Chapter 3

The three of them started posting road trip photos the next morning.

Willow in the passenger seat of Hayes's convertible, bare feet on the dashboard. Ezra leaning over from the back, holding up a peace sign.

Then the DMs.

"Blair, seeing the two richest boys in school fight over who gets to carry my bags. Doesn't that sting a little?"

Another one, two hours later.

"Hayes said he'd rather be my backup plan forever than be your first choice. Ezra agreed. Isn't that sad? For you, I mean."

I read every single one.

Then I put my phone down and made myself a coffee.

Her good days were numbered.

Days later, the St. Jude parents' WhatsApp group exploded.

The school had sent out a formal announcement: the annual College Reveal Assembly would be held this Friday. All senior families were invited to attend as tradition dictated, a public celebration where each graduate's university placement was displayed on the auditorium's main screen.

The families lived for this event. It was their Super Bowl.

Mrs. Calloway sent a voice note within minutes.

"We're so proud of Hayes. Harvard has always been a Calloway tradition, and we couldn't be more thrilled to continue it."

Mrs. Whitmore's reply came thirty seconds later.

"Your son throws a ball for a living. My son is student body president with a 4.3. Harvard selects scholars, not linebackers."

It went back and forth for forty-seven messages.

The headmaster finally intervened with a single text: "Ladies, the Assembly will reveal all placements tomorrow. I trust we can wait twenty-four hours with grace."

I scrolled through the entire thread twice, sipping my coffee.

If they knew their precious sons had confirmed enrollment at community college, they'd need more than grace.

They'd need a cardiologist.

Friday morning. The auditorium was packed.

Word of the Calloway-Whitmore feud had spread through every country club and charity board in the tri-state area.

Parents who normally sent assistants to school events showed up in person. Front row seats were claimed by 7 AM.

Mrs. Calloway sat on the left side, third row center, wearing a crimson Harvard blazer with matching heels. A Harvard pennant pin on her lapel.

Mrs. Whitmore sat on the right side, also third row center, in a custom Harvard-red Chanel suit with a gold H brooch.

They did not look at each other.

The rest of the parents filled in behind them.

I found my seat near the back. Quiet. Out of the way.

Willow appeared in front of me before the lights dimmed.

Hayes and Ezra flanked her. Of course.

"Blair." Willow clasped her hands in front of her chest. "I've been thinking about everything, and I want to give you a chance to make things right."

She tilted her head.

"Apologize to me. Sincerely. And promise that the Ashford Foundation will continue funding my education at Rusty Creek. Tuition, living expenses, everything."

She paused.

"But the old amount isn't enough anymore. Fifty thousand. Monthly. And we go back to being friends."

I looked at her.

"From today forward, my family won't fund a single cent of anything with your name on it."

Willow's eyes went wide. She stepped back, right into Hayes's chest.

Hayes moved in front of her.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" He crossed his arms. "Willow's giving you a chance to fix this, and you're spitting in her face."

Ezra stepped up beside him.

"If you refuse, we'll make sure every family in this room knows exactly what kind of person you are. You'll be done in this city."

I looked at the two of them. Shoulders squared, jaws set, ready to intimidate.

Behind them, the auditorium was filling up. Parents chatting. Camera phones out. The giant screen on stage glowing blue with the school crest.

"You should worry about yourselves right now."

Hayes opened his mouth to respond.

The lights dimmed.

Headmaster Morrison walked to the podium. The screen behind him lit up with the first slide: CLASS OF 2025 — COLLEGE DESTINATIONS.

"Welcome, families. As is St. Jude tradition, we celebrate our graduates' achievements by sharing their university placements with our community."

He clicked to the next slide.

"Our first announcement, and one I'm particularly proud of."

The screen changed.

BLAIR ASHFORD — HARVARD UNIVERSITY, CLASS OF 2029.

Applause erupted. My mom squeezed my dad's arm in the fifth row. I stood briefly, nodded, sat back down.

Mrs. Calloway clapped politely, but her smile was tight. That wasn't her son's name.

Mrs. Whitmore's clapping slowed. She leaned forward in her seat.

The headmaster continued through the list. Columbia. Stanford. Duke. Georgetown.

No Hayes Calloway.

No Ezra Whitmore.

Mrs. Calloway was on her feet before Morrison could pick up the next card.

"Excuse me, Headmaster, I think there's been a mistake." She smoothed the front of her Harvard blazer. "You skipped my son's name during the Ivy League announcements."

Mrs. Whitmore stood up half a second later.

"Mine too. Ezra Whitmore, 1590 SAT. There's no way he wasn't in the top-twenty list."

Mrs. Calloway turned to her. "They obviously saved the best for last. Hayes is the Harvard admit."

"Your son?" Mrs. Whitmore laughed. "Catherine, please."

Morrison paused. Adjusted his glasses.

"Moving on to... other confirmed placements."