Chapter 6: The Winner's Walk

Should I quietly slip away, or make a scene?

I hesitated, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I scanned for an exit.

But I forgot—kids have choices, broke adults don’t.

The next second, I heard my name in the crowd—

"They’re so romantic, but why isn’t Autumn Blake here?"

"Isn’t she Carter’s number one fan?"

"Hey, there she is!"

My heart jumped. Just as I wondered who sold me out, someone shoved me from behind.

I stumbled forward, completely unprepared, my cheeks burning as hundreds of eyes landed on me.

The crowd parted, and I found myself standing center stage—in front of the couple.

The music and singing stopped. Excited whispers replaced them.

All eyes were on me.

Awkward. What to do?

Got it.

Thinking fast, I rushed toward Savannah—

And stepped on an empty plastic water bottle, the crunch echoing off the bleachers.

Carter’s hand, still protecting Savannah, froze in midair.

Everyone watched as I picked up the bottle and slipped it into my bag.

"Sorry, if no one wants this bottle, I’ll take it."

"I saw a student picking up bottles on the street today—didn’t realize the competition was so fierce."

Under stunned stares, I turned and waved:

"If there’s more good stuff like this, let me know!"

I threw in a wink for good measure, trying to lighten the mood. You could practically hear the collective gasp, the kind that ripples through a high school gym after someone pulls a prank at prom.

Escape? Not a chance.

I’d barely taken two steps when Carter called me out with the mic:

"Autumn Blake, are you saying you’re here to pick up trash?"

"Who are you calling trash?"

I stopped. Silence fell. My palms went clammy as the crowd leaned in, eager for drama.

Heaven knows, I didn’t mean that.

I turned. Carter shook off Savannah’s hand and marched toward me.

I quickly backed up:

"Wait, don’t come over—I have megalophobia!"

(I’m afraid of giant idiots.)

But he ignored me, striding closer with the mic.

"Heard you’re planning to crash my confession tonight?"

Me: "?"

Rumors! I had an exam tonight—at least check my Google Calendar before making things up!

The night breeze carried his arrogance, making me nervous. My throat went dry, and I fidgeted with my bracelet.

It was hot, but my back was cold with sweat.

For some reason, a phrase echoed in my mind:

Don’t fight—lose and you’re hospitalized, win and you’re jailed...

Worried things would escalate, the guitarist rushed over:

"Dude, let it go. Just a little drama, doesn’t affect you and your girl."

I panicked too: "Carter, come any closer and I’ll start singing."

Carter really stopped, disdainful: "Then this bottle..."

Maybe I misheard, but I caught:

"You can question my character, you can question my grades—"

"But don’t question my singing!"

Carter noticed my odd confidence, brow furrowed. "What did you say?"

I almost grabbed the bottle as a mic:

"I’m not here to crash the scene. I don’t know where you got those rumors, but even if you keep talking about me, at most I’ll sing a song to liven things up."

"Alright—"

Before Carter could answer, a soft voice chimed in.

Savannah walked over, glanced at me, then smiled and handed me another mic.

"This one probably sounds better."

No way, are we really doing this?

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my ears.

Savannah smiled: "Afraid to take it?"

The crowd’s excitement cooled instantly.

It’s not that I’m scared—just worried they’ll be embarrassed.

Savannah raised her brows, eager to put me on the spot.

Fine, let’s do this.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of every eye in the stadium. This was either going to be my American Idol moment or the world’s most awkward karaoke night.

"Alright."

I took the microphone without hesitation.

A flicker of surprise crossed Savannah’s face.

The crowd erupted in cheers, boys whistling, a couple of girls shouting, "Let’s go, Autumn!"

I’m not a pro, but I had over ten thousand followers on a karaoke app—mostly covers of Taylor Swift and Billie Eilish.

Just some amateur covers, a few sad songs that went viral.

Now, it’s like I’m a backup singer making a comeback.

After months of silence, my singing DNA was reawakened. I asked a classmate to record:

"Let me sing a few lines of ‘Guest’ for everyone!"

Fitting lyrics for the moment.

As soon as I started, everyone except Carter was hyped:

"Thank you for inviting me to witness the love you want."

"I keep reminding myself not to run away..."

As a single girl, I sang like I’d been dumped eighteen times. My voice shook a little at first, but then steadied as I hit the chorus.

I caught a guy in the crowd with a red nose, clearly moved.

Near the end, I walked to the edge, looking at Carter not far away.

Those who knew I was just playing along; those who didn’t probably thought I owed him money.

I took a deep breath and sang the last line:

"I try to sincerely bless you. Please forgive my lack of grace and ambition—I choose to leave first."

Before the last note finished, I tossed the mic and slipped away.

I could feel my heart pounding as I ducked through the crowd. For a second, it felt like the whole campus was holding its breath, waiting to see what I’d do next.

They say I ran so fast, the whole scene went from heated to cold in seconds.

Savannah apparently got a retake notice halfway through and stormed off, leaving Carter behind.

The campus bad boy’s confession failed spectacularly for the first time.

If you ask what was left, it was probably just the video of my performance.

I’ve already seen five close-up shots from different angles on my Instagram stories.

But the best was still the one on my own phone.

Classmate Zoe Matthews came over:

"Didn’t expect you to be so photogenic—your skin looks great on camera. What skincare do you use?"

I grinned mysteriously: "iPhone, white balance at 4600K, sharpness +3, detail +2, saturation +2, tone +1—my secret recipe. Don’t tell."

Zoe: "..."

"You know, when people mention Autumn Blake, all they think of is backup singer?"

I handed in my final design: "Is that so?"

She showed me some comments:

"PainReliever23: Ouch, that was too painful."

"MemeQueen420: You can tell she poured her heart into it, but fate was cruel. In the end, she pretended to sing blessings without a care."

All that from one song?

But honestly, I could sing like that because I had a little talent.

Even more speechless:

"KeyboardWarriorLOL: Autumn’s singing is average, lacks emotion. If she wants to improve, I can give her a heartbreaking love story."

Me: "..."

Sorry, I only care about studying.

I scrolled past the comments, wondering if I should post a poll: "Which is harder, calculus or heartbreak?" My money’s on calculus every time, especially after last semester’s midterms.

Near the professor’s office, a retake notice on the bulletin board caught my eye—

Savannah’s name was on the list.

School rules: fail a class, lose your scholarship for the year.

And after a retake, the grade only counts as a pass—so her GPA would definitely take a hit.

Just then, my phone buzzed—a class GroupMe message:

"Full major ranking is out. DM the class rep for your results."

To protect privacy, the school told the class rep not to post the whole list.

So I messaged, and thirty seconds later, the class rep sent the whole file:

"Self-check."

So much for privacy.

Seeing the grade sheet, my heart raced, hands trembling.

Zoe asked: "What are you so scared of?"

I swallowed. "Afraid all that work after midterms was for nothing."

She got impatient and opened the file for me:

"Relax. Believe in yourself."

"Gold always shines, right, bestie."

Me: "..."

Who’s your bestie?

Zoe’s mouth is magic. She once prayed for rain during marching band camp, and half a week was canceled.

I squatted under the admin building, half-squinting at the results—

This semester, second in my major, far ahead of third place.

Not bad. I used to be second to last.

There are about 120 people in my major.

Last semester was rough, so my average barely made top 5%.

Zoe teased: "Not first—regret it?"

I was overjoyed inside, but calm outside: "It’s fine. The top student only knows how to study. For scholarships, only the academic award can threaten me."

As for Savannah, she did fine, but that’s it.

A high-credit course failed—big impact.

Before I could finish celebrating, a black Mercedes screeched to a halt in front of me at the campus parking lot, the bass thumping from the car stereo.

Zoe pulled me back: "Why are you standing there? Want to fake an accident with Carter and blackmail him?"

I shook my head, then nodded: "If I could, sure."

She gave me a thumbs up.

"Not bad. Anyone with dreams is awesome."

I took a selfie with my results page, just in case I needed a reminder that hard work pays off. Or at least, that it pays off more reliably than campus romance.

Carter tugged at his collar, unbuttoned a few, and got out slowly.

I ignored him and kept walking.

But Carter blocked my way, determined.

"Autumn Blake, stealing my teammates?"

I forced a laugh: "Reed, you’ve got the wrong person."

I’m not interested in Savannah.

But her scholarship? That’s another story.

Carter looked annoyed, voice low:

"Chris and Jordan joined me for the state innovation competition—why did they quit?"

How should I know?

He continued:

"But I saw the new team list—they joined your team."

I almost laughed.

"People weigh their options. Don’t you know why they left you?"

Innovation competitions are tough—lose a teammate, the team falls apart.

Let alone two who only care about romance.

But Carter was stubborn, a bit of a love-brain:

"What do you want? Will you leave for some money?"

Am I that kind of person?

If I were, would I be picking up bottles?

I pulled out the anti-scam app:

"If you want to give me money, fine. Otherwise, I’m reporting you to the campus safety office."

He choked, his aura deflated, voice lower: "I’ll remember this."

I added:

"Revenge is a dish best served cold!"

"But for cash, it has to be counted face-to-face. Once you leave the counter, it’s not my problem!"

Before I could say more, Chris hurried over:

"Dude, don’t drag innocent girls into this."

Carter shook him off, grabbing his collar: "You betraying me?"

Chris looked guilty: "Man, we can hang, party, I’ll help you if you need—but for the innovation contest, I can’t. It’s too important for our future."

Future...

Carter sneered: "You just want an award? Isn’t that just a word from my family?"

Such arrogance.

I couldn’t help but think—if Savannah accepted his confession, would all the awards go to her?

But I quickly dismissed the thought.

Chris looked miserable: "But my dad won’t pull strings. Says you have to earn things the right way."

Carter, frustrated, kicked a row of Lime bikes.

Chris stood aside, not daring to stop him.

The bikes—yellow and green—lined up on the curb.

The first yellow bike was kicked, toppling the whole row like dominoes.

Even from a distance, I could feel their helplessness.

Just standing there, suddenly taken out by a mad dog.

Looking at the fallen yellow bikes and still-standing green ones,

The two groups looked out of place, making me think.

Zoe propped up a bike: "What are you thinking now?"

"Actually, I realized something."

"Like what?"

"Differentiability implies continuity, but continuity doesn’t imply differentiability."

I grinned, knowing full well that only a math nerd would find comfort in calculus after a confrontation like that. (For the uninitiated: in calculus, being 'differentiable' is a stricter condition than just being 'continuous.')

Zoe was speechless: "I thought you were sad about not getting your bike deposit back."

A little bit.

When I’m happy, I study to celebrate; when I’m sad, I study to distract myself.

Seeing Savannah approach, I quickly pulled Zoe away:

"No more. Next week I’m off to the countryside—need to prep my practice report."

"Countryside?" she asked as we jogged away.

I explained: "In August there’s an English competition and a business market research contest."

Both are top-tier, worth the most bonus points for scholarship applications.

"How many surprises do you have?"

"Plenty. I even submitted campus guides to the school’s official Facebook and Instagram—they got approved, more points."

"Points for what?"

"Scholarship selection."

...

She gave me another thumbs up.

All these activities are listed on the extracurricular form—leadership in clubs, volunteering, competitions, even Greek life. Completion and awards add points.

"Why are you working so hard? Summer break’s almost here."

I smiled mysteriously: "Not much time left. I want to overtake everyone during the summer."

She sighed: "True. Whoever’s faster at the buffet gets the best food."

I said nothing, neither agreeing nor denying.

She picked up a flyer:

"Want me to sign you up for the campus talent show? First prize is three grand, plus bonus points and a poster."

"And if you sing ‘Guest’ again, you’ll go viral."

I paused: "Do I look that practical?"

She glanced back: "Aren’t you?"

Yeah, I really am.

I thought about how three grand could cover next semester’s books and a couple months’ rent. Suddenly, the idea didn’t seem so bad.

On the first day of summer practice in the countryside, I got two shades darker.

This year’s heat was brutal—July’s sun nearly baked the ground. The bus ride out of town was all rolling fields, the distant hum of country music on the radio, and the faint smell of chips and sunscreen from everyone’s backpacks.

Unfortunately, Savannah also signed up and got picked.

Naturally, Carter came too.

Rumor had it, the campus bad boy didn’t even need an interview—he just got in.

We were headed to a small town on the Top 100 Most Beautiful list, the kind of place you’d see on a Habitat for Humanity postcard.

As soon as Savannah got on the bus, she sat next to me.

"Hello, Group Leader Blake. Please take care of me."

"Wait, why are you slacking even in romance?"

I blurted out.

If you’re in love, be in love. Why compete with me for credits?

Besides, I hate slackers. If you slack, what am I supposed to slack off on?

"Slacking?" She froze. "I’ve been doing fieldwork!"

Realizing I misspoke, I quickly changed the subject:

"No, no, could you move to the seat behind?"

She half-joked: "No one else is here—am I bothering you?"

I half-squinted: "Yes, you’re pressing on my invisible wings."

Her smile stiffened, hair flip pausing midair.

I was actually being polite.

Carter, sitting a row behind, looked annoyed, then got up, grabbed Savannah’s wrist, and pulled her to his row.

She tried to resist, but couldn’t fight the angry Carter.

I watched the whole thing, expressionless.

Are they fighting, using me as a shield?

I quietly messaged Savannah on Instagram DM:

"Don’t use me to test Carter’s feelings."

"Are you that insecure?"

She didn’t reply, just shot me a resentful look before getting off.

I leaned back, letting the countryside roll by through the window. Sometimes, all you can do is let other people’s drama pass like scenery.

Savannah was sulking, I was planning a performance with elementary schoolers;

Carter was coaxing her, I was discussing community gardens and local revitalization projects with the town council leader;

They made up, and my research report got the only ‘Excellent’ in the group.

That earned me a school-level commendation and a feature article.

Every day, besides watching them date from afar, I was inspired by the councilman’s speeches about small-town development and the importance of local government internships.

At the end of August, the department head called me over: "Your semi-final score is impressive."

I was stunned: "How so?"

He adjusted his glasses:

"With this score, you’re not just guaranteed a finals spot—even if you tripped a judge on stage, they’d praise you for being well-rounded."

I couldn’t help but laugh.

The summer ended smoothly. Teammate Chris said Carter really had it out for me.

I pressed him for details:

"Will I get ambushed someday?"

"Not only starved for three days, but beaten too?"

He rubbed his sore shoulder: "It’s fine. I promised to help him with the practice report."

Besides the report, Chris also promised to do next semester’s calculus homework and an English essay.

I sighed: "He may not be good at designing assignments, but he’s great at scheming against people."

Chris frantically signaled me to stop talking.

I looked back and saw Carter coming up the stairs.

So close. Nearly ambushed.

Carter entered, arms crossed, looking at me: "Why are you here?"

Chris, seeing his bad mood, quickly said: "Scholarship defense next week. We’re here for materials."

A stack of scholarship forms and my excellent team leader certificate.

The advisor told me to prepare—she was rooting for me.

Carter glanced at me: "What a coincidence. I’m here for my girlfriend’s forms. You too?"

For some reason, there was disdain in his voice.

He still thought I was a slacker, unaware of my recent progress.

"Yeah. Why not come watch the defense?" I nodded, meeting his gaze.

Carter was intrigued: "I’ll come, but not for you."

To see Savannah, obviously.

But that’s fine—few spots, let’s see who wins.

Carter left with the forms, leaving me and Chris filling out paperwork.

I snorted: "He wants to see me fail, right?"

Chris shrugged: "Looks like it."

I didn’t care: "Let him. Plenty want to see me fail. Just wait—I’ve got more surprises."

Chris: "..."

I winked at him, then double-checked my forms. No way I was going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me trip up now.

The scholarship defense was held in the big lecture hall under the library—ten students per class.

The place was packed. I was a little nervous, picking at the edge of my folder.

Next to me, Savannah was holding Carter’s hand, snuggled close.

In the audience, Zoe waved a sign with my name—like a fan meeting.

"Autumn, win and treat us! Not picky—lobster and steak will do!"

I flicked her forehead: "Dream on. It’s not over yet."

Each college had only one spot, and Savannah was my main rival.

The host started the ceremony.

I adjusted my PowerPoint and mic. The judges were ready.

I drew third; Savannah was second.

She finished her speech gracefully, earning applause.

My turn.

As I walked on stage, I passed Savannah.

She smiled, her look saying: "Don’t waste your effort. I’ve got this."

I smiled back, just as confident.

Spotlight on me, I calmly introduced myself:

"Academically, my annual weighted average is 3.85, second in my major. Of course, compared to earlier speakers, it’s not much."

"But my strength is—"

I displayed my transcript and awards, categorized in the slides for clarity.

The audience murmured.

With each award, the whispers grew.

"She’s even stronger than Savannah."

"No comparison—no harm."

"This college is wild—first the bad boy chases the study queen, now the backup singer rises."

...

Wait, how did I become the backup singer?

I saw Zoe waving my sign like crazy.

The department head chimed in during the Q&A:

"The innovation competition on page three—this is our school’s first state first prize."

I nodded:

"Now we’re competing at the next level—the Challenge Cup. Hoping for good news."

"We’ve also connected with corporate partners—startup funding is on the way."

Coincidentally, this was the project I’d poached from Carter—a lucky find.

I started late, so I only joined A-level competitions.

Not as many awards as Savannah, but all top-tier, each worth double points.

The judges smiled, jotting down scores.

I met Savannah’s eyes below. She mouthed:

"You’re ruthless."

I understood. Her own failure is tough, but her rival’s success is even harder.

Honored to be her rival.

And I won.

The applause felt like the roar of a home crowd at a Friday night football game. For once, I was the one holding the trophy.

When the winners were announced, I was stunned.

Savannah left early; Carter chased after her.

This couple, always on the confession page, drew plenty of attention.

Some felt sorry, some laughed, most just sighed.

I couldn’t help thinking:

If every other wish comes true, maybe losing in love is okay.

Back in the dorm, Mariah was so shocked she dropped her phone.

I picked it up, curious: "What are you looking at?"

She muttered: "How did study goddess Savannah lose to you...?"

Why not?

Even gods can fall from the altar.

Another roommate chimed in: "We’re looking at the campus confessions app. Savannah’s roommate posted that Carter sent her a big Venmo to comfort her for losing. The amount was exactly the same as the dean’s scholarship!"

I knew Carter was rich, but didn’t expect him to be so extravagant.

This must be what they call ‘success through hard work’—if someone works hard for you, you can work hard for them later.

For now, I’ll rest for a few days.

I lay on my bed: "I’m not jealous—I just had my photo taken for the dean’s list photo wall."

Confession page, honor wall—both are walls, but worlds apart.

Mariah shot me a look, then went back to her Netflix show.

"Blake, planning to take the grad school exam?" someone asked.

I answered: "Of course. But doesn’t our school have a recommendation spot?"

Mariah cut in: "Wow! That’s hard to get."

I was speechless. Why does she always chime in on these topics?

"No matter how hard, so what?" I yawned. "What’s mine is mine; what’s not, I’ll fight for."

Surprisingly, Mariah just pressed her lips and didn’t argue.

I rolled over, hugging my pillow. For the first time, I felt like I belonged here—not as a side character, but as someone who could write her own ending.

I tried to keep a low profile.

But my skills wouldn’t let me.

At the campus Battle of the Bands final, my performance went viral, thanks to those who saw me sing on the football field.

I was first in online votes, second overall.

For a while, half the school forum posts were about me.

The other half were about Savannah finally accepting Carter’s confession—campus bad boy’s confession success.

Through my own efforts, I ended up sharing the spotlight with the main couple. Unbelievable.

The top three singers had their faces on billboards. I got some prize money.

The dorm’s rolling billboard showed my photo every day, right outside the student union.

Another roommate scrutinized my picture:

"This photo is retouched well."

I was proud: "Of course—I spent a whole day and night editing it."

Zoe chimed in: "No need to edit. Already pretty."

I glanced at her: "How pretty?"

She grinned:

"If good looks were taxable, you’d pay off the national debt; if good looks were illegal, you’d be doing life; if being pretty was a crime, I’d gladly be your accomplice!"

Me: "..."

I admit, I did ride the main characters’ popularity. From the dean’s list wall to billboards—maybe one day I’ll have a life-size cutout.

I imagined myself as a cardboard cutout in the student union, sunglasses on, holding a coffee cup. Not a bad legacy.

A year later, I got the grad school recommendation.

Equally successful, Zoe cheered: "Wow! Congrats!"

She was so loud, everyone in the cafeteria line looked at us.

I was shocked too. The results were posted just fifteen minutes ago—how did she know?

"Congratulating me?" I double-checked.

"No, why congratulate a single girl? I’m congratulating my ship—Carter and Savannah got their marriage certificate!"

...

Well, never mind.

I expected this ending: "Yeah, Savannah found love, the campus bad boy got his girl, and all I have is a grad school spot and a pile of scholarships."

Zoe rolled her eyes: "Want a beating?"

Not really, but it’s KFC Crazy Thursday—a meme around here—and I owe someone fifty bucks.

She scrolled through Instagram, explaining:

"Their relationship lasted three years! Too bad Savannah found love, but still couldn’t outdo you."

I ordered salad: "So what? Maybe soon she won’t have to work as hard as me."

Zoe sniffed: "You put vinegar on your veggies? So sour."

Sour? I like sweet—I didn’t use vinegar...

Only then did I realize she was teasing me.

I took a bite, then replied:

"Not sour. I’m proud of my own comeback."

"By the way, does getting a marriage certificate add to your extracurricular points? If so, I’ll get one too."

She knocked my head: "Studied too much? No partner, how do you get a certificate?"

Alright then.

But she added: "Actually, it does add points. Go find a partner."

I stretched, pulled out my phone, and posted to Instagram:

"No, I’m past the age of puppy love."

"Now the deer has grown up, walks steadily, and brings the wind!"

For the photo, I chose a screenshot of my graduate school acceptance letter, captioned—

"No matter how tough the road, I’ll get through. The future is long and bright. Stay tuned for what’s next."

- The End -