So now you're scared of failing? Now you know how to cry?
At the exam site, just as I'd expected, I was turned away at the gate—no admission ticket, no entry.
One of my classmates caught my eye, guilt flickering across their face. "I'm sorry," they whispered.
I confirmed there was no way in, then turned and walked away.
Dad's face had gone a dangerous shade of red. He kept switching between worry for me and cursing Samantha's name.
But before we could even leave the campus grounds, the situation had already exploded.
Parents from the Elite Track had banded together, launching a livestream. They issued a joint statement demanding police involvement, threatening lawyers, insisting the school hold Samantha and Roger accountable.
A scandal breaking during the college entrance exams? The internet went nuclear.
Netizens flooded Roger's social media, calling him a "life-ruiner," a "parasite," worse.
Then Roger—who'd been radio silent all day—suddenly went live.
Samantha sat beside him, her face pale and drawn.
His expression was mournful, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea things would turn out like this. We just wanted to have some cake. It was my classmate Daryl who insisted on ordering drinks. He said they were non-alcoholic, that we could drink as much as we wanted."
He paused, swallowing hard. "Yes, people had a bit too much last night—but they got to the hospital in time. They should have been fine. It was Daryl. He wanted revenge, so he had his father—he's a department chief at that hospital—deliberately botch the treatment. That's why everyone ended up with alcohol poisoning."
He nudged Samantha. "You're his childhood friend, aren't you? You can back me up, right?"
Samantha's body went rigid. Under his insistent gaze, she slowly lifted her head. Something flickered in her eyes—a battle—before she finally clenched her jaw and spoke.
"Yes. I can confirm it. Daryl was the one who insisted on ordering alcohol. He's always been jealous of Roger, jealous of everyone in our class who's more talented than him." She paused. "And his father really is a doctor at that hospital."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
Were they insane?
And yet people believed it.
The same parents who'd been screaming for Samantha and Roger's heads moments ago now wheeled on me and Dad, demanding answers.
CRASH.
The car window shattered. A U-lock came through and connected with Dad's forehead. Blood poured down his face instantly.
The car lurched to a stop. My body slammed into the windshield, and everything went black for a moment.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard screaming:
"Beat these animals to death! They put my son in the ICU just to bully their classmates! I want them dead!"
Another parent joined in immediately:
"They deserve it! A doctor who'd commit malpractice to help his son hurt others? Break his hands! See if he can practice medicine then!"
I screamed back with everything I had: "We didn't do anything! Check the surveillance footage! I wasn't even at that bar! And my dad wasn't on shift last night!"
Dad, blood streaming down his face, dragged himself in front of me and covered my body with his own. "Don't be scared. Dad's here."
Tears poured down my face. I screamed until my throat tore: "You've been lied to!"
My phone lit up.
A text from Samantha:
"I'm sorry, Daryl. Roger's family doesn't have money. If he gets sued, his life is over. Your family can afford the compensation, so we had to pin it on you. Once you get through this, we can repeat senior year together and go to the same university. Okay?"
I laughed—a hollow, broken sound.
So that's how it is.
Roger couldn't afford to pay, so these parents were happy to redirect their rage at me instead. Because my family had money. Because they figured they could tear off a bigger piece of flesh.
"Samantha Gilbert, you piece of garbage! You deserve to rot!"
The mob dragged me and my blood-soaked father out of the car.
Fists. Feet. From every direction.
Someone held up their phone and started streaming.
Soon enough, Roger and Samantha were watching from the other side of a screen.
Roger exhaled in relief, pulling her close. "Thank you for saving me, Samantha."
She forced a smile, but guilt and panic still swam in her eyes. "As long as you're okay... I'd do anything for you."
In the midst of the chaos, Mom burst through the crowd, scattering the parents like a force of nature.
She planted herself in front of us, her voice a raw, furious roar: "Don't you dare touch my husband and son!"
She raised her phone, her tone shifting to something ice-cold and unyielding:
"The person who actually hurt your children is Roger James. I've already uploaded the proof online. If you don't believe me, go see for yourselves."
