The last bell of the day rang through Westview High, a shrill cry of freedom that sent students spilling into the hallways like a stampede of hormonal wildebeests. Miguel Rodriguez, however, stayed rooted to his desk in Room 204, his heart pounding louder than a drumline at a halftime show. The classroom slowly emptied, leaving behind a battlefield of crumpled papers, half-hearted doodles, and the faint whiff of teenage angst. Miguel’s dark eyes, though, weren’t on the mess. They were glued to the towering figure at the front of the room—Ms. Rhea, better known to the world as Red She-Hulk.
She stood by her desk, stacking papers with a precision that matched the sheer authority radiating from her crimson-skinned, muscular frame. Her tight pencil skirt and blouse strained against her physique, a reminder that she wasn’t just a teacher—she was a goddamn force of nature. Her fiery red hair cascaded over one shoulder, catching the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. Miguel swallowed hard, feeling the heat creep up his neck as he watched her biceps flex with every movement. If courage had a face, it was hers. And if stupidity had a poster boy, well, that was about to be him.
His sneakers squeaked traitorously on the linoleum as he stood, wiping sweaty palms on his faded jeans. He approached her desk like a soldier marching to a firing squad, each step heavier than the last. Ms. Rhea didn’t look up, but he knew she sensed him. She always did. Her presence was like a radar for weakness, and right now, Miguel was broadcasting it in surround sound.
“Uh, Ms. Rhea?” His voice cracked on the last syllable, and he cursed himself internally. Real smooth, Rodriguez.
She paused, one crimson hand hovering over a stack of essays, and finally lifted her gaze. Her piercing green eyes locked onto his, and an eyebrow arched like a sassy question mark. Her full lips curled into a smirk, sharp enough to cut through his already fragile ego. “What is it, Rodriguez? Detention’s over. You’re free to go be a menace somewhere else.”
Miguel’s throat went dry, but he forced the words out anyway, a reckless tumble of syllables. “I, uh, I was wondering if you’d be my girlfriend.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Ms. Rhea’s smirk froze, then widened into something dangerously amused. She set the papers down with deliberate slowness, leaning forward on her desk. Her blouse strained further, and Miguel’s brain short-circuited for a solid three seconds before he remembered to breathe. Her voice dropped to a low growl, rich and teasing, as she propped her chin on one hand. “Oh, baby, did you just say what I think you said? You’ve got some serious guts, I’ll give you that. But do you really think you’ve got what it takes to handle a powerhouse like me?”
Miguel blinked, caught off guard by the pet name and the challenge laced into her tone. But instead of shrinking under her gaze, something ignited in him—maybe it was the Hydra serum still coursing through his veins from last year’s “incident,” or maybe it was just sheer, dumb bravado. He straightened up, forcing a grin. “I’m not just talking, Ms. Rhea. I’m asking you out. How about Marco’s, tonight? Sunset date. I promise you won’t forget it.”
Her laughter erupted, a deep, throaty sound that filled the room and sent a shiver down his spine. She tossed her fiery hair back, the motion almost hypnotic, and crossed her arms over her chest, sizing him up like a predator toying with prey. “Marco’s, huh? Fancy for a kid who looks like he rolled out of bed in those ratty sneakers. You’d better not show up looking like that if you’re trying to impress me, baby. I don’t date slobs.”
Unfazed, Miguel’s grin widened. He leaned a little closer, dropping his voice to match her playful edge. “Don’t worry about the shoes, Ms. Rhea. I’ll be so charming, you’ll forget I’m even wearing ‘em. Hell, you might forget your own name by the time I’m done.”
Her eyes narrowed, but the smirk never left her lips. She straightened to her full, intimidating height, towering over him, and pointed a finger at his chest—not touching, but close enough to make his pulse spike. “Alright, hotshot. I’ll bite. Marco’s, tonight. But listen close, Rodriguez—you’ve got one shot to prove you’re more than just a cocky kid with a big mouth. Blow it, and I’ll make sure you regret wasting my time. Understood?”
“Crystal clear,” he shot back, holding her gaze despite the sweat beading on his forehead. “I’ll see you there, Ms. Rhea. Don’t be late.”
She snorted, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe his audacity. “Get out of my classroom before I change my mind, baby.”
Miguel turned on his heel, a spring in his step as he exited the room, the weight of her words fueling his adrenaline. He’d just asked out Red She-Hulk. And she’d said yes. Holy shit, he was either a genius or a dead man walking.
---
Back at home, Miguel’s tiny bedroom was a war zone of discarded clothes and empty energy drink cans. He stood in front of his closet, rifling through hangers with the desperation of a man on a mission. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, tossing a faded hoodie over his shoulder. “I can’t show up looking like a broke-ass orphan. Not tonight.”
His fingers finally snagged on a button-up shirt he’d borrowed from his cousin last month. It was a size too tight, but as he slipped it on and flexed in front of the cracked mirror, he smirked. The fabric strained over his shoulders and biceps—thank you, experimental Hydra enhancements. “Not bad, Rodriguez,” he chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair. “Let’s hope she’s into the ‘struggling superhero’ vibe. Irony’s sexy, right?”
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Miguel made his way to Marco’s. His nerves buzzed like live wires under his skin, but he kept his chin up, hands stuffed in his pockets to hide the trembling. The swanky little restaurant loomed ahead, all sleek glass and ambient lighting, a far cry from the taco stands he usually haunted. He stopped just outside the entrance, adjusting his too-tight collar and taking a deep breath.
“Alright, Miguel,” he whispered to himself, a cocky grin creeping onto his face. “You’re about to charm the pants off a literal superhero. Or at least die trying.”
The door to Marco’s beckoned, and with one last tug at his shirt, he stepped forward, ready to face the fiery challenge of Ms. Rhea.
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