Plot Twists Campus Short Stories & Bias Regret Novels

Leona Langham and Sebastian Kane are the match made in heaven that's acknowledged by the entire school. Sebastian is the hottest guy in school. He's tall, lean, and has an extremely handsome face. Oftentimes, he wears a black windbreaker that makes him look like a protagonist from an action comic. Many girls find themselves falling head over heels for him. Unfortunately for them, Sebastian only has eyes for Leona. They are childhood sweethearts who have grown up together. They celebrated their first birthdays together. When they turned seven years old, their families betrothed them to each other. When they turned 14, Sebastian gave Leona a love letter. When they turned 16, Sebastian confessed to Leona. When they turned 18, they promised to apply for the same university. But on their senior year, a new transfer student named Maureen Shadwick joins their class. The homeroom teacher specifically assigns Maureen to Sebastian when she's organizing pairs for the tutor sessions. She stresses to Sebastian, "If you don't accept this assignment, you can forget about maintaining your relationship with Leona at school."

During an elective class, the campus belle, Jemima Ford, who is our senior, describes her ideal type with everyone egging her on. She says, "My future husband has to be at least six feet two inches tall. His parents must be college professors, and his grades should be top three in his major…" The room buzzes with teasing chatter and gossip. At the same time, I snap up my head in surprise. Why does Jemima's description of her ideal type sound like my boyfriend, Elijah Sanders? The next second, the professor standing by the podium smiles obsequiously and says, "Very well said. If Eli hears this, he'll definitely be very happy! Later, the two of you can meet. That way, he won't get tricked by some naive girl into going abroad." Amid the burst of laughter from the class, I lower my eyes and look at the message my parents sent me. It reads, "Sweetheart, are you really going abroad with your boyfriend? There'll be no one left to inherit our company with you gone."

After pulling an all-nighter to finish a group assignment, I wanted only one thing: sleep. I did not even get 10 minutes. My roommate, Ronda Jones, burst into the dorm, raging about class. She shouted into her headset and turned our room into a storm of insults and keyboard slams. When I quietly asked her to keep it down, she turned on me instead. Then the power went out, and a 5-dollar electricity bill became the excuse she had been waiting for. I refused to split it. That single decision set everything in motion.

On the night of senior prom, I stayed beside Ethan Cole as I always had. Someone teased us again. “Why don’t we give the dance floor to our favorite childhood sweethearts?” I had heard that joke countless times, but the secret I had kept for years still made my cheeks burn. Ethan said nothing. He did not ask me to dance. He walked out of the ballroom and into the night. I waited before following him. I had barely reached the doorway when I heard his voice, low and flat with impatience. “It’s suffocating. Does she have to follow me everywhere?” He was the one who said it. He was also the one who had promised I could depend on him until I fully recovered. I spent the rest of that night alone in the empty ballroom. The following Monday morning, I passed the college wish wall outside our classroom and removed the note bearing the name Westbridge University. It was the school we had promised to attend together. I still wanted him beside me. But I would no longer choose my future just to stay beside him.

After finishing the SATs, my class organized a picnic by the river. Just as everyone was enjoying themselves, Graham Spencer, our class president, suddenly suggested we go for a swim. "Let's experience the thrill of swimming in the middle of roaring river." Several clueless classmates eagerly agreed. Startled, I rushed to stop them. "This stretch of the river used to be an illegal sand-mining site. The riverbed is riddled with deep pits, hidden currents, and whirlpools." Graham only sneered. "You're a swimming champion, yet you're acting like a wuss. Did you buy that championship?" Zara Valentine, the school beauty, raised her phone and started recording me. "Can you believe this? Our school's swimming champion is actually a total coward. What a joke." Fine. If they were all so eager to throw themselves into the river, I'd see their end.

The campus madonna told my childhood friend that she loved Jackie Chan movies. He tied my arms and legs to four gigantic drones. Monday came by. Right in front of the whole school, the drones hauled me up three hundred feet into the air. The students' laughter was so thunderous, the skies shook. The videos they took went viral. I remained in the air until the drones ran out of battery and flew back down. My childhood friend untied me, grinning like he'd just pulled a harmless prank. "Wendy loves Jackie Chan, so I thought you should give her a little Police Story show. We've been friends our whole lives. You don't mind, do you?" I crumpled to the ground. Wendy Wood was leaning against my childhood friend's chest, and she was laughing so much, tears rolled down her cheeks. "You call that Jackie Chan? She just wet herself!" And she cackled further. I walked off and never came back. That drove my childhood friend mad. "We've been friends forever! You're overreacting!"

On the last day to submit our college applications, my childhood sweetheart, Jose Hanson, changes my major from medicine to mortuary science. Meanwhile, he applies to the same college as the girl next door, Rachel Thorne. When I confront him, he answers casually, "I saw the diagnosis in your room. You have Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis." I freeze. Jose looks at me with disgust. "Vicky, your mom took me in 12 years ago. I've spent 12 years playing the role of your childhood sweetheart. Now, it's time for me to pursue my true love. As for you, you might as well start learning how to arrange your own funeral." But… I look at him holding hands with Rachel. That diagnosis isn't mine. It's his.

When I was nine, I was hit by the blast of an explosion while saving Simone Scott. From that day onward, I have to rely on hearing aids to get by. Overwhelmed with guilt, she suggests we get engaged and swears to me with teary eyes, "Justin, I'll take care of you for the rest of my life." But at 18 years old, to satisfy a dare from the school heartthrob, she rips off my hearing aid and humiliates me in front of him and our classmates. Disgust fills her voice as she says, "You're nothing but a burden. I've been sick of you for a long time. I wish you'd died back then instead of being saved." I clutch the hearing recovery report in my hand and say nothing. After that, I quietly change my college applications, bring my parents with me, and formally call off the engagement. Simone, this is where our paths split. There is no reason for us to ever see each other again.

On the day the college entrance exam results are released, I rank first in the entire province. A top student from another school, Heather Cliffton, publicly reports me for cheating on the Englorian exam. She says, "Someone who's never scored above 145 points in Englorian could never have a higher total score than I do." My seatmate, Louis Henderson, steps forward as a witness. He says, "She copied my answer sheet during every exam." The Department of Education launches an investigation, and my admission to a top-tier university is put on hold. My mother cries all night. My father is nearly fired from his job. The entire internet brands me as a cheater. During a livestream, Heather chokes back tears and says, "I just want justice for myself." I am about to explain when she adds, "If the one who scores 145 points in Englorian can sit down and pass an Englorian college entrance exam paper on the spot, I'll kneel down and apologize." I smile. I'm a Canalian-track student. I don't even take the Englorian paper in the college entrance exams.

On the third day of our graduation trip, my childhood sweetheart finally agreed to take pictures of me. But after only a few minutes, she frowned in frustration and lowered her camera. "Not a single one looks good." A classmate looked confused. "How is that possible? Every picture you take of Ethan turns out great." It hurt to hear that, but I stayed silent. Mabel lowered her camera and looked at me. "Forget it. Let's not take any more. You're just not very expressive. No matter how I photograph you, you always look ordinary." After saying that, she casually stopped a girl by the roadside who was holding a camera. "Hi, could you take a few pictures of him for me? I'll come back and pay you later." Before the girl could even answer, Mabel grabbed her camera and ran toward Ethan. The moment she pointed the camera at him, her mood brightened again. "Turn around and lower your head a little. That's it. You look great..." I stood there quietly, watching how naturally the two of them worked together. Suddenly, I remembered asking Mabel a long time ago, "Why do you always make me look so good in your pictures?" Back then, she had smiled as she fixed my hair. "Because there's love behind the camera. When you love someone, every picture turns out beautiful." Now I finally understood. She didn't love me anymore. Mabel and I had originally applied to colleges in Northfield together. I quietly took out my phone and changed my application to a university in the distant city of Portwell.

Every student and teacher at my school called me the dumb blonde. I touched up my makeup at morning assembly, refused to wear a wrinkled skirt, and never carried a textbook in my bag. I even brought a compact to the Academic Champions Invitational. Minerva Blake, the captain of our academic team, couldn't stand me. She called me a blonde with a great body and nothing upstairs. "Out of everyone in this school, why did it have to be you?" I shrugged off the laughter from Minerva and the competitors from the elite private school, Rockford Academy. I watched myself in the mirror as I tied up my long curls. I already had a plan. If our high school lost to Rockford again, we'd lose the foundation's funding. The school would go bankrupt and shut down, leaving us all without a school. In the final round, Rockford answered the first four questions before we could. My three teammates were getting crushed. Even Minerva, our supposed genius, couldn't keep up with the other team. With 50 seconds left, our principal was on his feet pacing, and the teachers were praying for a miracle. Rockford's headmaster laughed out loud. "They picked someone who's just a pretty face. Is she going to do a cheer routine for us when this is over?" I ignored the laughter, picked up the response pad, and started answering. Six questions in 20 seconds. Six chimes rang out, one for each correct answer, and the scoreboard went wild. I had answered every remaining question. Six green lights. I didn't leave a single one for anyone else.

When my boyfriend told me he had failed the college entrance exams, he begged me to apply to a vocational college with him. I was about to say yes when a barrage of floating comments suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. [The male lead deserves an Oscar. Since when is 680 considered a bad score? He was literally touring Kingston University with the real heiress just moments ago.] [Don't fall for it! You're the top scorer in the entire state! He only wants to drag you down so the real heiress can shine.] [There's no point warning her. She's completely blinded by love. A provincial champion wasting her future at a vocational college... she'll end up abandoned by her family, framed into debt by the real heiress, forced to drop out, and stuck running a roadside stall for the rest of her life.] My hand froze midair. In an instant, all the blood drained from my body.

On Christmas Day, my dad gave me a golden apple. My roommates gasped in envy and immediately demanded I treat them to a meal. I smiled and agreed. I told them to head out first and that I'd join them shortly. When I came out of the bathroom, the dorm was empty. Sharon Everton's laptop was still glowing. I walked over to shut it down. That's when a WhatsApp group named 'Anti-Gold Digger Alliance' popped up on the screen. [No wonder she didn't come back last night. Bet she spent the whole night escorting again just to get that golden apple!] [A designer bag the day before, a golden apple today. With how many men she's serving every day, I wonder how wrecked she is down there.] [We have to hit her with a big bill today. Her money's dirty anyway. Spending it for her is basically doing a good deed!] There were four people in the dorm. Three of them were in that group chat. There was no doubt that they were talking about me. The friends I'd treated with genuine kindness all this time turned out to be ungrateful snakes.

Marie Hail had been groomed since childhood to be the perfect good girl. Every aspect of her life was tightly controlled. Her parents approved the colors she wore, forbade her from wearing skirts above the knee, and insisted she take small bites and chew each mouthful thoroughly. She was little more than a marionette, with her parents pulling the strings and dictating her every move. However, everything began to change when she turned eighteen and met Rylan Stafford, a boy who burst into her carefully controlled world like a blazing sun. Rylan had striking features, bright, lively eyes, and a wild, uninhibited laugh. More importantly, he was everything Marie had never dared to be. He took her on reckless motorcycle rides to the beach and drove her across the mountains to watch meteor showers. He even gave her a tattoo, a symbol of freedom inked onto her back. Through him, Marie discovered a world beyond the suffocating rules that had governed her life. As he encouraged her to challenge every restriction holding her back, she gradually found the courage to break free and embrace a passion she'd never known. Rylan was a living flame, and Marie willingly let herself be consumed by him. One day, he asked, "Princess, how about we turn in blank exam papers together during finals?"

Half an hour before I receive my degree certificate, Lionel Simmons, my boyfriend as well as the class president, tells me that my graduation will be getting delayed because I need to retake my exam on a major course. Meanwhile, Vivian Crosby, the campus belle who often ranks last in exams, is eligible to receive certifications on her courses. Lionel quickly shields Vivian from me while looking very unapologetic. "In this course, every class requires a certain quota when it comes to the retakes. Since Vivian has bad grades, there's no way she's passing the retake. That's why I submitted your name instead. "Unlike you, Vivian doesn't have excellent grades and a boyfriend who actually gives a damn about you. Even if your graduation gets delayed, it won't affect our future plans at all. Amelia, you should make some sacrifices for your fellow classmate's sake." After I strongly object against that decision, my classmates mock me for being petty and uncaring toward Vivian. Fine. Since they obviously lack empathy for me, I don't hesitate to call my uncle, who's a member of the university board as well as one of the invigilators of the final exams. "I got into the top three ranks of the final exams, and yet I can't graduate on time because I have to retake my final exam instead. Does this mean the remaining hundreds of students bribed you to not fail their exams instead? "I want everyone's graduations to get delayed alongside mine in half an hour, no matter what!"

During the mandatory freshman orientation camp, my skin had flared up with a severe allergic reaction, so I didn't use the plastic washbasin the school handed out. Instead, I opened my suitcase and took out the custom silver basin I had brought from home. My roommate, Louisa Carter, immediately made a snide remark, drawling, "You're really something, huh? Kids from broke families like us are lucky to have any basin at all." I didn't bother responding. I simply pulled out my facial essence to do a cold compress, but she immediately rushed over, slapped the bottle out of my hand, and jabbed a finger at my face. "Bet you get tens of thousands a month for living expenses. You have a sugar daddy, don't you? Don't you feel guilty making your folks work their fingers to the bone back on the farm? People like you don't deserve to be at our school. I'm reporting you to the student counselor." I laughed in disbelief and slapped her. … The next morning, the family photo I'd left on my desk had been slashed to ribbons. Across the back, carved in ink, were the words: 'Daughter of a homewrecker. Go to hell.' I went straight to the police. While officers pulled the dorm security footage, our student counselor and the university president rushed in. The moment the president saw the man whose face had been cut apart in my photo, his legs nearly buckled. He almost dropped to his knees.

After carrying my girlfriend, Vera Lane, to bed, she suddenly snuggles into my arms. "Your roommate seems pretty wild. Give me his number." I freeze and glance at her. She casually pulls the blanket over herself. "We're getting married sooner or later, but don't you think it's pretty boring to be with only one person forever? I don't want to sacrifice my freedom for you." I watch her for a long moment. Then, I push her hand away and nod. On the day I move out, she stands in the doorway, frowning in annoyance. "Yves, didn't we agree we could see other people? Why are you mad?" I pick up my suitcase. "Nope, that's not who I am." Soon, she gets tired of that lifestyle and comes running back to me. I glance at the wedding band on my hand and smile. "Sorry, I've already moved on." The world is full of choices. If I don't want her anymore, I'll choose someone else. I deserve nothing less than the best.

I had worshipped my older sister, Sophie Lane, ever since I was little. Growing up, my greatest happiness was serving her drinks, carrying her bags, and picking up her meals. After Sophie was accepted into Central University, I immediately got my SAT and skipped a grade so I could get into the same university. On the day Sophie moved into the university, she entered the dorm room with eight bodyguards. Our roommates call her "The One Queen!" Meanwhile, I was making her bed. Only Viola Lynch gave me a knowing look and teased me. "You aren't her roommate at all, are you? You're clearly her personal maid." I merely smiled without answering. That day, Sophie casually tossed me the new Chanel purse she had bought. "This color suits you. Use it." When I took the purse with a grin, Viola happened to walk past the doorway. The weekend Sophie went abroad on vacation, Viola and I were the only ones left in the dorm. "Eve, do you know what everyone in class calls you behind your back? Sophie's pet." The next day, my boyfriend Aaron Sanders, the campus heartthrob, asked me to meet him at the track field. Viola stood beside him with red eyes. When he saw me, he frowned deeply. "Eve, can you stop being so pathetic? You became someone's pet over a single purse? Viola's family might be poor but even she has more dignity than you." Viola tugged at his sleeve and whispered. "Aaron, don't say that about her. I'm not worth it." I looked at them holding hands and suddenly chuckled. Wait. For real. Had no one noticed that Sophie and I shared the same last name?

During my senior year of college, I started dating Leo Whitman online. He was the hottest guy on campus. All through winter break, he texted me every day. He kept me company while I took my grandmother to her pre-op appointments. One night, at two in the morning, he even promised that when we got back to Boston, he'd make up for all the hugs we'd missed. Then the new semester started, and we finally met at the student center. The moment Leo saw me, his face fell. He pulled out his phone, showed me a photo, and said there had been a mix-up. He'd added the wrong girl on Instagram. The girl he had a crush on was my roommate, Vivian Blake. Back in December, Leo had spotted Vivian at the school's winter charity gala and snapped a photo of her from the side. He posted it in his fraternity group chat and offered $10,000 to whoever could introduce them. Except his roommate had sent him my Instagram handle by mistake. And just like that, I understood how I'd spent two months in a relationship that had never really been mine. Leo sat by the window without saying a word. After a long silence, he slid a signed check across the table. "We're done here. But I need you to help me win Vivian over. Write in whatever amount you want."

The High-Ed Aptitude Test (HAT) was fast approaching. My father had reserved the entire hotel next to my exam venue so I could study in peace. While I was registering my accommodation with my school's HAT committee, I overheard Ashley, my roommate at the school dorm, giggling with her friends. "You know who has more money than IQ? Regina Fairfax. That's who. She's soft in both the head and the heart. If I tell her I'm worried about leaving her alone in the hotel, she'll immediately invite me to stay there too, no questions asked! "I've had it all planned out, girls. I'll be staying in the presidential suite for free, and I'll throw a party there! Talk about getting a return on my amazing social skills! "Now, any of you who can pay me 80 bucks can secure a spot at my fabulous party!" She was talking about me! How dare she?! I immediately called my father. "Dad, cancel the reservation. Shutting down the whole place isn't good for business. We should be making more money!"