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."