Everyone Thought I Was Just a Pretty Face

I was standing at the back of the line at morning assembly, reapplying my sunscreen, when the foundation's ultimatum was announced.

The September sun was so harsh that it was hard to keep my eyes open. I held up a small mirror and carefully checked the sides of my nose.

"This side isn't blended." I handed the mirror to my deskmate. "I need to add a bit more, or my face is gonna be two different shades."

Every head around me snapped toward me. The dean of students, Mr. White, stood on the assembly platform, still clutching the foundation's notice.

His lips twitched. In the end, he just couldn't hold it in. He said, "Geraldine, the foundation just gave us their ultimatum. If Greenwood doesn't win the National Scholastic League this time, we're losing all our funding next semester. Over 2,000 students might not have a school to come back to, and you're worried about a tan?"

I looked up. "Morning assembly is school-mandated. It's not like I'm banned from wearing sunscreen just because the foundation's gonna cut us off, right?"

Mr. White's face turned red with anger.

Sasha Lane snatched my mirror away, her expression ice-cold. "Enough already. If she gets even the slightest sunburn, she'll complain about it all day. Let her finish, or she's just gonna whine later that her face hurts."

With that, she squeezed out a blob of sunscreen and smeared it right onto the tip of my nose.

I hurriedly dodged. "Easy there. You'll rub my face raw."

"Shut up." She glared at me. "Settle down for just five minutes, will you? The teachers are all busy trying to save the school. No one has time to orbit around you."

I stepped back into place in the line. For all her trash talk, I knew she couldn't stand seeing me suffer.

Last week when it rained, she shoved her umbrella into my hands and ran back to the school building without it, getting soaked. Then, with that same cold expression, she said she just didn't want to listen to me complain about my freshly curled hair going flat.

The principal, Mr. Brown, stood on the assembly platform, too. He clearly hadn't slept all night; his voice was shot.

The foundation had been funding Greenwood High School for ten years. The cafeteria, the dorms, the scholarships, and most of the teachers' salaries all depended on that money.

But the sponsorship agreement made it clear that within those ten years, Greenwood had to win the National Scholastic League at least once.

For nine straight years, the championship had gone to our rival, Brookstone High School. This year was our last shot. If we lost, the foundation would pull out, and Greenwood would have to shut down for lack of funds.

The teachers argued for ages over what to do.

Some suggested cutting all the humanities programs and pouring everything into the STEM team. Some wanted to bring in retired competitors as emergency coaches.

But no matter what plan they came up with, they couldn't get around Brookstone's powerhouse team that had taken the title nine years running.

Right then, the competition coach, Louis Coolidge, hurried onto the platform and set a packet of papers in front of Mr. Brown. "Mr. Brown, the committee just released the official rules."

Everyone immediately straightened up. Mr. Brown asked, "Can our three starters still compete?"

"Yes."

"Any major changes?"

"The first three rounds are the same. They just added a final lightning round."

Several teachers exhaled in relief.

Sasha was the top of the grade and handled the all-around questions. Joe Wells had once taken first place in a national physics competition. Chris Zeller had consistently ranked among the top three math students in the entire city.

They'd been training together for two years. As long as they performed at their usual level, Greenwood actually had a shot.

But Louis still looked grim. Sasha could tell something was wrong and asked, "Is there more to it?"

"Yeah." Louis flipped to the last page of the packet. "This year, every team has to have four competitors. The school chooses the first three, but the last one is randomly drawn from the senior class by the system."

Mr. Brown's stomach dropped. "Who did we draw?"

Louis didn't answer right away. He lifted his head, his gaze traveling past the whole student body until it landed on me. "Class 7, senior year, Geraldine Walker."

The tension that had just started to ease snapped tight again in an instant.

Mr. White went pale, and Sasha shot to her feet. She said, "We need a redraw."

"The committee already announced the results. No substitutions are allowed," Louis said tiredly.

"She's never answered a single question on any of the monthly exams!"

"I know."

"She doesn't even fill in the multiple-choice bubbles!"

"But rules are rules."

The big screen by the athletic field was showing the league's official livestream. When Brookstone's team heard the draw results, they burst out laughing.

Someone even grabbed the mic and deliberately asked, "Greenwood's feeling pretty confident, aren't they? They're even sending a pretty face who turns in blank tests."

Their captain, Hugo Jensen, drawled, "Guess being pretty is a talent, too. Even if Greenwood tanks, at least their promo photos will look good."

The livestream chat was full of laughing emojis, but none of our students joined in. They just stared at me, their gazes heavy enough to be suffocating.

The foundation representative snapped his folder shut. "If Geraldine competes, Greenwood keeps its shot at the championship. If she refuses, it'll be treated as a voluntary forfeit, and the sponsorship agreement ends immediately. Please confirm your final roster by midnight tonight."

Mr. Brown's hand clenched around the registration form. "Geraldine, we're not asking you to score any points. You just need to show up, sit in the last seat, and keep your hands off the buzzer. Can you do that?"

Everyone was watching me. I slowly closed my compact and said, "I'm not participating."