Campus Beauty Short Stories & Novels

It has been seven years since I shadowed Eula Ross like a fawning puppy. Under my dedicated tutoring, she successfully became a top student. But after the SATs scores were released, she casually dropped a single line at a class reunion. “Why don’t you apply for a community college with me? I have to go be with Luke Stetson.” All these years, I have been at her beck and call while granting her every wish. To make her happy, I even humbled myself to the point of slapping myself in front of everyone. Everyone said I was her shadow that she could never shake off. They bet that I would be stuck with Eula for the rest of my life. Right then, our classmates were standing by. They waited to see how me, the valedictorian, would humbly agree. For the first time ever, my expression was cold as I flat-out refused her. “Screw that! You’re the one with a screw loose. I’m not.”

After writing 999 love letters to the cold and aloof campus belle, Maddie Harrison, I finally successfully snag her heart. But on the day before our wedding, I accidentally stumble upon Maddie's conversation with her childhood friend, where she jokes about the mistakes she's seen in the love letters. "An elementary school student must have written these letters, from the looks of it! He might as well use AI, to begin with!" So, I terminate our wedding and withdraw all the funding my family has given to her company. Maddie can only shriek hysterically in return. "It's just a joke between friends! Must you go so far as to cancel our wedding?" I show her a virtual fortune-telling prediction of our marriage that's drafted by an AI. "You like using AI that much, don't you? Then look at this prediction properly! Our marriage is a huge misfortune! There's no way I'm going to marry a walking jinx like you!"

After transmigrating through three novels in a row, the hardest thing I ever suffer through is drinking iced long black. But when I open my eyes again, I somehow become the pathetic simp side character in a trashy romance novel. Just as I debate whether to file a complaint against the system, the trembling system hurriedly explains something to me. Although this is a trashy romance novel, it is also an unfinished abandoned novel. I ask, "So you're saying I decide how the story develops?" The system replied, "Yes. Everything is completely under your control." Satisfied, I lazily stretch and begin checking the original Jacob's background. He has a trillionaire father and a billionaire mother. On top of that, he has seven rich and beautiful older sisters. With such a ridiculously overpowered setup, how can he go around simping for a broke college girl with no money? What a complete waste!

I fell in love with the maid's daughter. The maid bullied and controlled me.My family fortune was cheated out, and my parents died tragically. I couldn't accept it, so I jumped off a tower to kill myself.Unexpectedly, I was reborn to the day a year ago...

At the start of graduation season, my boyfriend took more than two hundred photos of Madison Vale. Chase Whitman was president of Westbridge University’s photography club. He knew how to find flattering light and how to coax people out of stiff smiles. Madison stood beneath the maples outside the library in a white dress, her graduation cap tucked under one arm. “Am I taking up too much of your time?” she asked. Chase checked the last few shots and smiled. “You make my job easy.” When it was finally my turn, he barely looked at me. “Stand by the tree.” He clicked the shutter twice and lowered the camera. “Done.” I stared at him. “That’s it?” He turned the screen toward me. In one photo my eyes were half-closed; in the other, a branch shadow slashed diagonally across my face. “Can we try again?” Chase sighed. “Avery, you always tense up. Fifty more takes won’t change that.” Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. He had posted in the Westbridge Buy: Twenty dollars for someone to spend ten minutes taking a few graduation photos of my girlfriend. Nothing fancy. She just needs something usable. Half an hour later, a stranger replied. I sent him my location, then added: Just so you know, I’m not very photogenic. His answer came almost immediately: That usually says more about the photographer than about the subject. When Rowan Hayes arrived, he looked at Chase’s two photos and said, “He didn’t even try.” An hour later, he sent me the raw files. No filters, no heavy retouching. Just me on the library steps, my hair loose in the wind and my eyes brighter than I remembered them being.

There are certain things one should never mess with. Like someone else's final exam revision notes, for example. Or a life-saving online calculus course. And a chicken curry meal ordered by a college student who has been starving for eight whole hours.

The earthquake hit out of nowhere, and the whole class jammed up at the door. Rainee Bianco, our resident queen bee, jumped onto the podium. "Don't freak out! Get into the triangle zone and wait for rescue!" Yeah, no. Experts had already called that advice bogus. The so-called triangle zone wasn't safe. I looked out at the lawn. "We're on the third floor. Jump now, and we might actually make it!" Everyone froze for half a second. Then they started climbing out the windows. Everyone but Tristan Dodd, my childhood best friend. He bolted straight for the triangle zone. I ran after him, grabbed him, and dragged him out the window with me. He walked away without a scratch. I shattered my leg. After that, Tristan acted like I'd hung the moon. He took care of me every day, and after graduation, we ended up together. Then Rainee found out. She got drunk, fell into a lake, and drowned. The second Tristan heard, he shoved me off a cliff. "If I didn't owe you my life, you really think I would've picked you? She was right. This is all your fault!" When I opened my eyes, I was back at the exact moment he ran for the triangle zone. 'He wants to die this time? Fine by me.'

At the National High School Football All-Star Game, my boyfriend Evan had just been named MVP. Sophia, the cheer captain, immediately posted on Instagram. Caption: "Guess who got a little something from the champion himself~" The photo turned out to be a pair of Evan's worn underwear! Scrawled across them in lipstick were the words: "For my dearest Sophia." She held them up with her long acrylic nails, pouting for the selfie. The internet exploded. "Why does she have his underwear?" "Isn't it obvious? They're totally together." "Sitting here waiting for the official couple photo." Within seconds, a close-up of the two of them cheek-to-cheek surfaced in the comments. Congratulations and teasing flooded the feed. I gripped my phone, a chill spreading through my entire body. Evan had promised to go public about us ages ago but kept putting it off, saying he needed to prove himself first. He'd been stalling ever since. Now here I was, his actual girlfriend, and I didn't even get an invite to his victory party. I took a deep breath and called him. "Explain." On the other end, Evan's voice was lazy, almost amused. "The fans grabbed everything off me. Jersey, pads, all of it. Sophia insisted on keeping something as a souvenir, so I gave her the underwear. No big deal." "The Instagram post is just riding the hype. Don't be so uptight about it." Then Sophia's voice chimed in. "Yeah, honey, Evan and I are like brothers! I've seen everything on him already. It's just a pair of boxers, so don't be so petty." I listened to their increasingly flirtatious banter through the speaker, then slowly pulled off my engagement ring and tossed it aside. "Fine," I said to Evan. "I'll be the bigger person. Why don't you skip the 'girl bro' thing and just make her your girlfriend? I'm tired of watching this act."

An accident occurred during my graduation trip, causing me to get my left leg amputated. Surprisingly enough, Britney Lambert, the campus belle whom I had a crush on, proposed to me afterward. We were married for the next 30 years. Throughout our marriage, we respected and concerned each other properly. Before I passed away, I found out that all 199 love letters that I had written were thrown into the trash pile. Meanwhile, Britney kept the love letters another person had sent her in a safe. Obviously, she treated those letters like her most cherished treasure. When my illness took a turn for the worse, I could only lie on my sickbed with one foot in my grave. Britney arrived at my ward later than usual. Before I closed my eyes, I heard the final words she uttered to me. "Next time, don't save me anymore." I finally understood her real feelings for me. She'd rather die than be with me, it seemed. When I wake up again, I've returned to the timeframe before the graduation trip starts. This time, I decide not to have anything to do with Britney. We shall be strangers in this lifetime. But when the accident occurs once again, Britney is the one rushing toward me. "It's my turn to save you now."

Jenny Shaw, my roommate and belle of the campus, had been stealing my skincare products for four whole years. She even used them to fake a wealthy and beautiful persona, becoming a million-follower influencer and bagging a wealthy heir. Right before our graduation defense, her face suddenly erupted in severe lesions, completely disfigured. Jenny immediately accused me, claiming that I was jealous and vicious enough to lace the skincare products with poison! In an instant, I was branded online as the Poison Queen and a dangerous figure. Facing the police, I simply smiled at them and showed them my thesis. [Molecular Deconstruction Analysis of Herbal Medicinal Materials: Skin Regeneration and Reconstruction.] "Poisoning you? That's like a pot calling the kettle black. But thanks for providing me with experimental data!"

As the male lead, Henry Johnston, forces himself on me, a row of comments suddenly appears before my eyes. "Henry is about to misunderstand and think Aria drugged him! The angst is about to begin!" "I'm thrilled just thinking about Henry regretting dearly after Aria dies!" "Keep up the act, Henry. After she dies, you'll be hugging her corpse and crying every day." That is when I realize that I am the tragic female lead in a story where I am destined to be tormented until I die. The readers treat my death as a highlight to push the plot forward. They are counting down to my death. As I look at Henry, who is panting on top of me, anger courses through me. I grab a table lamp and smash it into him, killing him on the spot. Who says that the one who dies in a toxic romance story must always be the female lead?

The day before the college entrance exam, the class belle everyone adored stepped onto the podium. "I wasn't going to tell anyone, but I couldn't bear to let you all miss this opportunity. There's a hidden rule in this year's college entrance exam system. If you soak your answer sheet, it'll be transferred for a special manual review by top universities." I froze, staring at her for a long while before finally blinking dumbly. In my previous life, those exact words had been enough to make someone as dull as me lose my composure for the first time in my life. I ran to get the teacher and stopped the entire class from soaking their answer sheets. In the end, the class belle failed the exam and broke down in tears in the class group chat. "If Ondine hadn't brought the teacher to keep an eye on us, maybe all of us would've had a chance." Later, one of her admirers cornered me on the school's rooftop and forced me to grovel and apologize to her. Unfortunately, I fell from the building during the struggle to defend myself. When I opened my eyes again, I was transported right back to the moment she was teaching the class how to "activate" their answer sheets. This time, I lowered my head as my lips curled into a slow smile. "Sounds good. Just make sure you soak them thoroughly. We don't want the system to scan them now, do we?"