Chapter 3

Cecily shot me one last furious glare before reluctantly going back to her seat. I knelt and carefully picked up my phone. The screen was completely shattered, and the display underneath was ruined.

I gritted my teeth and shoved it back into my pocket, then returned to my seat and tried to focus on the lesson.

After that, Cecily didn't say another word. I could feel it in the way she looked at me. Underneath the old disgust, there was now a deeper layer of resentment.

…

The last class of the afternoon had just ended when a brand-new smartphone box suddenly landed on my desk. I looked up to see Sonia Harrison, the heiress of the Harrison family real estate empire.

She was usually aloof in class, never spoke more than a few words, and somehow never repeated the same Chanel outfit twice.

"This is for you," she said somewhat coldly, but devoid of her usual arrogance. She crossed her arms and raised her chin slightly. "Didn't you break your phone this morning? I happen to have an extra one."

I froze for a moment and quickly tried to push the box back. "I can't accept this, Ms. Harrison. I—"

"Enough. I don't want to hear any refusals," she interrupted me, her fingers brushing the edge of the box. "And it's not like it's free. I'm going to Roque Fashion Week next week, so I need you to handle my assignments this week. Consider this your payment."

I gripped the box, a mix of shock and joy running through me, and nodded. "Okay, I'll do it. Thank you for the phone."

Sonia raised an eyebrow, and as she returned, the hem of her skirt brushed past the desk, leaving a faint trail of perfume. "Have the assignments ready by tomorrow morning. Make sure the quality is good."

The next morning, I handed the completed assignments to Sonia. She flipped through a couple of pages, and for once, the corner of her mouth twitched into a faint smile. She didn't say anything else and tucked the papers away.

When I came out of the restroom, a sharp, piercing voice stabbed through the hallway. "Someone was just crying over a broken phone yesterday, and now you've got the latest model on the market. What a quick turnaround."

Cecily stood in front of me, arms crossed. Her eyes were like poisoned needles, fixed on the corner of the phone peeking out of my pocket.

I was just about to answer when she suddenly lunged with a mock "Oh!"

Her insulated mug tilted, and boiling water spilled straight onto my arm. The scalding heat shot up my arm. I yelped and jumped back. The sleeve of my uniform was soaked.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you?" I snapped.

Cecily barely flinched at my burning arm. Instead, she leaned closer and deliberately raised her voice so everyone could hear.

"Oh, Naomi. You receive financial aid, only to turn around and accept gifts from these rich kids. Aren't you afraid of losing your special admission privileges?"

All eyes in the hallway looked at us. I clenched my fists, forced my anger down, and shot back, "This is payment for the work I did for Sonia. I earned it! What gives you the right to interfere?"

"Did you say you earned it?"

She let out a mocking laugh, then shifted her tone, her gaze dark and menacing. "Or maybe you're just using 'work' as an excuse to forget that you're just a poor, low-income student, to forget that your parents are still waiting for you at home."

Her words were stabbing. I jabbed a finger at her nose, my voice trembling, but every word sharp and clear. "Don't bring my parents into this, Cecily! Just because your heart's full of bitterness doesn't mean everyone else's is! Why do you always pick on me?"

I forced her back a step. Her face was drained of color, but she still tried to stand her ground. "I just can't stand you sucking up to them! Using your poor-student status as a stepping stone just makes you more disgusting than the rich kids!"

"Can't stand me?"

I laughed suddenly, the sound dripping with sarcasm. "If you can't stand me, just leave. No one's stopping you. Why don't you enroll in private or top international colleges that you rave so much about?"

I paused, letting my following words hit harder. "Oh, that's right. You score 30 points less than me on the SAT. You'll never reach their cutoffs. So, all you can do is hang around here and get jealous when someone else does better than you.

"Isn't that what this is all about?"

It was like a slap in Cecily's face. Embarrassment, anger, and helplessness flashed interchangeably on her visage.