Chapter 1: The Betrayal

The year I was a junior at Maple Heights High, I found out I’d inherited a women’s health condition from my mom—a diagnosis that came with pain, embarrassment, and bills we couldn’t pay. The scholarship I’d counted on to cover my treatment? My childhood friend handed it over to the class queen instead.

I remember sitting in my bedroom, staring at the acceptance letter with my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold it. That scholarship wasn’t just about the money—it was my lifeline, my way out of feeling stuck, always scrambling to catch up, always hoping someone else would throw me a bone. The faint scent of lemon cleaner mixed with last night’s rain lingered in the air, and I kept thinking: maybe this year, just once, things would finally go my way.

I wanted to ask him why, to beg for an explanation, but he just blurted out my secret in front of everyone:

“If you’ve got problems down there, just deal with it. It’s some nasty thing anyway. Why do you even care about the money?”

The words landed like a punch, echoing off the cinderblock walls. My cheeks burned hot. I could feel every stare, every sideways glance, the way people ducked their heads to whisper. It was like the ground just dropped out from under me, and I was falling.

“Savannah’s sweet. She’s using the scholarship to feed the stray cats behind the school. That’s way more worthwhile than you using it for your gross problem.”

The way he said it—like Savannah was some kind of angel for rescuing kittens, and I was selfish just for needing help. I stared down at the floor, wishing I could disappear. Savannah clutched those kittens to her chest, her eyes wide and innocent, and the whole class just nodded along like she’d cured cancer.

From that day on, the rumors exploded, and my world just crumbled.

It was everywhere: in the cafeteria, the locker room, the hallways between classes. I’d catch little snickers, someone whispering my name, the word "disease" tossed around like a slur. My phone buzzed with anonymous messages, each one nastier than the last. It felt like nowhere was safe—not the halls, not my bedroom, not even inside my own skin.

One classmate who actually knew the truth tried to get him to help clear my name, but he just rolled his eyes:

“I never said she got it from hooking up or anything. People are just messing around—it’ll blow over.”

He shrugged, acting like it was no big deal, like my humiliation was just a joke everyone would forget. His voice was loud, cocky, the way it always got when he wanted to be the center of attention. I felt like I was shrinking, barely able to breathe.

“She knows I’m blunt. She’s always the first to cave. If I ignore her for a couple days, she’ll come running, begging me to talk to her again. Just watch.”

He grinned, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, looking so sure of himself. The others laughed like it was some sitcom and I was the joke. I wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come out.

But this time, he didn’t wait for anything.

The days dragged on. I stopped texting, stopped waiting for him to say sorry. For the first time, I let the silence settle between us. It was heavy, pressing in on me, but at least it was something I could control.

I don’t know when it happened, but eventually the rumors reached my mom’s job at the county office.

I remember the phone call—a co-worker’s voice, stiff and uncomfortable, asking if everything was okay at home. Mom’s face just crumpled, and she hung up without a word. For the next few days, she barely spoke to me, her eyes swollen and red.