The Eleventh Candidate

Three seconds after I sent the message, a reply came back with a question mark.

"Who is this?"

I clipped ten seconds from the old video of my bullying and sent that instead.

In the clip, two guys had me pinned against a bathroom stall door.

Bryce Calloway was holding a mop bucket they'd filled with urine, laughing so hard he couldn't stand up straight.

A second later, murky yellow water poured down over my head.

"Isn't the genius supposed to be a neat freak? Let's give him a wash."

I didn't watch the rest.

Three minutes later, she called.

Her voice was tight.

"Is this real?"

"It's real."

"Do you have anything else?"

"Group-chat logs, hospital records, photos of the clothes they cut up. I have all of it."

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

"Then why don't you report him yourself?"

I looked at my laptop.

On the screen, there was the final hiring list for state government positions.

I'd landed a government job too.

But from the day I applied to the day I interviewed, I hadn't told a soul.

Not my mom. Not even Olivia Kent, my girlfriend and childhood sweetheart.

It wasn't because I wanted to surprise anyone.

It was because I knew better than anyone that you don't announce something until it's set in stone.

Especially now, when I was still in my own final review period.

Six years ago, after I got cornered in that bathroom, my first instinct was to go to a teacher and to my family.

But my homeroom teacher told me to think about the big picture with college applications coming up, and my mom told me not to ruin another kid's future.

Later, the video went around the whole school, and I missed two weeks of classes.

All they ever told me was, "Just put up with it. It'll blow over."

That was when I finally understood.

Counting on other people would get me nowhere. The most important thing was to protect myself first.

So this time, I wasn't going to go after Bryce myself.

Someone else was better suited for it.

"Sabrina Holt, right? You placed eleventh. Bryce's position is only hiring ten people. If he's disqualified during the final review, the next person in line gets moved up. That's you."

Her breathing grew heavy on the other end.

This time, she didn't hesitate.

"Send me all the evidence. I'm filing a complaint under my own name."

I zipped up the folder I'd kept for six years and sent it.

The moment it went through, Mom pushed my door open.

"What are you still sitting around for? Bryce is celebrating his new government job at the hotel tonight. Hurry up and get ready. You're coming with me."

She caught sight of my laptop and frowned impatiently.

"Always messing around with useless stuff. Why can't you just find a real job?"

I closed the laptop.

She had no idea.

The good-for-nothing son she kept complaining about had just landed a government job too.

And he'd placed first on both the written exam and the interview.

But I had no plans to tell her.

Not until the review period was over, anyway.

Six years ago, just to save face, she'd brushed off what happened to me as kids horsing around.

Six years later, just to show off, she'd send my job title, my scores, and my agency to every relative in every family group chat.

I'd already paid the price once for not knowing how to protect myself.

I wasn't going to pay it again.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Olivia.

"Did you get the shoes?"

I froze for a second.

Sure enough, there was a package by the door.

In three years, it was the first gift she'd ever given me.

I was about to try them on when another message popped up.

"I put the wrong address. They were supposed to go to the hotel. They're Bryce's congratulations gift. You're coming anyway, so bring them for me."

I stared at the designer dress shoes in my arms, and suddenly it all seemed a little funny.

Outside my room, Mom was still nagging.

"Hurry up! Don't keep Bryce waiting!"

At the same time, a message came in from Sabrina.

"I've organized everything. I'm filing the complaint tonight."

I clenched my fist.

"Sure. I'll deliver his celebration gift myself."

Whether he'd ever get the chance to wear it was another story.