Chapter 4
At lunch in the cafeteria, I couldn't shake the feeling someone was watching me. There were even people pointing their phones at me, filming, and the shaky camera made me seriously uneasy.
Then my phone buzzed with a push notification. A trending post. The title hit me like a punch to the gut. It read: [Exposed: The Elite Academy's Scholarship Girl Who's Playing for Keeps.]
The post claimed that despite my "humble" scholarship status, I was now flaunting the latest iPhone Pro Max, blowing off my studies, and spending all my time cozying up to the wealthy students.
The post even dragged up the fact that I hadn't told my parents before applying, suggesting I'd planned all along to use the rich kids as my ladder up.
I stared at the screen, my fingers so cold that they were shaking.
That part about my parents—it felt like a physical stab.
I hadn't called home once since I left. They knew exactly which wound to press on, just to paint me as ungrateful and calculating.
The comments were even worse.
[Taking a scholarship and sucking up to rich kids? Seriously, what a disgrace to scholarship students. Aren't we supposed to be here to study?]
[People like her should have their admission revoked. She's clearly here for the wrong reasons—probably angling to become some trust fund baby's trophy girlfriend.]
[She even kept it from her parents? If she's not up to something shady, why would she do that? This needs to be reported.]
[Wonder how much it would take for her to sleep with someone. 700 dollars?]
[LOL, for her? 300 dollars, and she'd probably say yes.]
*****
A sharp voice came crashing down on me. I looked up to see Keira standing over me with her arms crossed, her face full of smug satisfaction.
"Well, look who it is. Trending topic superstar," she sneered.
She shoved her phone right in my face, the screen blazing with that viral post—comments already soaring past 10,000.
"See that? Now the whole school knows exactly who you are. Probably the whole internet, too," she said, dragging her nail across the screen, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Everyone's after you now. You're like public enemy number one."
I gripped my fork tighter, staying silent.
My silence seemed to excite her. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping even lower, but the mockery in it was even sharper.
She went on, "If I were you, I'd just disappear before things get worse. Give it a few days. Once this reaches the principal, you won't just be expelled. Your name will be mud. And when your parents hear about all the stuff you've been pulling here, I doubt they'll want you back."
Her words struck the exact nerve she'd aimed for. I looked up at her. Her eyes were practically gleaming with gloating, like she was already picturing me packing my bags in disgrace.
She spun around all high and mighty, "accidentally" knocking my cup off the table. Hot coffee splashed all over my pants, leaving a nasty stain.
She didn't even glance back, just strutted off like she'd already won, like the whole scene was hers to direct.
I stared down at the mess on my pants, my fingers curled tight, but a cold smirk crept onto my face.
Enjoy the show, Keira. It ends tomorrow.
Tomorrow, when the tide of public opinion inevitably turned, and the very mob Keira had stirred up came hunting for her instead, she would finally understand what it meant to be cornered.
The net she had woven with such care would become her own cage.
*****
After dinner, the new phone Rosalind gave me suddenly started buzzing, with message alerts popping up one after another.
I unlocked the screen and saw the class group chat going absolutely wild.
[Holy crap, did you guys see that post on the campus forum? It says Natalie faked being broke to guilt Rosalind into giving her a phone.]
[Rosalind, is it true? You gave her a new phone?]
A response from Rosalind appeared almost instantly. [Yeah, I did. She did my homework. I paid her. Is there an issue?]
[So what do we do now? We can't just let Natalie get crucified for something that's not even true.]
[@Natalie If you're seeing this, you don't have to stay quiet. We've got your back.]
Scrolling through the messages, I felt a slow, unfamiliar warmth in my chest. It was a stark contrast to all those anonymous hate comments on social media.
I read their messages of support, but I didn't reply. I just closed the app. I'd learned, from the moment I left home, that the only person who would always fight for me was myself.
Early the next morning, before my alarm even went off, a private message from Rosalind popped up on my phone.
It read: [Get to Mr. Wright's office now. Come see how we've got your back.]