Part 1The Poor Student’s Revenge

The rich kid, Lucas Czuchry, faked bankruptcy, stealing my much-needed scholarship spot. Desperate for the money, I went to confront him, only to overhear his conversation with Jess Thorne.

“Thanks to you, Jess, I managed to secure that scholarship. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jess’s eyes, usually so bright, cast downwards, her tone cool and detached. “Liam is good in every way, but he’s too materialistic and shrewd. Letting him take a hit this time will help temper his character.”

So, in her eyes, my poverty was merely “materialistic and shrewd.” We’d known each other for eight years, dated for two. This time, I decided to let go.

* * *

The private room pulsed with flashing lights and loud music, a blur of red and green. My heart throbbed as I listened to Lucas’s gushing words of gratitude.

Someone, feigning a joke, quipped, “Jess, your boyfriend’s family is so poor, are you really letting him suffer?”

Jess took a moment, then exhaled a long plume of smoke. “Liam is my boyfriend. If no one else sponsors him, I’ll support him myself.”

Lucas, with a smug tilt of his chin, challenged, “Jess, you’re so good to Liam, we’re all jealous. But Liam’s not like us. What if he’s just after your money?”

Jess leaned back into the sofa, her tone languid and tinged with condescension. “Liam is good in every way, but he’s too materialistic and shrewd. Letting him take a hit this time will help temper his character.”

“You guys never saw it, but he once argued over ten bucks with someone. It was so embarrassing.”

“But, if he really likes money, I have plenty. After all, keeping a little bird doesn’t cost much.”

The room erupted in laughter, everyone praising Jess’s wisdom. Lucas snorted, “Are you really that fond of Liam?”

Jess chuckled lightly, “Yes.”

Ha.

Is that so? My fists clenched. I couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous. For two years, while dating Jess, I truly believed she loved me. Even she thought so. But what she loved was Liam—the ambitious, brilliant student who shone brightly at school.

She ignored my poverty, the hardship of my struggle to survive, my faded clothes, and my worn-out shoes. A dismissive remark about me being “materialistic and shrewd” branded my very soul. Little did I know this wasn’t love, but a gaze. A condescending gaze from above.

So, I pushed open the private room door and walked straight up to Jess, correcting her with a solemn voice:

“No. Jess.

“You don’t love me.”