As this year’s scholarship student at the prestigious Northwood Academy, my hands trembled as I clutched the tuition waiver. Not only were tuition and fees completely covered, but I also received a $5,000 annual stipend. The library’s leather armchairs, the gym’s imported equipment, even the rooftop sky garden—all were open to me. But the cafeteria was the biggest shock. Scholarship students got a 50% discount, yet the quality was astounding. The beef noodle soup was topped with A5 Wagyu, the lobster pasta came with a whole Boston lobster, and even the spicy turkey noodles had generous chunks of slow-roasted turkey. Sitting in the bright, airy classroom, surrounded by trust-fund kids in bespoke uniforms and designer watches, I had only one thought: I have to get on their good side. But my deskmate, the other scholarship student, shared none of my excitement. In fact, the look she gave our classmates was filled with undisguised contempt. After morning study hall, one of the rich kids, Ethan Sterling, walked up to our desk. His tone wasn't exactly friendly, but he wasn't arrogant either. “Hey, either of you free to grab me some breakfast from the cafeteria?” I was about to say yes when a sharp voice exploded next to me. “God, you’re so annoying! You think you’re hot stuff just because you have some dirty money?” my deskmate, Sarah, spat out. “If I’d known this class was full of useless, freeloading rich kids like you, I would have rather died than come here!” 1 The classroom went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The casual air around Ethan vanished, and his face darkened like a thundercloud. I scrambled to my feet, tugging on Sarah’s sleeve while forcing a smile at Ethan. “Uh… Mr. Sterling, I’ll go! I can get it for you!” Ethan’s expression softened slightly. He pulled out his phone and scanned my QR code. “I’ll message you what I want.” I clutched my phone, ready to go, but Sarah grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. “Are you crazy? You’re really going to be an errand girl for some spoiled brat?” “What else am I supposed to do?” I snapped, shaking her hand off. “If you don’t want to do it, you can’t stop me.” Her face flushed red, then paled. She stuck her chin out. “Unlike you, I have some self-respect! I came here to learn, not to wait on a bunch of parasites!” That was the last straw for Ethan. He took a step forward, looming over Sarah, his voice dripping with ice. “You don't like it? Then get out. You think your free tuition and your stipend just fell from the sky? The money that we ‘parasites’ donate to this school every year could pay your tuition for the next decade.” He pointed a finger at her backpack—a custom model the school provided for scholarship students, three times more expensive than the standard issue. “Everything you’re wearing, everything you’re using—it’s all paid for by the ‘dirty money’ you despise so much. A little late to be playing the righteous saint, don’t you think?” Sarah’s lips trembled, but her eyes were still defiant. “I came here for the faculty! If it weren’t for the top-tier professors, who would want to be in a place like this? No matter how much money you donate, it won’t change the fact that you’re all a bunch of brainless idiots!” Seeing her so utterly clueless, I finally lost my patience. My voice turned cold. “Sarah, have you no shame? The school gives you a full ride and a stipend, and instead of being grateful, you’re here making a scene? Get out of my way, or I won’t be so polite.” She bit her lip so hard it turned white, tears welling in her eyes but refusing to fall. She violently shoved my hand away, grabbed her backpack, and stormed towards the door. As she passed Ethan, she threw one last parting shot. “Being in the same room as you people makes me feel sick!” The door slammed shut. I quickly turned to the other students, an apologetic smile plastered on my face. “Please, don’t mind her. She’s just… confused. I have nothing to do with her! I’m going to get Mr. Sterling’s breakfast right now, I’ll be quick!” With that, I clutched my phone and ran to the cafeteria. I couldn’t let that ungrateful brat ruin the one chance I had. 2 I’m the eldest daughter. I also have a younger brother who is a bottomless pit of need. On my eighteenth birthday, my first-ever present was the news that I was to be married off to an old, crippled man from my hometown. The night I escaped through my bedroom window, all I had was my brother's old, discarded iPhone 11. The screen was cracked and the battery was shot. While waiting for my final exam scores, I washed dishes in a restaurant until my fingers were pale and wrinkled. The day scores were released, I sat in an internet café. When the words “Top 1% score, eligible for Ivy League universities” flashed on the screen, I felt no joy, only a tightening in my throat. No matter how high my scores were, I had no money for tuition and no home to return to. Then one day, I received a text from an unknown number. It was a scholarship invitation from Northwood Academy: full tuition, all fees covered, and a $5,000 annual stipend. I stared at the screen for a long time, and then the tears started to fall. It wasn't an invitation; it was a lifeline. That’s why I couldn’t understand Sarah. We were both here because of the school’s generosity, yet she treated the very people who gave us this opportunity like enemies, hurling venomous words at them like daggers. I ran back to the classroom with Ethan’s breakfast just as the bell rang. My hands trembled as I held the sandwich and hot milk, terrified he’d be angry that I was late. But when he took it, he just said softly, “Thanks. I appreciate it.” In that moment, all the anxiety and frustration from the morning seemed to melt away. After class, my phone buzzed. It was a $100 payment from Ethan for the errand. I stared at the number and couldn’t help but let out a laugh. It was more than I made in three days of washing dishes. I was one step closer to making it through college. But my laughter was cut short. A hand shot out, snatched my phone, and slammed it onto the floor with a sickening crack. The already-fractured screen spiderwebbed completely, just like the fragile hope I had just begun to feel, shattered in an instant. The sharp sound cut through the classroom chatter, and the room fell silent. I snapped my head up. Sarah stood before me, her eyes glinting like ice, her foot grinding my shattered phone into the floor as if crushing something filthy. “Sarah, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I lunged to pick up my phone, but she shoved me hard. I stumbled back, my spine hitting the corner of a desk, and I gasped in pain. She looked down at me, a cruel smile on her face. “Crazy? I think you’re the one who’s crazy! Selling yourself out as a gopher for these rich kids for a few miserable dollars. Have you no shame?” She pointed at the transaction notification still visible on the shattered screen, her voice sharp and shrill. “A hundred bucks makes you this happy? Wouldn’t your parents be ashamed to know you’re here acting like someone’s servant?” Her words stabbed me like a needle. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, my voice trembling with rage. “What’s wrong with being a servant? I’m earning money with my own two hands. I’m not stealing or begging. That’s a hundred times better than an ungrateful leech like you who takes the school’s charity and then insults everyone!” “Charity?” Sarah laughed as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. Tears of mirth welled in her eyes. “You call this charity? They’re just using us as props to show off how benevolent they are! You think these arrogant rich kids actually respect you? He just sees you as an obedient little doormat!” She grew more agitated, reaching out to push me again. I dodged, but stumbled into a nearby desk, sending a pile of books scattering across the floor. “Sarah, don’t push it!” I yelled, gathering the books and glaring at her. “I don’t care what you think. I just want to study and earn my keep. I don’t want to be like you, wallowing in self-pity and blaming the world for your problems!” Sarah’s face was beet red, her eyes burning with anger and resentment. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was cut off by a sudden voice. “What is going on here?” I turned to see our professor walking over, frowning. He saw the shattered phone and the scattered books, and his expression hardened. “The bell is about to ring and you two are still causing a scene? Get to your seats. Now.” Sarah shot me a venomous glare before reluctantly returning to her desk. I knelt and carefully picked up the pieces of my phone. The screen was destroyed, the display underneath bleeding pixels. I bit my lip, stuffed the broken phone in my pocket, and went back to my seat. Sarah was silent for the rest of the day, but I could feel her eyes on me. The disdain was still there, now mixed with a heavy dose of hatred. 3 Just as the last class of the day ended, a brand-new iPhone box landed on my desk. I looked up to see Isabelle Sedgwick—heiress to the Sedgwick real estate empire. She was the class ice queen, someone who rarely spoke more than a few words to anyone, always dressed in a new Chanel suit. “This is for you,” Isabelle said, her arms crossed, chin slightly raised. Her tone wasn't warm, but it lacked its usual frosty arrogance. “Your phone broke this morning, right? I had a spare.” I was stunned. I quickly pushed the box back towards her. “Miss Sedgwick, I can’t possibly accept this, I—” “Enough. I don’t want to hear you refuse,” she cut me off, tapping a manicured finger on the box. “It’s not a gift. I’m going to Milan for Fashion Week next week. I need you to do this week’s assignments for me. This new iPhone 17 is your payment.” My heart hammered with a mixture of shock and joy. I clutched the edge of the box and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do them. Thank you for the phone.” Isabelle raised an eyebrow. As she turned to leave, the hem of her skirt brushed against my desk, leaving behind a faint, expensive perfume. “I need the assignments by tomorrow morning. Make sure the quality is good.” The next morning, I handed the completed homework to Isabelle. She glanced through a few pages, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a rare, small smile. She took them without another word. But when I came back from the restroom, a sharp voice accosted me. “Well, well. Crying over a broken phone yesterday, and flaunting the latest model today? You move fast.” Sarah stood in front of me, arms crossed, her eyes like poisoned needles fixed on the corner of the new phone peeking out of my pocket. Before I could speak, she yelped and lurched towards me. The thermos in her hand tilted, and scalding hot water splashed all over my arm. “Hiss—!” The searing pain shot up my arm. I jumped back, a large patch of my uniform soaked through. “Sarah, are you insane?!” She ignored my reddening skin and stepped closer, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “Leah Ross, you take the school’s financial aid, then you turn around and accept expensive gifts from the rich kids. Aren't you afraid of losing your scholarship?” All eyes in the hallway turned to us. I clenched my fists, forcing down my anger. “This was payment for helping Isabelle with her homework. It was earned. It’s none of your business.” “Earned?” she sneered. Her tone shifted, becoming sinister. “Or is ‘helping’ just an excuse? Have you already forgotten you’re a poor student? Forgotten about the parents waiting for you back home?” That last line was a knife to the heart. I pointed a trembling finger at her, my voice shaking but every word clear. “Sarah, you leave my parents out of this! Just because your own heart is dark and twisted doesn’t mean everyone else’s is! Why are you always targeting me?” She took a step back, her face pale, but she refused to back down. “I just can’t stand sycophants! You’re using your scholarship status as a stepping stone. You’re more disgusting than they are!” “You can’t stand it?” I suddenly laughed, my voice dripping with scorn. “Then you can leave. No one is stopping you. Why aren’t you at one of those top-tier universities you’re always talking about? Oh, right.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “I forgot. Your final exam score was a full thirty points lower than mine. You couldn’t get in. So you’re stuck here, green with envy every time you see someone doing better than you. Isn't that right?” My words hit her like a slap. Her face went from red to white to a mottled purple. I could hear the other students whispering. The veins on the hand clutching her thermos bulged, but she couldn’t utter a single word in her defense. Finally, she shot me one last, hateful look, and fled. As she passed Isabelle, she flinched but didn’t dare stop, practically running away. I watched her go, the burning pain on my arm a dull throb. But my eyes were cold. If Sarah was going to keep trying to ruin my life, then she couldn’t be allowed to stay. 4 At lunch, I felt eyes on my back. I saw a few people pointing their phones at me, the flashing lenses making me uneasy. Just then, my new phone buzzed with a notification for a trending social media post. The title stung my eyes: Exposing the Truth About Northwood Academy’s Gold-Digging Scholarship Student. The post detailed how I, a scholarship student, was using the latest iPhone 17 Pro Max. It claimed I wasn’t focused on my studies, only on sucking up to my wealthy classmates. It even alleged that I had enrolled in the academy without my parents' permission, implying I had long planned to use the rich kids to escape my background. I stared at the screen, my fingertips turning to ice. The phrase "without my parents' permission" was a dagger. Since running away, I hadn't dared to call home once. The post was deliberately designed to brand me as ungrateful and selfish. The comments were even worse: [Takes financial aid but sucks up to rich kids. What a disgrace to actual poor students! Shouldn't school be about studying?] [They should revoke her scholarship. Her intentions are clearly not pure. She's probably trying to become some rich guy's mistress.] [She even hid it from her parents? Why would she do that unless she's up to something shady? This needs to be investigated!] [I wonder if she'd sleep with me for $500?] [Lmao $500 is too much. I bet $200 would do it!] … A sharp voice snapped me out of my trance. I looked up to see Sarah standing at my table, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Well, if it isn’t our little social media celebrity.” She held her phone up to my face. The post had already surpassed ten thousand comments. “See that? The whole school, maybe even the whole world, knows what kind of person you are now.” She dragged a long nail across the vicious comments on her screen, her voice grating. “I believe the saying is ‘a rat in the street that everyone wants to beat.’ Sounds about right for you, doesn’t it?” My grip on my chopsticks tightened. I said nothing. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a low, mocking whisper. “If I were you, I’d pack my bags and get out now. In a couple of days, when the school administration sees this, you won’t just be expelled. Your reputation as a ‘poor student’ will be ruined forever. And when your parents find out about all the ‘good deeds’ you’ve been up to… I doubt they’ll even let you back in the house.” Her words hit my deepest fear. I looked up at her, and the smug satisfaction in her eyes was overflowing. She could already see me, expelled and despised by all. She turned on her heel, deliberately knocking over my bowl of soup as she left. The hot liquid soaked my pants, leaving a dark stain. She didn't even look back, leaving me with a look of absolute victory, as if she already held the outcome of this drama in the palm of her hand. I looked down at my stained pants, my fingers slowly curling into a fist. A cold smile touched my lips. Enjoy it while you can, Sarah. You have half a day left. By tomorrow, you’ll learn what a real trial by public opinion feels like. The web you so carefully spun will only end up trapping you.
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