Plot Twists Campus Short Stories & Novels

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

After the evening study session, I was just about to return to the dorm when my first boyfriend, the school's valedictorian and undisputed top student, suddenly tore across the courtyard toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and, in full view of a crowd of stunned students, dragged me into a frantic run toward the front gates. I exclaimed, "Julian, have you lost your mind? Graduation's six months away. Are you really trying to run off with me now?" I struggled the whole way, twisting and pulling against him, but his grip never loosened. "Autumn, don't ask any questions. Just come with me. Hurry!" he said, his voice trembling with panic. We fled the school, jumped into a taxi in the middle of the night, and rushed to another city, where we checked into a rundown budget motel. Arms folded and brow furrowed, I glared at him. "So you hauled me out of school like a lunatic just to hole up in a cheap motel?" His cheeks turned bright red. He flailed his hands in frantic denial, then thrust a phone into my hands. I barely had time to unlock the phone and start dialing my parents before a breaking news alert flashed across the screen. My eyes locked on the screen, and I went rigid with shock. The headline reported, 'Mass Death at Blackwood High: All 5,000 students and faculty found dead last night after experiencing catastrophic bleeding. Only two students who skipped the study session survived.' I looked up at Julian in horror. He was staring at the screen too, his face white as paper, cold sweat running down his forehead. "You knew, didn't you?" I asked. "What the hell is going on?"

The day we were supposed to submit our college applications, the class representative, Kenneth Graves, used a marketing video to brainwash everyone. “Times have changed, my friends! The best AI models have predicted that, in the next three years, even Ivy League graduates will face a 100% jobless rate! “What’s the real trend right now? It’s Galaxy Technical College! Once you register for this college, you will be hired into top AI companies upon graduation. Your salary will start from a million dollars a year!” In the previous timeline, I had locked the computer system and tried my best to prove that the entire thing was a scam. I had forced these high-performing students to apply to Ivy League schools. In the end, Kenneth jumped to his death after failing to get the “referral rewards” from Galaxy Technical College because he owed lots of debt. However, there was another surge of interest in AI, and the reputation of Galaxy Technical College rose because it picked the right stocks to invest in. During our graduation gathering, my classmates splashed me with hot oil and nearly trampled me to death. “If you hadn’t stopped us, we would have become stars of the AI world with million-dollar salaries ages ago! You killed Kenneth!” When I next opened my eyes, I had traveled back in time to the day of our college applications. I touched my unmarred face and went to snatch the mouse from Kenneth. “Kenneth is right! An Ivy League school is no match for Galaxy Technical College! Apply there! I’ll help with your applications!”

Just before the SAT, Austin Burke, our school's popular but scatterbrained heartthrob, offered to hold on to everyone's admission tickets. As class president, I told him no. My girlfriend, Gloria Patterson, immediately jumped to his defense. "Why are you always picking on him?" I ignored her. On test day, I checked everyone's admission ticket and photo ID to make sure they were ready to go. When I finished handing back the tickets, Austin accused me of losing his. Before I could respond, Gloria snatched my ticket out of my hand and tore it to pieces. Our testing center required printed admission tickets, so I rushed to print another copy. By the time I reached the bus, it was about to leave. My classmates blocked the aisle, then shoved me off the bus. "You lost Austin's ticket, and now you think you can just get on the bus like nothing happened?" They all went on to earn excellent scores with the help of the practice questions I had put together for them. I missed the last test date before my college application deadlines and ended up putting my plans on hold for a year. When I finally took the SAT, I had one of the highest scores in the state. By then, Gloria and my former classmates were off at prestigious universities, enjoying their new lives. Still, they came back to our old school together with fabricated evidence that I cheated on the test. No one believed me, no matter what I said. One student who didn't get into college poured gasoline over me and set me on fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the days before the SAT. This time, I handed Austin everyone's admission tickets. Everyone's except mine.

I'm on track to be a top student, but I end up taking the SAT twice. The first time, I score high enough to get into Westbridge University. The second time, my score qualifies me for Northfield University. Each time, I score over 1500. Yet when the admissions teams see my name, not a single school admits me. At first, I think it must be some kind of background check, certain they've found something in my record. But my parents are honest, hardworking people. They've never broken the law. They wouldn't even harm a fly. So I try a third time. My SAT score is 1590, and my GPA is still perfect. This time, I apply to Crestwood University, thinking I finally have it in the bag. The Crestwood University admissions officer arrives full of cheer, but the moment he sees my name, he freezes, immediately realizing there is no way I will be accepted. I rack my brain, trying to figure out what is wrong with my name. Why does seeing it make every school hesitate, even though my scores are perfect?

My deskmate, Elaine Jenkins, was the kind of girl who was born with a sharp tongue. She loved nothing more than embarrassing me in front of everyone. When I showed up in a brand-new white shirt, she sneered, "Look at the country boy who finally made it to the city. Are you really that worried people will not realize how hopelessly tacky your taste is?" When I switched to contact lenses, she laughed. "Those eyes look like a dead fish's. Taking off your glasses is not going to magically turn you into a handsome guy." Then I won a prize in the math competition. She just rolled her eyes and said, "Please. Everyone knows he stays up all night grinding through problem sets. He practically worked himself bald just to win that thing." It went on like that until the night of our graduation party. Our homeroom teacher had a little too much to drink and jokingly suggested that Elaine and I should just get together. Of course, she started making snide remarks. "All he does all day is solve math problems. He's about as romantic as a block of wood. Whoever wants to date him can go ahead!" The next second, the aloof top student in our class stood up in front of everyone. "I will!"

The night before the final application deadline at the werewolf academy, the senior channel exploded. [Rhett, why did you change your final choice to Northwood Alpha Academy?] [Weren't you supposed to attend Asterfall Academy outside the territory with Avery?] Rhett replied with casual indifference. [So I changed it. She has my login information. Once she sees what I did, she'll change hers too.] [That little shadow has never been able to stay away from me. Do you really think she'd leave me in Northwood alone?] I stared at my phone, my mind completely blank. Beside my open suitcase lay the graduation gift I had chosen especially for Rhett. He did not know I had already seen everything. If he could abandon the future we had planned for Blaire, then I could let go of him and choose a future that truly belonged to me. All those late-night training sessions and the countless territorial planning maps I had drawn had never been only about staying beside him.

During a group assignment, I'm trying to speak up with my ideas. My boyfriend and our childhood friend are flipping through sheet music, heads down, deep in a heated discussion about ensemble pieces. Halfway through, they finally notice I'm still standing beside them. Reid Sullivan and Aria Merrill glance at the sheet music in my hands and look at me like they don't know what to do with me. "Your fundamentals are way too weak for the ensemble, so don't even bother. Just toss that scrap paper." "Yeah, and you've got such a great eye anyway. Just stick to taking our photos and editing our videos." I grip the sheet music I've spent all night writing while fighting back tears. The three of us are childhood friends. They love music and never run out of things to talk about. I love art, can't carry a tune, and can never get a word in. So, everything I put in just gets brushed off as scrap paper. After class, they fall into step together and head for the practice room without even noticing I'm not trailing behind them like I always do. I crouch in the hallway, staring at nothing. If they don't see any value in me, then I should just leave. So, I wipe my tears and stand up. After tossing the sheet music into the trash, I dial a number. "Cedric, is what you said before still on the table? "I've made up my mind. I'm transferring to the art school and studying abroad."

On the streets of Milan, our nanny, Fiona, livestreamed my son’s limited-edition sneakers. A few days later, she shockingly transformed into my son’s stepmother. I overheard Anthony telling Fiona, “Once Francesca signs the divorce papers, all her assets will be ours.” Anthony was the man I had loved for ten years and had defied my family to marry. I took a step back, pretending to break down in tears, trembling as I told him I would give him anything as long as he didn’t go through with the divorce. What they didn’t know was that I had just dialed the number I hadn’t called in ten years. In a low voice, I said, “Father, the game is over. Your heiress, the principessa, is coming home.”

When I woke up, my right hand was clutching a pair of men's Calvin Klein underwear. Two letters were embroidered in gold thread on the inside of the waistband: J.C. A push notification popped up right on cue. Number three on TikTok's trending page: Dalton University's hockey captain loses five pairs of underwear in one week; roommate reveals the victim has been forced to go commando. In the video, Chase Jacobson's roommate, Tyler Brooks, held an empty drawer up to the camera and tearfully demanded justice. And under my pillow, a suspicious little bundle bulged. I slowly reached over. One pair, two, three, four. Plus the one in my hand: five. The underwear thief the whole school was hunting... turned out to be me.

I've wanted a big brother for as long as I can remember. The second I open my eyes every morning, I start making a fuss and shout, "Dad, give me a big brother!" Even with my eight sisters taking turns trying to cheer me up, I keep clinging to Dad and begging him for a big brother. So when people from Jarroville suddenly show up saying I'm the real heir to a family I was switched away from at birth, Dad immediately shoves me into a luxury car. "Go on! Off you go! Your brother's over there waiting for you!" The second I step through the Decker family's front doors, my biological sister, Amber Decker, sneers at me. "Arthur Decker is the only little brother I acknowledge!" My betrothed, Mindy Hickman, whom I'm promised to by our families, frowns as well. "Jake Moore, know your place. Arthur is the only person I'll ever marry." But regardless of what they say, my eyes stay fixed on the fake heir. Oh my gosh! He's the brother I was always meant to have! I squeeze past the two women blocking my way, lunge at him, and wrap both arms tightly around him. "I've always known I was destined to have a big brother!"

I suddenly receive a message from my girlfriend, Sophia Rothwood, half an hour before my last test for the SAT. "I'm waiting for you in Classroom 901." I assume that she wants to give me a small surprise since I'm about to finish my SAT. Instead, I see her throw my ID and admission ticket into a brazier the moment I enter the classroom. I rush toward her, throwing all caution to the wind as I try to scoop the remains of my ID and admission ticket out of the fire. "Why did you do that?" I demand. Sophia holds me back. Her voice is calm when she says, "No particular reason. It's just that your results are always better than Louis'. I'm getting a bit tired of coaxing him. I intentionally let you watch this happen so that you understand what's going on and miss the test of your own accord." My ID and admission ticket have burned to ashes by the time she's done speaking. Sophia pauses for a moment as she takes in my stunned expression. "Did you know that the globally-renowned enterprise, Grant Group, has already sent someone to contact me? They plan to give me a million dollars in funding every year and provide specialized training for me. "I'll become Grant Group's youngest female executive within five years. Do you still think that you'll be a good match for me at that point? Louis is different. He's the son of a prestigious family. He's the better candidate to stay by my side during my time in university. "Stop with your delusions. Let's end our relationship now." I let out an indignant scoff, turn around, and leave. Sophia has no idea that Grant Group is my family's business. The million-dollar annual funding and specialized training she speaks of are part of a promise that I made with Dad before SAT. The condition is that I have to achieve first place for the exams. However, getting first place isn't important anymore. What matters is that Sophia's future has turned completely dark.

I've spent seven years running security at the testing site at Millbrook High School. I've seen all kinds of cheating, from cheat sheets to hidden earpieces, and even invisible ink. That morning, Steven Lindell, the last student in line, walks in. He has a bookish look as he pushes his black-framed glasses up his nose. His admission slip, fingerprint scan, and facial ID all check out. I look him over for a moment, quietly take a few steps back, and press the button I haven't touched in seven years. In less than three minutes, the exam halts, and the testing site goes into lockdown.

For three years, a Carthen University genius tutors me online. When the SAT is finally over, I finally confess my feelings to him during the last moments of our final voice call. I whisper, "Actually, I really like—" Before I can finish, a sharp beep cuts me off. He hung up. Heartbroken, I pack my bags and head to Bellridge University alone. Once classes start, rumors fly about a brilliant upperclassman looking for a heartless freshman across Carthen University and Bellridge University. Wait a minute. Why does his voice sound exactly like my genius tutor?

When the wedding invitation from my high school classmate Ella Reese arrived, a video of her and her friends shoving the two-hundred-pound girl I used to be into a mud pit was already going viral. Her caption read, "Those were the days. Sophie Aubert, you absolutely have to be my bridesmaid." Our former classmates flooded the comments with jeers. "Ella's so generous. She'd actually invite a plagiarist? Will Sophie even fit into a bridesmaid dress? Making one for her would take enough fabric for three people." "It's been seven years. By now, they'd probably need a crane just to get her into the venue!" "Didn't she write Jack a love letter back then? He'll probably be so scared he'll cry." The groom, Jack Smith, replied in the comments, "If she actually has the nerve to show up, I'll dance with her in front of everyone. Call it an apology for throwing her into the fountain back then." The comment section exploded with people cheering him on. I calmly took a sip of unsweetened black coffee. They thought I was still the fat girl with no choice but to hide in a corner and cry. They had no idea I was now a fitness influencer with millions of followers, much less that the luxury estate they had rented for the wedding belonged to me. I replied in the comments, "No need for a bridesmaid dress. I'll be there on time." This time, I would tear down her perfect facade myself and give Ella a wedding she would never forget.

On the day we finish our SATs, my snobbish deskmate, Ava Levine, insists that we film a graduation confession video together. I reluctantly agree out of courtesy, but to our surprise, the video goes viral overnight. Hooked on her newfound fame, she forces her way into my home and demands that I give up my spot at a top university to become an influencer with her. When I refuse, she starts a livestream at midnight, drawing an audience of a hundred thousand. With fake bruises painted on her body, she bursts into tears and accuses me of sexually assaulting her after I pretend to confess my feelings for her. She also claims that I hold her captive and abuse her. Her fanatical fans dox me overnight. They splatter red paint across my home and send me razor blades in the mail. In the ensuing chaos, one of her fans pushes my mom down the stairs, taking her life instantly. Before I can even clear my name, a speeding car runs me over on my way to the police station. A wave of excruciating pain tears through me. Then, my eyes snap open. I'm back on the day our exams are over, just as Ava holds up her phone and pleads, "Just pretend to say yes, please. I'm begging you."

On the fifth day after I get born into this world, my biological mother chooses to abandon me. But I'm not sure what she's thinking when she's picking out the location, for she actually abandons me at the entrance of the Bianco family. When the beautiful women of the family notice me, they are quick to frown. "Why don't we take him in?" Since then, I have 109 sisters in my family. At home, I'm the bratty ruler among my sisters. In order not to cause them any trouble, I've been leading a normal life for more than a dozen years. That is, until I've encountered bullying in high school. Giovanni Rossi, a rich student, has me cornered in the washroom with his lackeys flanking him. Not only do they dump cold water on me and tear my clothes off me, but they also use their phones to take pictures of my face. "What are you glaring at, huh? You're just a low-income student, so why are you still putting on airs around us? As if a piece of trash like you can ever get into college!" But since the beating I've received is far too brutal, so I holler at the top of my lungs as I yank Giovanni and jump off the third floor with him. When I wake up, Marcella Greco, the school's nurse, berates me angrily. "All Giovanni did is beat you up, and yet you're already planning to kill him, huh? Shouldn't you be reflecting on yourself when others scold and lay a finger on you? How dare you plot revenge against him instead! "I want you to summon your guardian here right away! If you can't do that by today, you can forget about leaving!" All of my hair stands on end as soon as I hear the command. Weakly, I ask, "Are you sure you want to meet my guardians, Ms. Greco?"

I'm the ultimate soft touch. My dirt-poor roommate used to survive by digging through trash cans for food. Pity got the better of me, so I covered his tuition, his living expenses, and slipped him fifty dollars a day out of my own pocket. My only condition: he had to tag along whenever I went to my private tutoring sessions. I thought he was grateful for it. Then, junior year, he strutted into the classroom head to toe in designer labels and hurled fifty coins in my face in front of the whole class. "Fifty a day, and you treated me like your personal slave for three years—dragged me along to sit through lectures I couldn't even follow, humiliated me every step of the way! "Well, guess what? My real father just tracked me down. He's a billionaire, and he handed me a black card with no spending limit. Here's your fifty back. I'm done being your errand boy. "And I'll never turn into some arrogant jerk just because I've got a little money—unlike you!" Then he handed out luxury bags to everyone in the class except me. The whole room fell for it instantly, chanting, "Long live Elmer!" I stared at the forty-three purchase notifications that had just popped up on my phone and went quiet. I checked again. My black card—the one my father had given me—was gone. Everything clicked into place. The rich long-lost father? All fake. He'd simply stolen my black card, played dress-up as a billionaire's son, and stomped on me on his way up. Without a word, I made one phone call. And transferred the black card into his name. He'd clearly watched too many soap operas—he thought a black card was some kind of savings account. He had no idea it was just a credit card with a higher limit, and every cent he spent on it, he'd owe back.

My girlfriend's schoolmate is being hounded by creditors. In my past life, the same incident had unfolded before my eyes. I was worried that my girlfriend would provoke these ruthless creditors, so I'd advised her not to meddle. However, her schoolmate later overdosed on sleeping pills. Later on, my girlfriend acted as if nothing had happened and continued preparing for our wedding. But after she got drunk one day, I found her caressing his picture tenderly—before stabbing me in the heart with a knife. She claimed that if not for my indifference and selfishness, her schoolmate wouldn't have taken his own life. Now that I've been reborn, I'll grant her wish and let her help him pay off his debts. Presently, I say, "He's your schoolmate. If you can help him, go ahead. I won't object."

With spring break approaching, a post offering a cash reward went viral on our campus message board. [Offering $500 for a travel itinerary that will help me spend $20,000 in seven days.] The poster had even added a note. [I need to spend most of it, because if I don’t, then my parents, my brother, and my childhood best friend Ethan will think that I didn’t enjoy myself.] Someone in the comments asked why all four of them were funding her vacation. She posted four screenshots of bank transfers. [Because they didn’t check with each other first, and each sent me $5,000.] The comments were full of people telling her how lucky she was. I recognized that profile picture immediately. The person behind the post was my younger sister. As it happened, the $500 she was offering for a travel itinerary was exactly what I would earn working seven days at the convenience store over spring break. I smiled bitterly. My family always had a system to divide up the responsibility for supporting us. My parents, my brother, and our childhood friend were split into two pairs. One pair would cover my sister’s allowance and give her a credit card linked to their account. The other would do the same for me. They said it would keep things fair and make sure that neither of us would be overlooked. However, after the semester started, I realized that I had received neither an allowance nor a card. When I asked Dad, he frowned. “Didn’t your mom send you the money?” I went to Mom next. “Wasn’t your dad supposed to take care of you?” she asked. With no one else to turn to, I asked my brother if he could add me to his credit card account. He looked surprised. “Hasn’t Ethan already done that?” When I tracked Ethan down, he said, “Your brother already got you a card.” At first, I thought they had simply gotten their wires crossed. Only then did I realize the truth. There had been no mix-up. Every single one of them had chosen my sister first. After a moment of thought, I left a comment under her post. [I’m her older sister. Anyone got a survival guide for getting through a week of spring break on $32?]