The Billionarie’s Temptation Intro

Clarissa’s story…

“They’re coming!” Sandra urgently whispered into Clarissa’s ear, causing Clarissa to jump. She shot a quick, paranoid glance over her shoulder, then began frantically shoving her books into her bag like she was playing a stressed-out game of Tetris.  “Hurry!” Sandra hissed. 

“I’m hurrying!” Clarissa hissed back, rummaging through her bag like a raccoon in a dumpster, desperately seeking her elusive geometry book.

Sandra, with a sigh of relief, informed her, “It’s okay for now.  She stopped to chat with Mike. But seriously, don’t slow down. I’m not in the mood for a Hillary-induced apocalypse today.”

Clarissa, feeling the weight of impending doom, totally got it. Hillary Davis, the blonde cheerleader extraordinaire, had a talent for spreading bad vibes like glitter at a rave. Clarissa’s life was already in the dumps; she didn’t need Hillary adding more garbage to the landfill.

“Do you think she knows?” Sandra asked, concern etched on her face.

“Hillary knows everything. I suspect she’s got a hotline to the gossip gods or something,” Clarissa quipped, finally clutching her geometry book as if it were the last chocolate in the box. “If bad stuff happens, Hillary finds out and throws a party.”

“And not the good kind of party,” Sandra added.

Clarissa zipped up her bag, slammed her locker shut, and declared, “She’s like an emotional vampire. She feeds on our misery.”

“Total vamp vibes,” Sandra agreed, as they prepared to face their impending doom.

As they turned to leave, a sinister sing-song voice echoed, “Oh, Clarissa!” Both women groaned in harmony.

“Keep going,” Sandra urged, grabbing Clarissa’s arm as if they were escaping a horror movie.

But Clarissa, feeling strangely brave, decided, “No, let’s face the music now. Better to deal with the devil in a deserted hallway than in the cafeteria where she has a fan club.”

Sandra laughed nervously, but turned with Clarissa, as if their combined energy could ward off Hillary’s evil forces.

“What do you want, Hillary?” Clarissa asked, ready to face the blonde nemesis.

Hillary, flanked by her minions like a villain with henchmen, leaned in with faux concern. “Heard your mom got fired. Everything okay at home? You know, now that you’re broke.”  She snickered, looking towards her friends for confirmation of her hilarious statement.  Then the vampire turned back ot Clarissa and smirked.  “Again.”

Sandra gasped, Clarissa tensed, and Hillary reveled in the drama she’d just launched.

“Go away, Hillary,” Sandra demanded, a futile command that had about as much impact as a wet noodle.

Hillary glanced at Sandra, a sneer marring her surgically perfect nose.  “The nerd trying to protect the geek. Cute,” Hillary mocked, proving she could also be a mean-girl poet.

Clarissa rolled her eyes and shifted impatiently on her feet. “This is straight out of a teen drama, and I did not sign up for this script.”  She glared at Hillary.  “My mother wasn’t fired.  She quit. And why do you care?” Clarissa asserted, trying to armor herself against Hillary’s verbal daggers.

But Hillary, like a sadistic archer, found the chinks in Clarissa’s emotional armor. “Still no Daddy to help during the tough times?”

Ouch. Direct hit. Clarissa didn’t know her father, and her mother wasn’t sharing.

“You don’t even know who your daddy is, do you?” Hillary taunted, tilting her head as she twirled a lock of her perfectly coiffed hair.

Clarissa, feeling like she’d been slapped, squared her shoulders. “Why is this any of your business?”

Hillary, the queen of verbal cruelty, shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just amusing that the honor roll nerd doesn’t even know her own dad. Comical, really.”

And with that, the wicked witch of high school sauntered away, leaving Clarissa and Sandra standing in the deserted hallway, emotionally bruised and battered.

“Come on, Clarissa,” Sandra said, tugging her towards geometry class. “The tardy bell is about to ring. We need to hurry.”

Clarissa followed, lost in her thoughts about fathers, identity, and the absurdity of high school drama. She may not have known who her dad was, but at least she could spot a teenage villain when she saw one.

Levi’s story…

“Hey, Mom!” Levi shouted, his voice echoing through the apartment like he’d just discovered a hidden treasure chest full of snacks.

“Hey, Sweetie!” his mom chimed back, appearing in the doorway with a hair twist that looked like it had wrestled with a tornado and lost. “How was school today?” she asked, her hands still attempting to corral the rebellion happening on her head.

“Good,” Levi replied, eyeing a mysterious box on the table. “What’s this?” he asked, as if the box held the secrets to the universe.

Ruth beamed, waltzing over and giving him a cheek kiss. “Those are new cleats for football practice, my dear.”

Levi’s eyebrows shot up, as did his excitement. “We can’t afford new shoes, Mom,” he protested, but eyed the box like it was Cinderella’s glass slipper.

She snorted, heading to the kitchen that was basically the size of a postage stamp. “I got a bonus today at work. One of my clients actually wrote me a thank-you letter. Can you believe it?” She turned, revealing some delicate stitching on her pants that suggested a battle with office furniture. Levi’s mother was brilliant at embroidering up tears so that the clothes didn’t need to be replaced.  “And guess what? You made honor roll again. I’m proud of you.” She packed her lunch, then added, “There’s chicken casserole in the fridge, and I got you some of your favorite iced tea.”

Levi, still skeptical and his gaze crunched up, questioned, “Are you secretly robbing a bank or something?”

His mom laughed, then hugged him.  “Don’t spend all night on your homework, okay? Be a rebel, do something naughty while I’m at work.”  She then whispered dramatically, “Live on the edge!”

Rolling his eyes, Levi quipped, “Yeah, I’ll break all the geometry rules. Watch out, world!”

After another round of hugs and kisses, Levi’s mother vanished into the mysterious adult world of work, leaving Levi to contemplate his newfound wealth in cleats.

Just as he settled into the homework throne (aka the worn-out sofa), a knock echoed through the apartment. Levi, thinking it was maybe a pizza delivery or a surprise visit from the math fairy, eagerly opened the door.

“Did you forget your—?” He stopped mid-question, realizing it wasn’t a pizza guy or a mythical creature. Nope, it was his father and two half-brothers, looking as smug as cats who’d just stolen the cream. “Here to make more threats about sending me off to boarding school?”

His father, Jerry Harris, was constantly plotting his monthly takeover.  Tonight, he stepped forward, trying to muscle his way into the apartment like a villain in a B-list movie. Levi, channeling his inner superhero, blocked the entrance. “I don’t think so.”

Jerry, giving him the evil eye (literally, the same blue eye Levi had inherited), growled, “Back away, or your mom loses her job!”

Levi, furious but strategic, stepped aside, allowing the trio of doom to enter. His dad, along with Levi’s less-than-impressive half-brothers, surveyed the apartment with all the grace of royalty inspecting peasants.

Then, his father spotted the new cleats. “Where did these come from?” he demanded, poking the box like it contained the secrets to Levi’s academic success.

“From a store, I suppose,” Levi deadpanned, adding a dismissive shrug.

Jerry, always the charmer, sneered, “Your mother can barely feed you. How did she pull together a few hundred bucks for new shoes?”

Levi, determined not to fuel the fire, kept quiet. He knew his father only dropped by to make sure that his bastard son wasn’t “moving up” in the world.

After a series of insults, Jerry finally got to the point of his visit: “Martin is doing well at Penn State, and Clay is on the fast track to Yale.”

Levi, unfazed, simply thought, “And I’m on the fast track to finishing this essay and acing differential equations, but you don’t see me bragging.”  Instead of irritating the man and putting his mother in further jeopardy, Levi remained silent.  Waiting for the punchline of his father’s visit. 

Obviously, Jerry was irritated that he hadn’t gotten a rise out of Levi, huffed and started to turn away.  “I’ll come back when your mother is present.” 

But not before Clay, Levi’s irritating half-brother, had a chance to sneer at the math book lying on the sofa.  “I’m working on graphing in algebra.”  He nudged the equations book with his knee.  “You won’t know anything about that stuff until you’re older.” 

Levi resisted the urge to reveal his sixth-grade math prodigy status. After the trio left, Levi, cool as a cucumber, finished his homework and wondered if he should start charging his father for these monthly reality checks.