Chapter 4

The harsh fluorescent lights of the testing center burned my retines. I pushed through the heavy metal double doors, stepping out of the SAT Subject Test exam hall. The air in the corridor smelled faintly of industrial floor wax and nervous sweat. I pulled my phone from my denim jacket pocket. It buzzed instantly against my palm.

A text message from Mark, the varsity track captain. An image file. No caption.

I tapped the screen. A screenshot of Liam's Twitter feed loaded.

"Madison, I just wrote your initials in my SAT essay and drew hearts on my answer sheet. What should I write on tomorrow's Subject Tests?"

I stared at the pixels. I locked the screen and shoved the phone back into my pocket. Liam wasn't worth another minute of my time, not even one. But Mark sending this directly to me? That detail caught my attention. Mark actively avoided drama. If he took the time to screenshot and send this, Liam was getting reckless. He was flaunting his cheating right in front of his own teammates.

"Chloe!"

A voice barked my name across the corridor. Heavy footsteps pounded against the linoleum.

Liam cut in front of me, entirely blocking my path to the main exit. He wore his faded Chi Phi rush shirt. A dark, purple bruise bloomed on the side of his neck. A hickey. He didn't even bother to pull his collar up to hide it.

"You forgot the transfer," he demanded. He offered no greeting. He didn't ask how my exam went. He crossed his arms and glared at me. "The shared expenses. My checking account is overdrawn. My card declined at the gas station this morning."

I looked at the hickey, then dragged my eyes up to meet his. "I'm not transferring anything."

Liam's jaw tightened. He stepped closer, deliberately invading my personal space. "Are you kidding me right now? You are always buried in books. You have zero EQ. You can't even manage basic life stuff like a simple bank transfer." He pointed a rigid finger at my chest. "You know I'm counting on that money for college application fees. Send it now."

He expected me to apologize. He fully expected me to pull out my phone, open my banking app, and fund his existence.

"Figure out this month's expenses yourself," I said. My voice carried absolute ice. "I don't have extra cash anymore."

I stepped to the right to bypass him. He shot his hand out and grabbed my upper arm. His fingers dug into my bicep. Hard.

"Let go of me," I ordered.

"You're just pissed," Liam hissed. The hallway started to empty out, but a few freshmen lingered by the blue metal lockers, watching us. Liam lowered his voice, dropping his golden-boy victim act. "You're jealous. You're jealous because I locked in my MIT early admission and you're still sweating over these stupid Subject Tests."

A hot, violent spike of fury pierced my chest. I ripped my arm out of his grip. The sheer audacity of this parasite standing in front of me, wearing the Ivy League armor I forged for him, made my blood boil.

"I'm actually more well-rounded than you," he bragged, puffing his chest out. "You don't understand real life, Chloe. You're only good at taking tests. That's your ceiling. You're a calculator. MIT wants leaders, not a robot who stays in the lab on a Friday night."

"Liam!"

A high-pitched, melodic voice echoed down the long corridor. Madison trotted toward us. She wore a pristine white tennis skirt and a tight cashmere sweater. She held two oversized iced coffees from Starbucks.

She stopped next to Liam and flashed me a brilliant, entirely hollow smile.

"Hey, Chloe," Madison chirped. She sighed dramatically and handed one of the plastic cups to Liam. "Oh my god, my brain is completely fried. I am a total academic disaster compared to you guys. I didn't understand a single question on that history section."

Liam took the coffee. He didn't thank her. He immediately wrapped his free arm around Madison's waist and pulled her flush against his side.

"Don't worry about it, Madi," Liam said loudly. He kissed the top of her head, then looked directly at me. A cruel, triumphant smirk spread across his face. "Chloe is just a bookworm who doesn't know how to live. You're way more fun to be around."

Electric heat flooded my veins. I stepped right into his space. I wanted the freshmen at the lockers to hear. I wanted the teachers in the adjacent classrooms to hear.

"You're absolutely right, Liam," I said. My voice sliced cleanly through the hallway chatter. "Madison comes from generational wealth. She doesn't need to stress about merit scholarships. She has a permanent financial safety net."

I locked eyes with him. I stripped away his disguise.

"But what makes you different from me besides test scores?"

The smirk vanished from Liam's face. The color drained from his cheeks, replaced instantly by an ugly, mottled red. I hit the nerve. I struck the raw, unprotected core of his entire existence. He possessed absolutely nothing without my brain.

"You have a poor test mentality," Liam spat. He dropped his arm from Madison's waist. He gripped his coffee cup so hard the plastic dented inward. "You're cracking under the pressure. You're toxic. You won't even get into MIT acting like a jealous bitch."

He threw his shoulders back, desperately clawing for the high ground.

"But hey," he sneered, looking down his nose at me. "We can still hang out when you end up at State."

"Actually, Miss Chen won't be attending a state school."

A calm, authoritative voice cut through the tension.

A man in a sharp navy suit stepped out of the main administrative office behind us. He wore a silver visitor's badge clipped to his lapel. Mr. Davis. The regional MIT Admissions Director. He carried a thick leather portfolio under his arm.

The hallway went dead silent.

Mr. Davis walked straight toward me. He ignored Liam completely.

"Chloe," Mr. Davis smiled. He extended his right hand. "Your early decision application is officially confirmed."

I shook his hand. My heart hammered a fierce, victorious rhythm against my ribs.

"The university board of trustees held an emergency session this morning," Mr. Davis continued, his voice projecting clearly off the metal lockers. "They reviewed your independent quantum algorithm project. The academic committee was unanimous. The board has approved your full Merit Excellence Scholarship."

Liam dropped his Starbucks cup.

It hit the linoleum floor with a wet crack. Brown liquid and ice exploded across Madison's white designer sneakers. She shrieked and jumped back. Liam didn't look at her.

He stared at Mr. Davis. His jaw hung open.

"Wait," Liam stammered. His voice cracked down the middle. "Wait, what are you talking about? What about my application? We submitted that project together."

Mr. Davis slowly turned his head. He looked at Liam. The professional warmth in the admissions director's eyes vanished, replaced by cold, clinical disgust.

"Ah. Mr. Liam Davis," the director said. He opened his leather portfolio and pulled out a single sheet of paper with the official MIT letterhead. "Chloe formally withdrew the joint-authorship claim. She reapplied as an independent candidate. This action triggered a mandatory technical audit on your application."

Liam started breathing fast. His chest heaved under his shirt. "I... I can explain the code. I know the math."

"The technical review board determined that the secondary applicant—you—demonstrated a severe lack of foundational programming knowledge," Mr. Davis stated. Every word acted as a hammer striking a nail into Liam's coffin. "You do not possess the prerequisite skills to have contributed to that algorithm. Consequently, your application has been formally rejected. The university has zero tolerance for academic misrepresentation."

Liam swayed on his feet. He looked exactly like a man who just took a baseball bat to the stomach.

Mr. Davis slid the paper back into his portfolio. He gave Liam a tight, pitying smile.

"With your current standardized scores and your revised academic profile," Mr. Davis said smoothly, "you might have a chance at the state university system. If you apply broadly."

Mr. Davis nodded to me. He turned and walked down the hallway, his leather dress shoes clicking sharply against the floor.

I looked at Liam.

His face was ash white. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples. His lips trembled uncontrollably. He stared blankly at the massive puddle of spilled coffee seeping into the grout of the floor tiles. His Ivy League future lay dead on the linoleum.

He looked up at me. His eyes were wide, panicked, entirely stripped of their previous arrogance.

"Wait, wait..." Liam choked out. He reached a shaking hand out toward me, then quickly pulled it back. "Are you saying I didn't get early admission?"

I offered him a thin, razor-sharp smile.

"Good luck at State, Liam."