Plot Twists Short Stories & Campus Beauty Campus Novels

Everyone at school believes I'm Cody Ferrer's ultimate lapdog. When he goes for his morning run, I bring him breakfast. When he plays basketball, I hand him water and wipe the sweat off his face. When he texts me "I'm hungry" in the middle of the night, I brave the freezing wind and cross three city blocks just to buy him a fresh serving of fries. The way my classmates look at me shifts from disdain to pity. "She willingly does all that and still doesn't get a title? The girl has got the patience of a saint." Everything changes when the campus sweetheart, Amber Belknap, prepares to confess her feelings to Cody. And suddenly, I'm an eyesore that needs to be removed. Taking advantage of Cody's absence for an out-of-town academic competition, she brings a group of people to corner me and kicks over the breakfast I just bought for myself. Scalding milk splashes all over me. But she just covers her mouth, looking completely innocent. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it was more trash you were trying to force on Cody." Moments later, she pulls out her phone and projects the name Cody has saved my contact under onto the screen in the classroom. "Pain in the butt." The entire classroom erupts into roaring laughter. Amber looks at me, thoroughly satisfied. "Do you see clearly now? He thinks you're a nuisance. Don't you think you're making yourself look cheap by following him around and bringing him stuff all day?" Behind her, her lackey, Matt Truitt, lets out a cold laugh. Amber slaps a written agreement right in my face. [From now on, I will voluntarily give up on Cody Ferrer. I will not bring him any more meals, hand him water, stalk him, or harass him any longer.] "You don't have to sign it," she says, flashing me an unnervingly sweet smile as she waves her phone. "I'll just post the photo of you stealing Cody's underwear on the campus forum." I stare at the men's underwear in the photo—the pair I had taken down from the drying rack on our balcony—and fall into deep thought. Wait… Since when does helping my own brother bring in the laundry count as stealing?

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?

On the third night after Seraphina Vale—the academy's most envied beauty—took her own life, a blood ledger appeared out of nowhere in the abandoned chapel of St. Ophelia's Academy. Rumor had it that if you left a blood print on it, the ledger would grant your deepest wish. At first, nobody bought such a ridiculous story. Until Vivian Cross—all two hundred and twenty pounds of her—shakily made her choice: beauty. She dropped the weight overnight. Her features turned so delicate people couldn't look away. Just like that, she became the academy's new obsession. After that, no one called the blood ledger bad luck anymore. Dorian Blackwood chose his future, and the Black Council's recommendation came through immediately. Someone else chose wealth, and their family's debts were wiped clean overnight. Everyone's dreams came true. My best friend Nora Ellsworth started to waver too. She wanted to sign the blood ledger, to bring her brother back from bloodwither. But I stopped her. I wouldn't let her leave a blood print—not for anything. The people around us closed in right away. "You don't have anyone sick and dying, so of course you can stand there and act like you're above it all!" "If Nora's brother dies, you're the murderer!" Even Nora looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, demanding to know why I was so cruel—why I'd cut off her brother's only chance. But I wasn't being cruel. The blood ledger was Seraphina's. I couldn't believe that Seraphina's grudge, even in death, would turn into free mercy. In her death, no one was innocent.

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.