Chapter 3
By the next morning, everyone at school knew.
Not the full story.
But enough.
The parking lot video had been posted online before midnight.
Someone had added captions.
Someone else had slowed down the moment Madison tore my test.
By breakfast, thousands of people had seen it.
I wanted to disappear.
Dad offered to let me stay home.
I refused.
“If I don't go, she'll think she chased me out.”
Dad studied me across the kitchen island.
“You don't have to prove anything.”
“I know.”
“Then why go?”
“Because I want my normal life back.”
He gave me a sad smile.
“I don't think today will be normal.”
He was right.
When I stepped off the bus, conversations stopped.
Students stared.
Some smiled.
Some whispered.
A boy I barely knew gave me a thumbs-up.
It felt awful.
Being hated was uncomfortable.
Being suddenly admired by strangers wasn't much better.
I walked quickly toward my locker.
Someone had taped a note to it.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD US.
No name.
Inside my locker were three more notes.
One said Madison had bullied her in middle school.
Another said Madison had created a fake account to spread rumors about him.
The third was only six words.
PLEASE DON'T LET THEM COVER THIS UP.
I read that one twice.
Then I folded it and put it in my pocket.
Madison wasn't in first period.
Neither were Sophie or Lauren.
At ten o'clock, Principal Whitmore called an emergency assembly.
He stood on the auditorium stage and asked students not to spread rumors.
He said there was an active investigation.
He said retaliation would not be tolerated.
Then he said something that made half the room murmur.
“Any student who has relevant information may report it confidentially.”
Hands started rising before he had even finished speaking.
I turned around.
There were dozens.
My heart sank.
This was bigger than I had imagined.
After the assembly, Mr. Reynolds pulled me aside.
“You okay?”
“Not really.”
“I figured.”
He handed me a replacement copy of my test.
100% was written across the top.
“I printed another one.”
I stared at it.
“You didn't have to.”
“I know.”
He lowered his voice.
“You earned that score. Don't let anyone make you feel guilty for it.”
For some reason, those words almost made me cry.
All morning, people approached me.
Some told me stories.
Some apologized for laughing at Madison's jokes.
Some just said they hoped I was okay.
Then, during lunch, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
Enjoy the attention while it lasts.
A second message came.
Everyone's going to know what you really are.
I showed the messages to the assistant principal.
She took screenshots.
Twenty minutes later another rumor appeared.
Someone posted that my father had secretly paid the school to give me top grades.
Then another post claimed my scholarship was fake.
Another said Mr. Reynolds had been ordered to give me 100.
The lies spread fast.
By last period, students were looking at me differently again.
I heard two girls whisper behind me.
“If her dad donates millions, how do we know she's actually smart?”
I wanted to turn around.
I didn't.
When class ended, Mr. Reynolds stopped me.
“Stay a minute.”
He closed the door after everyone left.
“I heard the rumor.”
I nodded.
He opened his laptop.
“Your test was graded electronically first.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The multiple-choice section goes through our system. Your written answers were scanned before I graded them. Every version is time-stamped.”
Relief washed through me.
“So they can prove—”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“But there's something strange.”
My relief vanished.
“What?”
He turned the laptop toward me.
“The administration asked for grade audit files this morning because of the allegations.”
I waited.
“And?”
“Someone accessed my gradebook last night.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Did they change my grade?”
“No.”
He paused.
“They changed Madison's.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“She originally had a 76.”
“I know.”
“Her grade now shows 94.”
I felt cold.
“Can someone do that?”
“Teachers can. Certain administrators can.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
He pulled up the audit log.
A line showed an edit at 11:43 p.m.
Changed from 76 to 94.
User authorization: ADMIN.
I whispered, “Who has admin access?”
Mr. Reynolds looked toward the door.
“More people than I'd like.”
That afternoon, my father picked me up himself.
No SUVs.
No driver.
Just him in his old gray sedan.
He still owned that car even though it was older than me.
He said it reminded him of when our family had less money and more time together.
I climbed in.
He glanced at me.
“Bad?”
“Complicated.”
I showed him the anonymous messages.
Then I told him about the grade change.
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Did you tell the principal?”
“Mr. Reynolds said he would.”
Dad didn't speak for several seconds.
“What?”
I asked.
“Nothing yet.”
“Dad.”
He sighed.
“Richard Bell called me this morning.”
My stomach dropped.
“Madison's dad?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“He said the situation should end before both families got dragged through the mud.”
“What does that mean?”
“He offered to have Madison apologize privately.”
I stared at him.
“And?”
“I told him this stopped being about you and Madison when other students came forward.”
I looked out the window.
“Was he angry?”
“He was careful.”
My father used that word when he meant dangerous.
Not physically dangerous.
Powerful-person dangerous.
The kind who smiled while making threats.
Dad continued.
“He reminded me Bell Development is currently negotiating construction contracts connected to several schools.”
“So?”
“So I reminded him I'm not on the school board and I don't control disciplinary decisions.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“He didn't like it.”
At home, Mom was waiting.
My mother, Elena, had been quiet throughout the whole situation.
She was a pediatric surgeon.
She dealt with emergencies by becoming calmer than everyone else.
But that night she hugged me so tightly I couldn't breathe.
“I saw the video.”
“I know.”
“You told us people teased you sometimes.”
“I didn't think it was this serious.”
She pulled back.
“Ava, there's a difference between being independent and carrying everything alone.”
Dad looked at me.
I knew I was about to get a two-parent lecture.
“I know.”
Mom touched my cheek.
“You don't need our name to fight your battles. But you do need people.”
That sentence stayed with me.
The next morning, Principal Whitmore called Dad.
He put the phone on speaker because I was eating breakfast beside him.
“Mr. Carter, we've completed an initial review of the gradebook issue.”
Dad asked, “And?”
“There appears to have been unauthorized access.”
“By whom?”
“We are still investigating.”
“Was Ava's grade changed?”
“No.”
“Was Madison Bell's?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.
Dad said, “From seventy-six to ninety-four?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
“Who had the credentials?”
Principal Whitmore hesitated.
“The login belonged to my office.”
I nearly dropped my fork.
Dad leaned forward.
“Your personal account?”
“Yes.”
“Did you change the grade?”
“No.”
“Then who knew your password?”
“I don't know.”
Dad's voice became colder.
“You should.”
Whitmore exhaled.
“There is something else.”
Mom entered the kitchen and stopped when she heard his tone.
“What?”
Dad asked.
“The security footage from the administrative hallway between eleven and midnight is missing.”
Nobody spoke.
Principal Whitmore continued.
“And one of the students who came forward yesterday has withdrawn her statement.”
“Which student?”
“Sophie Grant.”
My stomach dropped.
Sophie was the one who said there were months of videos.
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Principal Whitmore realized I was listening.
“Ava?”
“Why did Sophie withdraw?”
He paused.
“She said she made it up.”
“No.”
I stood.
“She was scared, but she wasn't lying.”
“We can't assume—”
My phone buzzed.
A message.
From Sophie.
I opened it.
Three words.
HELP ME PLEASE.
Then another message appeared.
DON'T TELL ANYONE.
I looked at my parents.
Dad saw my face.
“What happened?”
I turned the phone around.
Mom covered her mouth.
Dad read both messages.
Then a third arrived.
May you like
MY DAD SAYS WE'RE LEAVING TOWN.
And before I could type a response, Sophie's account disappeared.
