Contos e Romances de Campus com Campus

I had a crush on Mandy Sawyer for three years. I had thought it would be my secret pantomime forever. I had even planned to silently wave goodbye to her back on the day of our high school graduation. However, when I saw her weeping silently under her desk over the sudden drop in her usually stellar results… I watched her trembling shoulders and knew that I could no longer pretend to be a stranger.

After the holiday, the student council president assigns me the task of mentoring a freshman named Mona Leach. I text her to discuss the task at hand, but she ignores my messages. When she finally replies to me, her words are scathing. "I'm a freshman, but that doesn't mean you can harass me just because you're my senior. I have a boyfriend." Just as I'm wondering how she even got the idea that I'm interested in her, I see her complaining in the student council group chat. She writes, "Just because he's a senior doesn't mean he can harass a freshman. I already told him I have a boyfriend, but he keeps bothering me. I barely started my freshman year, and I have to deal with such disgusting behavior. This is going to traumatize me." What's this about me harassing her? My family has billions in assets that I'll inherit sooner or later. Heiresses from other wealthy families are lining up to marry me. Why would I ever need to harass her?

After taking our graduation photo, I break up with Philip Lutz. "You're doing this just because I stood behind Mandy and not you while we were taking our graduation photos?" he asks. "Yes," I merely reply. "Sure," he says with a smile. "You'd better not come crying to me or begging for us to get back together later." Having known each other for ten years and dated for four, Philip is certain that I'll never leave him. However, he's unaware that the graduation photos are just an excuse. If I'm capable of taking my graduation photos alone, I can walk my future path alone. Once I've gone abroad, the sky's the limit for me. I no longer need him to stand behind me either.

After the SAT results came out, Ethan Blake—the poorest student in our class—had scored just over 660. And yet, he somehow managed to convince my two childhood friends to apply with him to the worst community college in the state. Under his influence, they both happily agreed to go to the same school as him. I tried to talk some sense into them over and over, but they accused me of having bad intentions—of just being jealous of Ethan. When that didn't work, I reached out to their parents. At the very last minute before the application deadline, I managed to get their choices changed, securing them spots at a good university. Ethan had no choice but to enroll in the community college alone. Less than six months later, news broke that he had jumped from a campus building. After Jessica Miller and Megan Flores went to the school to claim his body, they came back and dragged me up to the rooftop. "If you hadn't stopped us from applying to the same school as Ethan," they said, "he never would've been bullied into jumping to his death. Now you can die with him!" Without hesitating, they pushed me off the roof. I hit the ground and shattered into pieces. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment they decided to follow Ethan to that community college. This time, I'll just stand back and watch them throw their lives away.

On graduation photo day, my boyfriend, Ethan Jones, takes more than 200 photos of Chloe Lloyd, the prettiest girl in our class. As president of the photography club, he knows better than anyone how to find the most flattering angles. Chloe stands beneath a tree and smiles at him. "Are you sure this isn't too much trouble?" Ethan looks down and flips through the photos on his camera. "Not at all. You look good no matter how I photograph you," he says gently. When my turn comes, I clutch the hem of my skirt and walk over. Ethan casually presses the shutter twice. "Done." I stare at him. "That's it?" He frowns at me. "You never look good in pictures anyway. Don't hold everyone else up." I look at the two photos on his camera. My eyes are closed in one, and half my face is hidden in the tree's shadow in the other. I ask him to take a few more, but instead, he puts up a post on the campus forum. "Photographer wanted. 20 dollars to snap a few graduation photos of my girlfriend." Half an hour later, I receive a private message from an unfamiliar profile. I send over my location, then say quietly, "Just so you know, I'm not photogenic." The reply comes almost immediately. "Your photographer didn't know how to work with you." After the shoot, he sends me the unedited photos. I'm stunned when I see the photos. I never knew I could look this good on camera. Even crazier, the photographer who took the job for 20 dollars seems to know what he's doing better than the president of the photography club.

The entire school thought I was the school belle Wanda Stewart's biggest simp. I would send her breakfast during her morning run. I would offer her a towel and water during her matches. I would buy her pancakes from three streets away in the bitter cold just because she said she was hungry in the middle of the night. The boys in school who liked her could form a line from the mathematics department to the field. The look in their eyes changed from disdain to hatred. "He hasn't managed to pursue her even after all that simping. He really can take things in his stride." "Wanda is just good-natured. That's why she hasn't called the police." When the school hunk, Connor Graham, decided to publicly confess to Wanda, I became his greatest eyesore. While Wanda was out of school for a match, Connor came to me with his gang from the student council, kicking away the breakfast I bought for myself. Hot milk spilled all over me. He arched a brow and said with zero sincerity in his voice, "I'm sorry. I thought it was yet another bunch of trash you prepared for Wanda." With that, he pulled his phone out and flashed a remark that Wanda had made about me on the screen in the classroom. [A pain in the neck.] The entire class burst out laughing. Connor looked at me, clearly pleased. "See that? She finds you annoying. A man like you, stalking a girl all day, washing her clothes and sending her food... Don't you feel so cheap doing that?" Horace Jones, who stood behind him, chuckled. Connor smacked a letter of guarantee on my chest. [I willingly give up pursuing Wanda Stewart and will never send her food or water, follow her around, or pester her again.] "You can choose not to sign it." He waved his phone, a threatening smile on his face. "I'll just post a photo of you stealing Wanda's undergarment on the school's social media page." I looked at the photo of the white tank top I was keeping on the balcony of my own house and fell into deep thought. Wait. Since when did helping my sister with her laundry count as stealing?

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

The night before term began, my so-called best friend, Wendy Shaw, posted a challenge on the university confession wall. "If this post gets 1,000 likes, our 220-pound campus belle will hand a love letter to the untouchable Jonathan Riverson during orientation tomorrow—in front of everyone!" She paired the post with a hideous photo of me taken back in high school. In it, I was wearing an oversized uniform, my face round enough to show more than one chin. The comments exploded almost immediately. "You want her to give Jonathan a love letter? What'd he ever do to deserve this?" "Goddamn, Wendy. Now the whole campus is forced to watch an elephant walk." Wendy was right there in the comments, encouraging them. "Keep the likes coming! Emilia's a brave girl!" She then texted me, saying it was just to train my courage. I stood before a full-length mirror, staring at my defined abs and sharp jawline, and I sneered. No one knew I had spent the last year working out like mad, and I had lost most of the extra weight. Now I was just over a hundred pounds. The post had 999 likes. I smiled. Then, I tapped the heart and gave it the thousandth. After that, I logged into my main account and left a comment beneath Wendy's post. "Save yourself the trouble. I'll deliver the love letter tomorrow myself."

I forgot to bring a No. 2 pencil, so I filled out my SAT exam with a red pen. The proctor warned me it would count as cheating, and I just shrugged and told him it didn't matter. Tyson Jenkins, the school heartthrob who ranked near the bottom of the class, suddenly got anxious. In my last life, we went back to school to pick up our acceptance letters. I already had a guaranteed spot at Kingsford University. And yet, I was the only one who didn't receive a letter. Tyson had used a system to swap our exam scores. Because my score showed up as zero, Kingsford University revoked my guaranteed admission. I demanded a review of the scoring, but Tyson, who had suddenly become the top scorer out of nowhere, sneered at me. "Kieran, couldn't cheat your way through the exam this time, huh? Everyone knows you only got that guaranteed spot by cheating. You've got some nerve playing the victim!" I went to our homeroom teacher to clear my name. I never expected her to cry on camera and say, "I tried to talk Kieran out of it in private. It's not fair to the other students if he does something like that, but he used his family's influence to pressure me into staying out of it." Overnight, I was at the center of a storm. Before I could even explain, a group of fanatics dragged me up to the roof and shoved me off. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day before the exam.

I was a genius with an IQ of 180. Even so, I had always kept a low profile. Standing out just made me a target, so I never did. I was good at math, physics, chemistry, biology, astronomy, programming, quantum entanglement, and computer science. I spoke twenty-seven languages. I had mastered everything. When it came time for the SATs, I controlled my score precisely. I finished exactly ten points above the cutoff for an elite university. By “sheer luck,” I snagged the last spot. My classmates were all top students from every corner of the country. All of them looked down on me. They called me the “waitlist wonder,” the “lucky leftover,” and the “bare minimum.” I just smiled and never took their words to heart. That was until the top student in my class, Victor Holloway, announced, “Some people here don’t deserve to be in this class! “I propose that we cut the weakest link after this exam. “I dare whoever comes last to drop out voluntarily.” I was provoked by his words. Was he talking about me? Fine. It was time for me to stop holding back.

My boyfriend Noah Carter and I had a plan: turn our college's fourteen-day outdoor orientation into a fourteen-episode documentary series about us. For the eleventh time, Noah left me alone on the training field. His childhood friend Claire Moore had called him in tears, saying she'd been vomiting and was lying in the camp clinic alone and scared. Waiting for him to come back, I missed the camp's only sunset team drill and the closing long take I'd spent two weeks preparing. That evening, he sent me a photo. Claire sat in a dessert shop outside camp, a smoothie and a slice of strawberry cake in front of her, cheeks pink and looking happier than anyone else in the place. Noah texted back: "The nurse said it's just stomach cramps. Relaxing will help her recover faster. I took her out for some air. Don't overthink it." Before, I would have asked when he was coming back. This time, I crossed "Couples Finale" off the Day Fourteen script and replaced it with two words. "Just me." The next day, he came rushing over to tell me Claire had a fever. I set up the camera for a solo shot without even looking up. "Noah, you don't have to report to me every time. From now on, where you go and who you choose to be with have nothing to do with me." He finally panicked. What he didn't know was that that night, I hadn't just canceled our orientation series. I'd scrapped every plan I'd ever made for a life with him.

I've gotten into an accident three days before my SAT exam. As a result, my right leg is completely busted. As Selena Surrey stands before my hospital bed, she suddenly reveals the truth. "I'm the one who arranged the accident." She points at my broken leg, which is still sealed in a cast. A cruel smile blossoms on her face. "It's your fault for displeasing Aaron. You only broke one leg anyway. It's way better than watching Aaron continue to waste away in depression." I widen my eyes in disbelief. As I struggle against Selena, I leave fresh scratches on her arms. But Selena just pushes me away coldly, only to pat me on the head gently as she did in the past. "I think I understand how your parents feel now. No wonder they insisted on sending you to the orphanage back then. It's true that you aren't as likeable as Aaron." Aaron Lindt is my biological older brother. 15 years ago, I had gotten hurt just to save him from getting hit by a car. But he cried to our parents, claiming that I was the one who had pushed him. Our parents were quick to send me to an orphanage, completely disregarding my injuries. Just as I thought it was over for me, Selena showed up and promised me that she'd be the person I could rely on for the rest of my life. But now, she decides to ruin me with her own hands for the sake of the same person she has promised to protect me from.

Even though it has become customary for all the heirs of wealthy families to study abroad, my father has specifically chosen a local university for me, saying that he would miss me far too much if I left the country. He also donates a new building to the school so that I would not be mistreated by anyone on campus. The semester soon begins. Not wanting my roommates at the dorm to be intimidated by the economic disparity between us, I decide to dress more simply. But when I arrive at the dorm room, I see that someone else is using the bed I chose. My bedding and belongings now lie scattered all across the floor. Just as I'm about to speak, the young woman proclaims, "I want this bed. You can use a different one. Oh, and I bought a handbag for all of my female classmates, so you can take one as compensation." "But I arrived before you and chose that bed already," I say with a smile. All she does is look me over and scoff derisively. "Who cares if you arrived first and chose it? Since I want it, it's mine now. My dad is Calvin Stuart, the chairman of Lumina Corporation! If I want something, no one in this city dares to protest!" Lumina Corporation? Isn't that the company that reached out to my father this morning to ask for an investment?

An hour before the SATs, our homeroom teacher suddenly had a medical emergency. Before he was rushed away, he handed the folder containing everyone's admission slips to Leo Jordan—the notorious, pretty-boy troublemaker at school. Thirty minutes before check-in closed, he still hadn't shown up. By then, the rest of us were standing outside the exam center, completely freaking out. Without that folder, none of us could get in. I rang his phone until he finally picked up. I begged him to hurry and bring the folder over. Everyone was still waiting for him outside the exam center, after all. He scoffed on the other end. "Just because you're at the top of the class doesn't mean you get to boss me around. I'm getting tattooed right now, and I'm not leaving until it's done." I nearly lost my mind. There was no time to argue. I grabbed a few guys from our class, and we ran nearly two miles to the tattoo store. By the time we got there, the artist was finally finishing the last bit of color on the huge dragon covering Leo's back. I thought, 'Thank God. We can finally grab the folder and go.' Just then, Leo stood up. He unbuckled his belt and yanked his pants down, revealing his hairy legs. "What's the rush?" he said. "We haven't even started on my legs yet." He turned back to the tattoo artist nonchalantly. "Okay, the dragon and tiger are done. The legs are next. Put Bugs Bunny on one leg and Lola Bunny on the other. They're my favorite couple."

Seventy-two hours before the graduate school recommendation list was posted, someone stole Wesley North's research data. He stared at the empty folder on his screen, his fingertips going cold. Eight months of work—more than two hundred pages of charts and twelve rounds of empirical analysis—gone. Wesley checked the security footage. The files had been copied by Natalie Rowan, his childhood friend of eighteen years, and handed to Derek Sloan, the classmate everyone believed was struggling to get by. In that moment, Wesley didn't think about his own future. He thought about his grandmother. Her doctors had declared her critical eight times, and she was hanging on just to hear whether he'd made the list.

On the last day before college entrance exams, Tristan Kelley, the most popular guy in class, let out an ear-splitting shout. "Everyone, skip the exam! Sage will pay out 50 million dollars!" He held up his phone, showing an insurance agreement he had signed with Sage, the AI chatbot, for everyone to see. All we had to do was miss the exam and we would receive 50 million dollars in compensation. "We're all bound for the best universities. In the worst case, we can retake the exam next year. "This is 50 million dollars. Do you think you'll ever see that kind of money in your life?" In my previous life, I called the police right away. I explained until I was blue in the face that Sage was just an AI with no ability to pay anyone anything. The police dragged every last student into the exam hall by force. However, Tristan was ridiculed and harassed online because of it. Unable to bear the weight of it all, he jumped from a building. The entire class cornered me on the rooftop and threw acid in my face. "If it weren't for you, he'd still be alive." They watched me writhe in agony, then kicked me off the edge. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment Tristan rallied everyone to skip the exam. This time, I sat quietly and watched every single one of them sign the agreement with Sage. I wanted to see exactly who they planned to collect their 50 million dollars from.

I'm Aiden, a background character in a melodrama novel. When the arrogant scholarship student, Brock, transferred into our school and cursed the four most powerful families as a cancer on society, I was studying. While the four heiresses dragged Brock through endless love-hate drama, I kept grinding away. That was until the midterm exams, when I snatched first place away from him. The Holdsworth heiress locked me in a dark storage room, saying she'd keep me there for three days to teach me a lesson. So I calmly dialed an encrypted number on my phone. After all, it's a trashy melodrama. Who doesn't have a hidden identity? Three minutes later, the entire school was surrounded by a fleet of helicopters...

My family was the wealthiest in Brightwater, Bellweather. Yet my parents never stopped praising the scholarship student they sponsored. According to them, he was brilliant, disciplined, and a thousand times better than their own daughter. I refused to believe it. Using a fake name, I contacted him online, pretended to be a struggling student just like him, and flirted with him for months while searching for something I could use against him. Instead, I discovered that Elliot Pierce was almost painfully honest. Determined to expose the act I was sure he was putting on, I enrolled at Brightwater University through its competitive dance program. On move-in day, I pulled my sports car beside him and deliberately splashed muddy water across his shirt. I lowered my sunglasses and smiled at the mess. "I'm Sienna Wilde, the daughter of the people paying your scholarship. "And you're Elliot Pierce? You're not much to look at. I have no idea what my parents see in you." He calmly wiped the mud from his face, said nothing, and walked away. That night, my phone lit up with a message. Elliot: "Molly, I met the Wildes' daughter today. Compared with her, you're an angel."

The year I was studying for the grad school entrance exam, the guy who sat across from me saved my seat and brought me hot water every single day. In my first life, I accepted his confession. The moment we made our relationship official, he dragged me into the mountains, where I wasted away and died. In my second life, I was so terrified that I didn't dare set foot in the study room for an entire week. But on the first day I finally went back, there he was again, sitting in his usual seat and smiling at me. I tried switching to a different study room, but he noticed. He caught me alone and dragged me away before anyone could see. When I opened my eyes again, I had entered my third life. I was still clutching my chest and gasping as the lingering terror washed over me when I saw him hold out the same thermos he brought me every day. I gritted my teeth, grabbed the guy sitting next to me, who had his headphones on and was playing a game, and blurted out, "Boyfriend! Let's go grab something to eat!"

At 11:00 pm, my roommate, Lily Carter, clutches her stomach and begs me to cover for her during the nightly dorm inspection. "Jamie, my cramps are killing me. Just mark my attendance record so I can run to a clinic and get some medicine." I'm about to check off her name when blood-red comments suddenly flash across my vision. "Idiot! Check your wallet. She already stole your driver's license." "She's sneaking out to meet Mr. Miller at a hotel, and they're checking in under your name!" "Tomorrow morning, his furious wife is going to storm onto campus and accuse you of sleeping with her husband in front of everyone!" When Lily sees me hesitate, her eyes fill with tears. "We're going to be roommates for the next four years. You seriously can't do this one little thing for me?" I close the attendance sheet and look her straight in the eye. "If you're really in that much pain, I'll call an ambulance." I pause and add, "Or I can call Ms. Dawson right now and have her take you to the hospital herself."