The day Ethan Cole threw a stack of cash at me and announced that I was his girlfriend, everyone at Saint Lawrence Prep assumed the poor scholarship girl had finally found a price. What they did not know was that I had already overheard why he wanted me distracted, and before the week was over, I would be charging other girls for the privilege of finding him.
Chapter 4
For several seconds, I could not move.
There it was.
Mia Carter.
Highest score at Saint Lawrence Prep.
Scholarship status confirmed.
I had imagined that moment while cleaning espresso machines. While studying at midnight. While calculating whether Grandpa’s prescriptions could stretch another week.
Then I heard the tap of a cane.
Grandpa stood at the back of the crowd.
Ethan was beside him.
Grandpa held a breakfast bag in one hand.
His eyes were wet.
When I reached him, he put his hand against my cheek.
“Your parents would be proud.”
That was when I cried.
Not because I had beaten Olivia.
Because for one moment, I could imagine Mom and Dad seeing me.
Ethan stayed quiet.
That was wise.
Olivia’s name disappeared from the honors list while the disciplinary process continued. Her parents tried to pressure the school, but the evidence had already spread too far through student and parent networks.
Her perfect reputation cracked quickly.
Ethan lost his too.
His coach benched him for two games after complaints from parents. His family forced him to attend meetings with school administrators. For the first time in years, people stopped treating him like a prince.
He deserved that.
But he did something I did not expect.
He kept bringing breakfast.
No cash.
No dramatic speeches.
No audience.
Sometimes he left it outside my classroom.
Sometimes outside our apartment.
Always enough for Grandpa.
Always with a receipt.
One afternoon after an awards ceremony, he found me outside the library.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I waited.
“For throwing money at you.”
Good start.
“For helping Olivia.”
Better.
“For believing I could rent your time until your future became inconvenient.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“And for thinking being poor made you easy to buy.”
The hallway was empty.
He did not touch me.
That helped.
“I know saying sorry doesn’t fix it.”
“Correct.”
“I’ll prove it.”
“After finals.”
He almost smiled.
“I can wait.”
“Waiting is free.”
“For once.”
Then he walked away.
No dramatic confession.
No demand for forgiveness.
I respected him more for leaving than I would have for staying.
After finals, I shut down Where Is Ethan Today?
The group protested.
Harper called it the collapse of a highly innovative local economy.
But I had learned something.
Survival can explain a questionable decision without making it permanently right.
The money had helped buy Grandpa’s medication.
But Ethan had become a person to me, not a product.
And once I understood that, continuing would have made me too much like the people who had tried to use me.
A few months later, a college acceptance email arrived.
Full tuition.
Housing assistance.
A living stipend.
I refreshed the page three times.
Then made Harper read it.
Then Grandpa.
He cried.
I pretended not to.
