Chapter 14 The Scholarship Girl

Chapter 14 The Scholarship Girl


Rumors are like smoke. They slip under doors, curl through cracks, and fill a room before anyone notices the fire that started them. At Blackridge, smoke spreads faster than oxygen.

It starts small. A whisper in the hallway. A sly look during lunch. By third period, it’s everywhere.

“Scholarship girl.”

Two words. That’s all it takes.

I hear it when I pass lockers, when I slide into my seat, when I walk down the marble stairs with my books hugged to my chest. The word isn’t an insult in itself, but here? At Blackridge, where kids wear privilege like designer perfume? It’s a brand. A scarlet letter.

Scholarship means you don’t belong.

By the end of the day, there are stories attached to it. My parents work in some dead-end diner. I live in a shoebox apartment across town. I lied on my application to get here. Each version shifts, but the sting is the same.

I want to laugh at the irony. They think they’ve uncovered my big secret when in reality, they haven’t even scratched the surface. They’re playing checkers while I’m carving moves on a chessboard. Still, it rattles me. Not because it’s true—though parts of it are close enough to the life I left behind—but because it’s a distraction.

Distractions get you killed.

By lunch the next day, it hits boiling point. I’m halfway through the cafeteria line when someone “accidentally” bumps my tray. Food splatters across the floor. The table behind me bursts into laughter.

“Careful, Sinclair,” one of the girls sneers. “Wouldn’t want you to spill your whole… monthly allowance.”

Her friends howl like it’s the funniest joke in the world. I stare at the mess, breathing slow. Every instinct screams at me to strike back. But I can’t—not yet. Not here.

So I force a smile, step over the mess, and walk away like their words weigh nothing. Even though they do.

By the time classes end, the rumor has mutated. Now, it’s not just about me being poor—it’s about me not being who I say I am.

“She doesn’t look like an Eva.”
“She’s hiding something.”
“Bet she changed her name.”

My blood runs cold at that one. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

I should have expected this. Blackridge thrives on hierarchy, and new blood always gets tested. Still, the timing is suspicious. Too perfect. Someone’s pushing this harder than the usual gossip mill. Someone wants me exposed.

And I think I know who.

When I enter English, Jace is already there, lounging in his seat like he owns the air itself. His stormy eyes lift to mine, and something in his gaze makes my skin prickle.

He knows. Maybe not everything. But enough.

I take my seat without looking at him. My heart thuds in my ears through the entire lecture.

By the time the final bell rings, I’m ready to escape, to crawl into the safety of my room and regroup. But Blackridge has other plans.

As I step into the courtyard, voices rise. A circle has formed near the fountain, students clustered with hungry eyes. At the center stands the queen bee herself, Marissa Devereaux, holding court like it’s her birthright. She turns when she sees me, smile sharp as a blade.

“Eva Sinclair,” she purrs, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Or should I say… Ava Carter?”

The world tilts. My lungs seize.

But no—she can’t know. She’s bluffing. Testing.

I force a laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve been reading too many tabloids, Marissa.”

She steps closer, eyes glittering. “Funny, though. No one knows where you came from. No records, no friends from your old school, no family at the galas. Just a mystery girl who walks in like she belongs. Almost like you’re hiding something.”

The crowd murmurs, the sound a wave crashing around me. Panic claws at my chest. She’s too close to the truth.

And then a voice slices through the noise.

“Enough.”

The crowd parts instinctively, like the sea bowing to its king. Jace Langston strides into the circle, shoulders squared, jaw tight.

He looks at Marissa with icy disdain. “Do you have nothing better to do than invent fairy tales?”

Marissa blinks, taken aback. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking—”

“No,” Jace interrupts, tone lethal. “You’re stirring up lies because you’re bored. And because you’re threatened.”

The courtyard goes silent. Marissa’s mouth opens, then shuts again. No one dares to argue with Jace—not when his voice carries that kind of weight.

He turns to the crowd. “Eva Sinclair is here because she deserves to be. More than half of you spoiled parasites combined. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me.”

Gasps ripple. My heart stutters.

And just like that, the tide shifts. Students glance at each other, whispers dying on their tongues. Marissa flushes red, her perfect composure cracking for the first time.

Jace doesn’t look at me as he walks away, but the message is clear.

He defended me.

Why?

I stand frozen, the circle slowly dissolving. People scatter, pretending nothing happened, but I can still feel their eyes on me, still hear the echoes of his words.

More than half of you spoiled parasites combined.

He didn’t just shut them down—he scorched the earth around them. For me.

I should be grateful. I should feel victorious. Instead, I feel… unsteady.

Because Jace doesn’t do things without reason. He’s calculated, deliberate. Which means this wasn’t kindness. It was strategy.

The question is—what’s his play?

That night, I can’t focus on anything. Not my notes, not the file I’m still piecing together on Noah, not the plan forming for my next strike. My brain keeps circling back to the courtyard, to the way his voice cut through the chaos, to the steel in his eyes.

It doesn’t fit. Jace Langston is the boy who destroyed my family, the boy who helped bury my brother. He’s my enemy. My target.

So why does it feel like—for a fleeting moment—he was on my side?

I turn the thought over and over until exhaustion pulls me under. But even in sleep, there’s no escape. I dream of Noah’s face and Jace’s voice, overlapping until I can’t tell them apart.

The next morning, things are… different. The whispers are still there, but softer, hesitant. No one dares to push me again, not after Jace’s warning. It should make me feel safer. Instead, it feels like a trap.

At lunch, I catch his eyes across the cafeteria. For once, he doesn’t look smug. He looks… curious. Like he’s waiting for me to make the next move.

I drop my gaze before he can read too much.

Because the truth is, I don’t know my next move. Not anymore.

All I know is this: Jace Langston is no longer just my enemy.

He’s something else.

Something dangerous.

And I don’t know if I can win this game without losing myself.

The bell rings, dragging me back into the tide of students, but the thought clings to me like smoke.

Because if Jace Langston can protect me in public…

What will he do in private?