She tapped the desk twice. Case closed.

"Here's what's going to happen, Rebecca. You pay the man back, we put this to rest, and nobody hears another word about it."

I sat there, stunned. She wasn't even pretending to ask.

"I never took his money. Why should I be the one paying it back?"

Eight thousand dollars—where was I supposed to scrape that together? I didn't have it. Not even close.

Advisor Chavez's voice shot up, her finger jabbing so close it nearly touched my face.

"Then how do you explain these photos!"

Mr. Pierce slammed his palm on the table and shot to his feet.

"Exactly! She played with my feelings and took my money. I want every cent back! Eight thousand two hundred, not a penny less!"

I clenched my fists until my knuckles went white.

"I didn't do it. Period. If you don't believe me, then request an investigation. Find out whose name is actually on that account—"

Advisor Chavez cut me off hard.

"Check the account? Do you know what a hassle that is? You want the school to go digging through IP logs, pulling camera footage, dragging in the cyber police—all for you?"

"The man can't wait around for that. And the school sure doesn't have time to waste on this."

I didn't get angry. I laughed.

"If you won't check the account, how do you prove it was me? That's just pinning it on someone."

Advisor Chavez's patience snapped.

"The man came all the way to campus and identified you. You're still denying it? Students these days—nothing but lies!"

"And you said you don't even have a smartphone. Well, your roommate Susan Edwards just told me to my face she's seen you using one!"

I frowned.

Why would Susan lie about that?

Everything clicked. Susan was framing me—she'd run the scam, she was scared of the fallout, and she needed me to take the blame.

Advisor Chavez kept going, eyes locked on me.

"Pay him back now, and I'll talk to the man, get him to let it go. I keep this whole thing from going up to the dean. That's the best deal you're going to get!"

I was silent for a few seconds. Then I stood.

"Advisor Chavez, I need to step out and make a phone call."

A satisfied smile spread across her face. She thought I'd come around—that I was calling home to scrape together the money.

She waved me off. "Go ahead. Make it quick."

I took my basic phone and walked out.

On speakerphone, my voice carried through the crack in the door and back into the room.

"Hello, Village Head Hale? It's me, Rebecca."

"You told me before there are legal aid attorneys now—ones who help people from the countryside with lawsuits. That's real, right?"

"Good. Let me get the number down. People like us, out here on our own, when somebody tries to pin something on you—you've got to have somewhere to make your case, right?"

The moment I finished, a crash came from inside the room.

I ended the call and pushed the door open.

Advisor Chavez's face was drained of color. The cup beside her hand had tipped over, and she hadn't even bothered to wipe up the spill.

That overbearing posture from moments ago had vanished completely.

She'd pushed for a private settlement because she was afraid of the matter escalating.

But it never crossed her mind that some hick from the mountains would actually go looking for a lawyer.

When she saw me walk back in, she forced an awkward smile.

"Rebecca—you're back? Sit, sit, sit down."

"About all that… ahem, I got a little heated earlier, that's all."

"I'll take care of it, okay? Just—don't go running off to some lawyer. This is a school matter, we can talk it through…"

I watched her face change and said nothing.

Fine. If nobody here was going to make this right, I'd do it myself.

How Susan impersonated me to con people, why the faculty advisor rushed to cover for her—I was going to dig up every piece of it.

And when I did, everyone who owed something was going to pay.

After I left the campus security office, Susan kept fishing for information, trying to sound casual about it.

I kept my voice flat.

"I didn't do it, so obviously I'm not paying anything."

Her face visibly changed. She forced out a thin, dry smile.

"Oh… well, good then."

Of course she was disappointed. If this didn't go away, Mr. Pierce would keep pushing—and the more noise he made, the closer the trail got to her.

So she'd come for me again. That was a given.

I wasn't afraid. The more she tried, the deeper she'd bury herself.

That night, I finished washing up and headed back to the dorm.

A crowd had gathered at the door—seven or eight girls clustered together, craning to see what was going on.

Inside, Susan was tearing through drawers, her voice thick with tears.

"It's really gone! I left it right on the desk!"

The moment I walked in, she looked up, eyes red-rimmed.

"Rebecca, you're back? Have you seen my lipstick? The one in the silver case? I just bought it—it was over five hundred dollars."

I laughed to myself. So this was her next move.

The scam angle hadn't worked, so now she needed me labeled a thief.

And if people bought that, the money thing from before would be even easier to believe.

One of our roommates sighed:

"No idea where it went. The door's been locked the whole time, the window was shut—nobody from outside could've gotten in…"

The implication couldn't have been louder.

The thief had to be someone already inside the room.

I didn't take the bait. I walked straight to my desk and sat down.

A few minutes later, Susan drifted over.

"Rebecca, it's just us in here, right? I've already gone through everyone else's stuff."

"So… you don't mind if I peek in yours too? That way we can all just clear the air and nobody feels weird."

I said nothing.

This was obviously a setup.

But the second I hesitated, the whispers started buzzing around me.

"Right? Like, just let her look. If you won't even open it, that kind of says something."

"An innocent person wouldn't think twice. Just pop it open and prove everyone wrong—what's the problem?"

I knew that if I refused to let her search, the label "thief" would land on me right here, right now.

When Susan saw I wasn't pushing back hard, a flash of triumph slipped through her eyes.

She didn't wait for permission. She reached over and yanked my drawer open.

She knew exactly where to look—fingers diving straight to the very back, digging around—

Her expression stiffened.

I stood beside her with my arms crossed.

"Find anything?"

She pulled her hand back empty.

Nothing. She'd found nothing.

I'd expected this. The moment I noticed something extra had been planted in my drawer, I'd thrown it away.

Susan wasn't about to let it go that easily.

She suddenly crouched down, scooped up a black lipstick tube from under my chair, and held it up with exaggerated shock.

"Isn't this my lipstick?!"

"Wasn't the one you lost supposed to have a silver case?"

Susan faltered for a second, then went shrill.

"I just realized this one's missing too! So you stole two of my lipsticks, Rebecca!"

I watched her perform. Not a flicker of guilt in me—I knew I hadn't touched her stuff.

"I don't know anything about it. I didn't take them."

"No idea which lowlife shoved it under there."

Susan's expression couldn't hold together anymore, so she pulled out her trump card.

"Rebecca, if you don't apologize, I'm telling the faculty advisor! You know what happens when they catch you stealing? That's a major demerit!"

I didn't move.

"Then go. I didn't take anything."

She could stomp and fume all she wanted. I wasn't budging.

Her little threats didn't even hit as hard as my second aunt back home.

I knew exactly what she was playing at.

Pin the thief label on me first, and once that stuck, the online romance scam money could be dumped on me too.

Too bad for her. It didn't work.

The onlookers weren't stupid.

"It was under the chair. Could've just rolled there off the floor…"

"She said one was missing a minute ago. Now it's two?"

"Then again, someone did show up accusing her of scamming money. Maybe she really does have sticky fingers."

I stayed perfectly calm through the speculation.

One thing about growing up in the mountains: you learn not to flinch when people run their mouths.

Whether Susan actually went to the faculty advisor, I never found out. Nobody came to me about it.

The advisor never brought up the money Mr. Pierce had demanded from me, either.

Over the next few days, as I kept my eye on Susan, I actually spotted something off.

Her phone was full of photos of other girls—tons of the good-looking ones in our program, specifically.

Chat windows, one after another. She was juggling conversations with dozens of people at once.

A few days later, halfway through a major lecture.

I caught Susan making a move.

She had her phone hidden in her sleeve, the camera sneaking toward someone seated behind her and to the right.

I followed the angle.

Jill Gilbert.

The most well-known rich girl in our school—pretty enough it almost hurt to look at her.

I couldn't let Susan get away with this.

I shifted in my seat, leaned hard, and went crashing to the ground, chair and all.

The noise was enormous.

Jill's attention snapped toward the commotion on my side of the room.

A second later, her gaze locked directly onto Susan, who was scrambling to cover her tracks.

Susan killed the screen and shoved the phone down, pretending to read her textbook.

But Jill didn't look away. She watched for a long moment, then stood up.

In front of every student and the professor, she walked straight to Susan's desk.

She stuck out her hand, voice flat and cold.

"Phone. Now."