Chapter 3

The next three days were not a single moment. They were a process.

New posts every morning on The Ashford Wall:

"Saw Greer walking to class alone again. Even her baby doesn't want to be seen with her 💀"

"Imagine being so broke you can't even afford Plan B"

"Someone should tell her scholarship babies don't count as extracurriculars"

Someone taped a baby shower invitation to my door. Date: "Whenever you finally admit it."

In class, a professor called on me and someone in the back row muttered, "Let the pregnant girl rest." Half the room laughed. The professor pretended not to hear.

I was in a bathroom stall when I heard two girls come in.

"Honestly, she deserves it. Walking around all high and mighty because she gets good grades, and meanwhile she's out there being a total slut."

"You think Beckett regrets it? Like, that's so below his level."

"Maybe it's his community service. Helping the underprivileged."

They laughed. I sat in the stall with my hands on my knees and waited until they left.

The mirror showed someone I barely recognized. Tight lips. Dark circles. But the eyes were hard.

I hadn't cried once.

Thursday evening. Library. I was trying to figure out if a credit card ending in 7714 could be traced to its owner.

Margaux sat down across from me.

Nobody else around.

"How are you holding up?" Head tilted. Voice soft. Like she was talking to a wounded animal.

I didn't look up. "Fine."

"I talked to Dean Hargrove." She leaned in. "It's not looking good, Greer. The board is meeting Monday. They're going to formally revoke your scholarship and start expulsion proceedings."

My fingers stopped on the keyboard.

"But I talked to my dad. He sits on the board." She slid a piece of paper across the table. "He said if you withdraw voluntarily before Monday, they'll let you transfer quietly. No expulsion on your record. You can finish senior year somewhere else."

A voluntary withdrawal form. My name already filled in. Just needed a signature.

"I'm doing this because I care about you." Her voice was almost convincing. "You're smart. You'll land on your feet. But if you try to fight this, the board won't be kind."

I stared at the form.

Then I looked up.

"Why do you want me gone so badly?"

Her expression didn't change. But she blinked — one quick flutter, barely visible.

"I don't want you gone. I want you to protect yourself."

"Really." I closed my laptop. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been at the center of every single thing that's happened to me this week."

The smile cracked. Just a hairline.

"What are you trying to say, Greer?"

"The post went up Tuesday at 7:15 AM. Student Council meeting was at 7:00. You were the last one to leave the meeting room — right next to the computer lab." I held her gaze. "You had fifteen minutes."

"That's circumstantial and you know it." The warmth was gone. Underneath was ice.

"And Beckett's brand-new Audi. The one he started driving three days after his testimony. He was on financial aid last semester, Margaux. Where did the money come from?"

Silence.

She stood up slowly. Picked up the withdrawal form, folded it, put it back in her bag.

Then she leaned down close to my ear.

"You're a scholarship girl from Ohio, Greer. No connections. No money. No family that matters." Her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been at this school since I was fourteen. Everyone in this building works for my family."

She straightened up. Smiled.

"Sign the form. Or don't. Either way — you're done here."

She left. Her heels clicked down the empty library, one beat at a time, until there was nothing.

I sat there. Fingers gripping the edge of the table.

I wasn't scared.

Because she'd said "that's circumstantial." Not "that's insane." Not "you're crazy."

She said I didn't have evidence.

Back in my room, I took out the makeup bag again. Turned it over, ran my fingers along every seam.

The inner lining had a small pocket I'd missed before. Inside — a clinic appointment card.

Planned Parenthood. Stamford branch. Appointment date: next Monday. The patient name had been torn off, but the appointment number was still there.

I held the card under the desk lamp.

A ClearBlue pregnancy test. A CVS receipt. And now a Planned Parenthood appointment.

All in one bag. All in my room.

Not someone planting a test on me.

Someone planting their own test on me.

That pregnancy test was real. The positive was real. But the person who was pregnant wasn't me.

It was Margaux.

My hands were shaking.

I locked the appointment card and the receipt together in the combination lock at the bottom of my suitcase.

Then I pulled out the withdrawal form she'd given me. Stared at the blank signature line.

I folded it in half. Then in half again. And again. Until it was a tight little square.

I dropped it in the trash.