Chapter 39

Chapter 39
Amelia

I picked up my bag.

A triumphant smile spread across that girl's face.

However—

I walked straight toward the front row and settled into the most conspicuous seat in the entire classroom—dead center, chest out, head high.

This session was still Professor Scott's class, and everyone had consciously avoided the first three rows in front of the lectern.

Now, their gazes all turned toward me.

I could hear the entire classroom grow even quieter.

Some people were inhaling softly, and I wondered if they would immediately snap photos to post on the forum.

I pulled out my laptop and opened a new document.

Whatever. Let them look.

The more people questioned whether I deserved to sit here, the more I needed to occupy the most visible position.

Every inch of ground I'd fought tooth and nail for over these past weeks—the part-time jobs, the housing application, the tryouts, all of it—wasn't so that one classmate, one classroom could pass judgment on my worth.

She didn't have that authority. If she or anyone else couldn't stand me being here, they could leave.

Footsteps approached, and Naomi sat down in the seat beside me, her movements clean and decisive.

Someone spoke up from behind, voice lowered but not directed at me.

"Naomi, what are you doing here? She's not one of us!"

I wasn't surprised she was receiving this kind of advice.

Since the semester began, Naomi's identity as a study machine had earned everyone's recognition—an admirable title, and her popularity on campus was far better than mine.

I hesitated for a second, wondering whether I should advise Naomi to keep her distance from me.

But Naomi had already set down her coffee cup, tilted her head slightly, her tone genuinely puzzled.

"Then where should I sit? Next to you?" She opened her notebook, her attitude serious, without sarcasm, only inquiry.

"I need to discuss problems with Amelia. Can you do that?"

The classmate behind us suddenly went mute.

I couldn't help but smile.

Her sincerity was sometimes sharper than a knife.

The door opened, and Professor Scott walked in.

The classroom immediately fell silent, phones all disappeared, and everyone quietly watched Professor Scott stride toward the lectern, set down his bag, and begin pulling up his lecture slides.

He lectured, I took notes.

The classroom did what it did in his presence: focused, or at least performed focus convincingly enough.

Not until the last ten minutes, after he'd finished all the content, did he lift his head from the whiteboard, his gaze sweeping slowly across the room.

"Today," he said, "why are you all so silent? I don't believe we've reached the most difficult part of this course yet."

No one spoke. Professor Scott's expression turned blank.

"Is it really that difficult?"

He looked toward Naomi and me in the front row, as if we were his only remaining hope.

I knew he'd misunderstood. "I'm sorry, it's unrelated to the course material. I may have brought some trouble to your class."

"Elaborate?"

I took a deep breath. "Some people, because of rumors on the campus forum, believe my behavior is reprehensible and that I shouldn't be sitting in this classroom."

"Reprehensible behavior?" He repeated the phrase. "Meaning racial discrimination? Academic misconduct?"

He paused, like someone running through a mental checklist. "Abuse of university resources? Sexual harassment allegations? Wire fraud?"

"None of those," I sighed, feeling the absurdity of what I was about to say even as I said it.

"Someone imagined that I used my relationship with the quarterback to secure a spot on the cheerleading squad, pushing out someone who should have gotten in."

Professor Scott looked around the class, then back at me.

"So," he capped his whiteboard marker. "You're all distracted by cheerleading squad factional struggles."

The classroom wisely offered no response.

"It seems the coursework is very easy for you all," he said. "We have an exam next month. I'm very much looking forward to seeing what everyone has learned."

He picked up his bag. "Prepare well."

He walked out.

The moment the door closed, that taut atmosphere evaporated instantly.

People gathered their belongings, and the knot of attention that had been wrapped around me for the past hour vanished without a trace, redistributed to next month's exam.

As I neared the exit, footsteps caught up with me.

"Just you wait, this isn't over!"

The girl from the back row—the one who'd told me to get out earlier—passed by me, forcefully angling her shoulder, then—stumbled.

She'd wanted to bump me aside with a dramatic gesture, but since I regularly used similar moves to get past Joseph's defense, I immediately dodged.

She steadied herself, her face flushed crimson. "You'll pay for this!"

With that, she fled hastily.

"What's she angry about?" Naomi had also caught up, her tone purely confused.

I didn't answer immediately.

I'd recognized her now—she'd been there the day of cheerleading tryouts too.

It's just that she'd hidden in the crowd, silently watching Brooke argue passionately at the front, so I hadn't recalled her right away.

And now, with a post about Brooke on the forum, she seemed to have suddenly found an alliance.

A legacy admission, hah, that was a convenient excuse.

She seemed to think that as long as she attacked me, she could transform herself into a victim.

Someone talented who'd been pushed out by a legacy admit, rather than simply—someone who didn't make the cut.

I laughed derisively. "No idea, maybe she's mad at herself for not keeping her balance."

"Alright," Naomi seemed to have no interest in that girl's psychological workings.

"One more thing—you joined the cheerleading squad? You, not studying again?"

"Making the team comes with housing subsidies and two credits," I said. "It counts toward general education requirements, so next semester I can free up more time for major courses."

She nodded thoughtfully. "That's actually a good idea."

"Want to try it yourself? I can ask about the next recruitment cycle for you."

"No thanks," she refused flatly. "I have zero athletic talent. Dancing would kill me!"

I couldn't help but take in her tall, thin frame and the dark circles beneath her glasses.

"Seriously though, I'd actually recommend you try at least one sport. Um, this comes from my own experience. Studying is physically demanding too—exercising your body helps you sustain more research."

She furrowed her brow, practically writing her thoughts on her face.

"You make sense but I don't want to."

"Let's talk about something else," she said. "Speaking of housing subsidies..."

Her expression grew serious, and I knew we were both thinking of our two roommates.

Tiffany and Madison—they eavesdropped, they took secret photos, and regardless of their motivations, there was no guarantee they wouldn't do something even more excessive.

An idea formed in my mind, but...

I glanced at Naomi. She met my eyes, and in that moment we reached a consensus.

"Perhaps you've considered..."