Rewriting the Scandal

Someone posted a picture of me accepting an Inspirational Scholarship Award on the campus confession wall.

The caption read, [Shoutout to Yvette Lewis from the Class 23. You're absolutely stunning. If you don't have a boyfriend, could we maybe get to know each other?]

In just a few minutes, the post had already racked up dozens of comments.

[Yvette is not just beautiful. She's incredible! Totally feels like she's straight out of a fairytale.]

[Wow! Does anyone have her number? I want to know her too!]

I scrolled through with a blank expression until a long comment from someone named Harvey Jones jumped out at me.

[What's wrong with you guys? How could you even like Yvette? Don't you know she's the campus bicycle? Anyone with money can take a ride. Pretty much every guy here has slept with her.]

Someone quickly replied, [Who is this psycho? Why is he spreading rumors like this?]

But Harvey wasn't about to stop. It seemed something in that reply had set him off, and he fired back with another long comment.

[Rumors? Are you kidding me? I've seen it with my own eyes. She hooked up with someone in broad daylight. Didn't even bother going to a hotel—they just went at it in a corner. She only fools the freshmen with her innocent act. Everyone knows her scholarship and outstanding student titles were earned by improper means.]

My hands trembled as I read the comment. The phone slipped out of my grasp and hit the floor.

"Yvette, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," my roommate asked, picking up my phone. Her eyes scanned the screen before she gasped.

"Rose, why is your boyfriend commenting on the confession wall like this?"

Rose Smith looked confused and leaned over to check. Her face turned beet red as she read the comments.

The rest of my roommates had read the entire comment thread by now, their faces full of anger on my behalf.

"How can Harvey say something so disgusting? This has to be slander, right? Yvette, you should report him to the police," one of them said indignantly.

"N-no! Don't call the police!" Rose looked visibly flustered. "Yvette, I'm so sorry. There must be some kind of misunderstanding here. I'll go talk to him right now and make sure he deletes those comments and apologizes to you online."

Rose's expression was earnest, almost pleading. If I hadn't lived through all of this once before, I might have believed her and let her handle it.

But in my past life, Harvey never deleted those comments. He never apologized either. Instead, after a certain video went viral, he sneered and said one thing, "See? What did I tell you? Yvette Lewis really is a loose woman."

Without a word, I stood up. Then, I grabbed my phone and walked out.

When I reached the boy's dormitory, I ran into Harvey just as he was heading out.

I sprinted toward him, blocking his path. "Is what you said true?"

Harvey froze, startled by my sudden appearance. "What?"

I held up my phone, the comment glaring back at him from the screen. "You said I've slept with every guy on campus. Is that true? When did this happen? Where? How many people? I don't remember any of it—so tell me, is it true or not?"

Harvey's expression shifted instantly. His face turned pale, then bright red, and for several seconds he couldn't form a coherent response.

It wasn't until Rose finally caught up, panting slightly, that she stepped in. She gave him a sharp nudge on the shoulder and whispered, "Apologize."

Like snapping out of a trance, Harvey stammered, "S-sorry, Yvette. I didn't mean to—it just slipped out. I shouldn't have said anything."