Chapter 3: Scholarship Cleanup
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
I couldn't stop staring at my own face.
The photograph had been taken in the cafeteria.
I was eating alone.
Someone had drawn a little crown over my head and written *Charity Queen* beneath it.
Dad reached for the phone.
“May I?””
Brianna's father nodded.
Dad scrolled.
His face remained calm.
That scared me more than anything.
Principal Whitaker moved behind him.
“What exactly am I looking at?””
Madison folded her arms.
“It was a joke.””
Dad kept scrolling.
“A joke involving how many students?””
Silence.
He counted.
“Twenty-seven.””
My stomach dropped.
Twenty-seven students.
I recognized nearly every name.
Some had smiled at me in class.
Some had borrowed my notes.
One had sat beside me at lunch the previous Tuesday.
Principal Whitaker took the phone.
Messages filled the screen.
Photos.
Polls.
Plans.
Who wore cheap shoes.
Who brought lunch from home.
Who received financial aid.
Which scholarship student should be “reminded” they were lucky to attend Westbridge.
It wasn't just about me.
There were others.
Marcus Hill.
Sofia Alvarez.
Jamie Cole.
Students I'd seen walking through the halls with their heads down.
Suddenly I understood why.
Principal Whitaker looked sick.
“How long has this existed?””
Brianna whispered, “Since sophomore year.””
“Two years?””
“It wasn't supposed to become serious.””
I finally found my voice.
“You ranked us.””
Brianna looked down.
I took the phone from Principal Whitaker.
There it was.
A numbered list.
My name sat at the top.
*Nia Brooks — needs humbling.*
My fingers went cold.
Below my name was Marcus.
Beside his name someone had written:
*Make him quit basketball.*
I remembered Marcus showing up to chemistry with his gym bag torn open.
He told everyone it had caught on a locker.
It hadn't.
I looked at Madison.
“You did that?””
She shook her head.
“Not me.””
“Who?””
“No idea.””
“Madison.””
“I said I don't know!””
Her father slammed his palm against the desk.
“Enough!””
Everyone jumped.
Richard Carter stared at his daughter as if he had never seen her before.
“You're going to tell them everything.””
Madison's eyes filled with tears.
“Dad.””
“Everything.””
She looked toward Chloe.
Then Brianna.
Neither girl helped her.
Finally Madison whispered, “The group wasn't my idea.””
Principal Whitaker frowned.
“Whose idea was it?””
Madison looked toward the office door.
She seemed genuinely frightened now.
Before she could answer, someone knocked.
Principal Whitaker's secretary entered.
“I'm sorry to interrupt.””
She handed him a tablet.
“You need to see this.””
Principal Whitaker looked at the screen.
His face drained of color.
“What is it?”” Dad asked.
“The video from the parking lot.””
Madison relaxed slightly.
But Principal Whitaker shook his head.
“No. Someone uploaded it.””
My stomach dropped.
“What?””
He turned the tablet.
The recording showed Madison tearing my test.
Dumping my backpack.
Kicking the papers away.
Answering my phone.
It had already been shared thousands of times.
But that wasn't what frightened Principal Whitaker.
The caption did.
*WESTBRIDGE SCHOLARSHIP GIRL FINALLY PUT IN HER PLACE.*
Dad stared at it.
“Who posted this?””
Principal Whitaker scrolled.
“Anonymous account.””
Chloe suddenly whispered, “Oh God.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
She covered her mouth.
Madison snapped, “Shut up, Chloe.””
Dad stood.
“Chloe.””
She began crying harder.
“There's another account.””
Madison jumped to her feet.
“Don't you dare.””
Mr. Carter caught his daughter's arm before she could move toward Chloe.
“Sit down.””
Chloe wiped her face.
“We sent videos to someone.””
“Who?”” Principal Whitaker asked.
“I don't know.””
“You've been sending videos to a person you don't know?””
“They paid us.””
That landed like a bomb.
Even Madison stopped fighting.
Dad's voice was very quiet.
“Paid you for what?””
Chloe looked at me.
“For videos of scholarship kids getting embarrassed.””
My skin went cold.
Principal Whitaker gripped the edge of his desk.
“Someone has been paying students at my school to humiliate other students?””
Chloe nodded.
“Sometimes they'd request specific things.””
“What things?””
“Ruining projects. Spilling food. Taking stuff. Making someone cry on camera.””
I thought about every strange accident from the past year.
My missing science project.
Marcus's torn uniform.
Sofia's presentation disappearing minutes before class.
None of them had been accidents.
Dad moved beside me.
His hand settled gently on my shoulder.
“Who sends the requests?””
Chloe shook her head.
“We only know the username.””
“Show me.””
She opened her phone.
Her hands trembled as she navigated through several accounts.
Then she stopped.
Dad leaned closer.
So did Principal Whitaker.
A message thread appeared.
The most recent message had arrived less than an hour earlier.
*Get Brooks today. Make sure she cries. Bonus if you destroy the test.*
Underneath was a payment confirmation.
Five hundred dollars.
My father stared at the screen.
Then something strange happened.
He stopped breathing for a second.
I knew that look.
He recognized something.
“Dad?””
He took the phone from Chloe.
“Where did you get this contact?””
“Madison gave it to us.””
Everyone turned.
Madison looked trapped.
Mr. Carter released his daughter.
“What aren't you telling us?””
“I didn't know who they were!””
“Then how did you get the username?””
Madison backed toward the wall.
“It was sent to me.””
“By whom?””
Her lips trembled.
“My older brother.””
Richard Carter's expression collapsed.
“Evan?””
Madison nodded.
Dad immediately pulled out his own phone.
That was the moment Richard noticed the username on Chloe's screen.
He went pale.
“Elijah.””
Dad looked at him.
Richard pointed at the account name.
“I've seen that before.””
“Where?””
Richard hesitated.
Then he said something that made the entire room feel colder.
“On documents from your company.””
My father slowly lowered his phone.
I stared at him.
“Dad… what does that mean?””
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
He looked at the caller ID.
For the first time since entering the school, my father's calm expression disappeared.
He answered.
“Elijah Brooks.””
A distorted voice came through loudly enough for me to hear.
May you like
“You should have taught your daughter to stay invisible.””
Then the line went dead.
