CHAPTER SIX:The bet

Chapter Six : The Bet

The announcement came at the end of class.

“The Regional Science Competition,” Mr. Hawthorne said, tapping the paper in his hand, “will be held in six weeks. This school may nominate up to two candidates.”

Excitement went through the class

Everyone sat straighter 

This competition mattered. Rankings. Reputation. Futures.

Mr. Hawthorne’s gaze swept the class. “Those interested may submit their names by Friday.”

I looked up from my sit, raised my hand and said

“I’ll participate.”

The room went quiet.

Then laughter.

Not cruel. Not loud.

disbelieving.

“You?” someone whispered.

“She’s only been here a week.”

“She thinks she’s that good?”

Lucinda turned in her seat, eyes wide with concern. “Big Sister… are you sure? This competition is very demanding.”

“I’m sure,” I replied.

Mr. Hawthorne studied me, brows drawn. “You understand this isn’t a classroom exercise, Miss Sheraphina. It’s regional.”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Confidence is admirable. But results matter.”

I nodded . “ I see no one believes me , so let’s make it interesting.”

The laughter died almost immediately .

“If I don’t place first in the region,” I said evenly, “I’ll withdraw from all future academic representations for the school.”

“And if I do,” I continued, eyes lifting calmly, “then no one questions my place here again.”

Silence crashed down.

Mr. Hawthorne stiffened . “This isn’t a game.”

“I know,” I said.“That’s why I’m betting.”

He hesitated .

Pride wars with reason.

“…Very well,” he said at last. “You may submit your proposal.”

The class was quiet all through the remainder of the class. You could see the shock and surprise on their faces

Later that day, I felt her gaze before I saw her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said  softly as we left class together. “People already think you’re under a lot of pressure.”

“I chose it.”

Her smile tightened, I could see fear in her eyes.

“That kind of confidence can be dangerous,” she said gently. “What if you lose?”

“I won’t.”

It slipped out before I could stop it.

For the first time, Lucinda’s sweetness cracked.

Just for a second.

That night, her name appeared on the participant list.

Lucinda Vale.

Top of the class. Perfect scores. Teacher favorite.

Of course she applied .

Because to Lucinda, it wasn’t a competition.

It was a correction.

A way to restore order.

To prove—to the school, to Mr. Hawthorne, to Grandfather, to herself—that I was the mistake.

That I was temporary.

That she is the one who belongs at the top.

She doesn’t want to win.

She wanted me to lose.

And that is exactly why she will cheat.

For three days, Lucinda left me alone.

No smiles in the hallway.

No soft concern near my desk.

No carefully placed words meant to sting.

I noticed immediately.

Silence from someone like Lucinda is never mercy. It’s preparation.

I used the time well.

Library. Laboratory. Notes rewritten twice. Hypotheses tested and discarded. I didn’t rush—I refined. The competition didn’t worry me. People do.

On the fourth day, I found her waiting by my locker.

She was leaning casually, arms folded, as if we planned this meeting. Students slow as they pass,watching .

“Big Sister,” she said brightly. “You’ve been so busy lately.”

I unlocked my locker. “Yes.”

She stepped closer.

“I was thinking,” she continued , lowering her voice just enough to sound private, “since we’re both competing, maybe we should stay in touch. For coordination.”

I paused.

“I don’t see the need.”

Her smile stiffened . “It’s just a phone number.”

“No.”

The word landed cleanly.

Lucinda blinked.

Once.

Then twice.

Her eyes darken—not with anger, but disbelief.

“You… won’t give it to me?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

The hallway had slowed to a crawl now. People were watching openly.

Lucinda’s fingers tremble.

“I just wanted to help,” she said softly. “I thought… since we’re family…”

Her voice cracked.

Heads turn.

“Is it because I’m adopted?” she whispered.

The word hits the air like a dropped glass.

Someone gasped.

Lucinda’s eyes shine. “I know I’m not really part of your family,” she said, voice shaking. “I know I don’t have the right to ask for things. I just… I wanted to feel included.”

I closed my locker.

“I don’t share my number,” I said calmly.

That’s when she breaks.

“I’m sorry!” she cried suddenly, tears spilling freely. “I shouldn’t have asked. I forget my place sometimes.”

Students stopped walking.

Phones come out.

“I know you don’t like me,” Lucinda sobbed, clutching her sleeves. “I know I shouldn’t expect anything from you. I was wrong to think we could ever be sisters.”

Murmurs ripple.

“So that’s how she treats her…”

“That’s cruel.”

“She didn’t even raise her voice…”

Lucinda sank to her knees.

“I’ll stay away,” she says through tears. “I promise. Just… Please don’t be angry.”

Angry.

I’ve said fewer than ten words.

Someone grabbed my arm. “Just give her the number. Why are you being like this?”

Another voice hisses, “She’s already been through enough.”

I looked down at Lucinda.

Her shoulders shake convincingly.

Her lips, hidden by her hair, curve upward.

I understood then.

This wasn’t about contact.

It’s about control.

I take out my phone.

Dictate the number.

She memorized it instantly.

“Thank you,” she whispered, standing shakily. “I knew you weren’t really that heartless.”

She walked away supported by classmates.

I remain.

Surrounded by stares.

By the end of the day, the story has spread.

I’m cold.

Entitled.

A spoiled rich girl who bullies an adopted sister.

Lucinda didn’t text.

Not once.

She got what she wanted.

Access.