Kiss Me Baby One More Time [ Britney Spears x Reader ]

Chapter 4: Study Session

Author: Emaan

Forget about being there on time; you weren't even out of the house by the time you should've been there. Can a person be any more stupid? You couldn't tell Britney that the only reason you had the "highest grades in the class" was that you illegally bribed all of your teachers into giving you perfect grades by killing your best friend's wealthy parents and inheriting everything they didn't give to you in their will. Luckily your teachers wouldn't have to worry about getting arrested with someone as rich and powerful as you.

But then you realized all that Canadian money was just the fake currency from that Monopoly game you played with your gaming chair last night.

You jumped into your stolen, cheap car, hoping Britney would be too dehydrated to see it correctly. Even if you were a senior in high school, you didn't have the willpower to get a permit, let alone a license. You survived on illegal activity and drove around without a care in the world. Somehow, you never got your "license" suspended or arrested at all.

You forgot about that whole situation instantly — the real issue was that you had no idea where Britney's house was — if it even was a house. Who knows where a queen like her could reside?

Michael Torris street? Where in this damned world was that?

You hopelessly drove around your school district, hoping you would at least find a familiar community. Could she have been any vaguer? How much more time am I supposed to waste until I can actually be at her house?

You drove back to your own neighborhood with misery in your eyes — at least until you saw Michael Torris street right across your own. God, you were stupid. If anything legal, you were legally blind. No glasses could save your aloof mind. How were you even still alive?

You quickly but horribly parked your car on the street, slightly behind her driveway. Her house looked really different from how you imagined it to be, but you didn't have time to try to process all of it.

You ran with all your might to her door, but of course, you being as absentminded as a crippled fruit fly, you tripped on the steps leading up to her doorway. This didn't stop you, though, as you got back up, dusting the dirt off of your pants.

Wait, am I supposed to knock or ring the doorbell? If I knock, she might not be able to hear it, which could make me seem even later, but if I ring the bell, it might be too loud, and I could seem obnoxious.

You decided to ring the doorbell and then proceeded to knock three times with the back of your hand (it hurt your knuckles), just like your grandpa, who might as well have stage six cancer taught you a decade ago.

Almost instantly, the presence you dreaded opened the door. But... To your surprise, she didn't look upset? She had a shockingly welcoming smile on her face, only something an average, polite person would have. But Britney Spears?

"I'm so sorry, Britney, my grandpa told me to get tissues and then I got lost and—"

"It's fine. Come with me — but take your shoes off first. I hope your filth isn't contagious," she said before you could finish. It seemed more like her, so it wasn't as weird, but it was still worrying. You didn't want to spend too much time thinking about it, though, so you blindly followed her upstairs after taking your dirtied shoes off with more effort than your delicate hands should have handled. Get it? Handled. Even your thoughts were unfunny, so you moved on and looked around her house, trying to take in everything in it. Her house looked so average on the outside, contrary to how luxurious it seemed inside. But why would she want to appear normal with such an unachievable reputation?

Her room was bedazzled in fairy lights. She had portraits and professional photographs of herself hanging all over her walls. Her closet and bathroom were something you secretly wished you could've seen, but you gave up on that hope. She had a massive bed with an assortment of pink and white pillows, and her comforter had "Britney" printed on it in a fancy font. It even had lacey drapes surrounding it. Her wall was light pink and had complex white details. Not only was she virtually the queen of the school, but she also lived like a princess. It's not like it was a surprise, though.

"Okay, just sit there. I'll stay on my bed," she said, pointing to a velvety light pink chair. Once you sat on it, you realized it could spin. It was like a cleaner, softer, heavenly version of your gaming chair.

"Thank you," you replied stupidly. Really? Thank you? She turned around and gave you a weird look. You started sweating; it was like there was so much pressure all of a sudden.

"Uh, well, what exactly did you need help with?" you asked, hoping for an actual answer without some rude remark even though you couldn't really expect anything else.

"A lot of things," she admitted. Britney Spears saying something at least slightly implying that she's incompetent? Maybe you were overthinking. You couldn't project your insecurities onto the girl everyone wants but knows they'll never get.

"Let's start with one thing — maybe psychology; how are you doing with that?"

"It's okay, I guess, I just need help understanding how many psychological disorders it takes to make a person as dense as you," she snapped. It was strange, though; it seemed as if she was genuinely angry with you.

"Right, sorry. Calculus, then? How's that going?" What the hell are you doing?

"Well, I need help with optimization, if you even know anything about that. I have a feeling you're just BSing your way through this entire course." She wasn't wrong. You were literally a criminal at this point.

"Okay, let's get started with that then," you said in a shaky voice, playing with your hair while you got more and more nervous with every word she spoke.

—

"Okay, I'm gonna take a break. I don't understand how much of an anorak you have to be to study for more than two hours straight," she said after two hours of going over problems on the homework and practicing different methods. But she seemed more upset than tired.

"Is something wrong?" You really had a talent for asking the dumbest questions.

Her eyebrows furrowed, and her lips seemed to get thinner. You got chills just from thinking of the possibility that you did something to make her upset.

"When did you feel like you have the right to disobey me?" Her voice seemed scarily quiet.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I told you to be here by seven, and you showed up almost half an hour late. You know there's a reason I gave you a time, right? What's so hard to understand about that, you baka?"

"I'm so sorry, I really tried my best to be on ti—"

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. Thanks for the help, but you should go now," she said before you could finish your sentence; it was probably a good thing because whatever you said would have been the opposite of relevant anyway. You got chills knowing you were the reason you upset her. It felt like your sins were crawling on your back.

She'll never talk to me again. She'll tell all her friends about how I disrespected her. The whole school will hate me. I have no chance. How do I fix this?

"I'm so sor—"

"Just go. Don't be late next time."

Next time?