listened to the parents on the board and listened well.

  The usual commandment that came down from parental hill had to do with curfews for those of us who lived on campus, uniform changes, holiday schedules, and the like. Every once in a while, there would be a mandate about a class, but that was rare.

  I twisted a pen in my hands. My dad was on the board, and he hadn’t said a word about any changes to my computer sci class. That was a bad sign. Dad was all over open communication.

  I glanced at John to see my worries mirrored in his face as our eyes met. I looked away quickly. That was the third time since class started that we’d looked at one another. That needed to stop. I wasn’t here to make friends with the party kid. What I needed to do was stay focused on the assignments and get As. Then I could go off to college, smash that, and pretty much dominate the world of programming.

  There wasn’t room in my plan for a guy who had lots of muscles. His shirt wasn’t straining against them per se, but it was definitely bulging in the shoulders. Did he work out, or was this the product of swim class?

  “… your projects with partners,” finished Mr. Hubert with a flourish of his arms.

  Wait … what? I’d spaced out for thirty seconds, and suddenly I’m forced to pick a partner. That was micromanagey—even from the parent board.

  And it had my dad written all over it. He and I were going to have words.

  In the meantime, I glanced around the room, sizing up the prospects. Trevor would be alright, except he was on the polo team, and they had practice every day after school. I want
ed someone who could commit.

  Emery would work. She lived in the dorms like me, so we could meet up anytime. I turned to find her already talking to Kim.

  A sense of dread pooled inside my chest cavity.

  John leaned across the aisle and whispered something to Trevor, distracting me from what was going on up front.

  Please don’t let me get stuck with the new guy.

  “Since you’re already in groups of two, we’ll stick with the person on your blob. Everyone shake hands and introduce yourself.” He laughed at his own joke. There were no introductions necessary.

  There were chin jerks and a few fist bumps as people locked in with their partner. My hand flew into the air almost of its own volition, and I ignored the feeling of John’s eyes on me.

  Mr. Hubert ignored me too. “You’ll need a rough draft by the end of the month and a working project in six weeks, so put your heads together and get started, after—” He held up a stack of papers. “—you code this today in class.”

  There were groans. He shook his head at the lack of eagerness in my classmates. I’m not going to lie—I was thrilled. I clasped my hands in front of me, silently begging for a challenge.

  He passed out the papers starting on the other side of the room. I pretended to be really busy on my laptop. What I was about to do to John would be so mean, and I wasn’t a mean person. It’s just … I had so much riding on this project.