Revenge of the False Scarlet Letter

“Oops, I may have accidentally gotten some ink on my neck when I was doing my homework.” I calmly wiped the mark off my neck, smirking at my teacher. She had gone pale.

“If that’s all, Mrs. Smith, I’ll head back to class now.”

In my previous life, my homeroom teacher Mrs. Smith had dragged me out of class just like this, accusing me without rhyme or reason.

A picture had been making rounds on the school forums. It was a screenshot of a video chat, and both parties’ faces were obscured, but the highlight was a photo of a girl’s body with the school’s uniform in the background.

The school had immediately taken down the post, but everyone had shared the picture privately by now. Even Mrs. Smith got a copy, which was why she confronted me.

She held the photo before my eyes, scoffing. “You look like such a nice girl, Cheryl. To think you would do such shameless things in secret!

“Were you chatting with your little boyfriend? Or was it your sugar daddy?

“I know you’re here on a scholarship because of your family’s underprivileged background, but you can’t just do anything for money!”

I was furious and humiliated, immediately insisting the photo was not mine. I did not have a boyfriend, either.

However, she pointed out that the mole in the picture was in exactly the same place as mine. I was caught off-guard, standing frozen like a deer in the headlights while everyone’s gaze pierced through me.

No matter how I protested after that, there was no stopping the rumors. The whole school ostracized me, and my classmates vandalized my table with terrible insults.

I lost the scholarship I was on track to receive. The shock gave my mother a heart attack, and she passed away.

Mired in despair, I dazedly did the paperwork to drop out of the school and then leaped to my death from the roof of a tall building.

The next time I opened my eyes, I woke up on the day before Mrs. Smith confronted me.

My mind working quickly, I went to a clinic to remove my mole and then drew one back on with a pen.

Back to the present, Mrs. Smith stared at my neck wordlessly for a while before snorting. “Good to know it wasn’t you. After all, girls these days will do anything for a bit of money. I don’t want you to stray from the right path.”

Not long after that, she walked into the classroom and stood at the lectern. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about the recent scandal.”

The class instantly burst into whispers and hoots. High schoolers were all curious about anything, after all.

Mrs. Smith rapped the lectern to call for silence. “Society these days is a mess, and there are all sorts of characters out there. Of course, I won’t allow these immoral trends to affect the students of our class.

“Let’s put an end to this topic. I don’t want to hear anyone discussing it anymore.”

She said it as though she was defending me, as though she had not been the one who randomly accused me out of nowhere.

Besides, if she really wanted to protect me, she should be keeping the matter quiet, not bringing it to everyone’s attention over and over again.

She then cleared her throat. “I also hope some girls will relearn their sense of shame and have more dignity.”

Instantly, a bunch of indecipherable gazes turned to me.

Quite a few people had heard our conversation after she called me out of the classroom angrily just now. It was clear to see what she was implying.

I clenched my hands into fists, struggling to breathe.

When I got home after school and saw that familiar silhouette, I finally let the tears fall. I hugged my mother from behind. She was surprised at first, then she turned around with a smile and rubbed my head.

When she noticed my tears, she panicked. “What happened? Did someone bully you at school?”

I shook my head, sobbing. Thank goodness I still had time to salvage things.

Over dinner, my mother suddenly asked me in confusion, “Your teacher, Mrs. Smith, suddenly started collecting every parent’s job and house address in the parent-teacher group a few days ago. Is there some sort of event going on?”

My heart skipped a beat, and I hurriedly asked her to explain more. According to my mother, many of the parents had given Mrs. Smith gifts. My mother was wondering if she should follow suit.

I quickly persuaded her not to, scoffing to myself inwardly. Did Mrs. Smith do all this to me because she did not receive a gift?

My mother was just a regular farmer. She would never understand these hidden rules.

Just then, I saw Mrs. Smith’s newest text message in the group.

[Considering recent events, we will be reselecting the scholarship candidates for this academic year.]

I gripped my phone, sneering to myself.

Was she planning to steal my glory with the same old tricks? In her dreams!