Her Sweet Revenge

Vindicated

When I got home, the smoothie was still in my hair.

I didn’t say a word to Johnny. He was playing some loud, explosive game in the living room—something with aliens and guns—and he barely looked up as I stomped past.

Up the stairs.

Down the hall.

Into my room.

Click. Door locked.

I stood in the middle of my room, smoothie drying on my scalp, and looked around at all the artifacts of the girl I used to be.

Tom Holland smiled down at me from the wall. I ripped his poster down dramatically.

Then immediately regretted it and smoothed out the creases. “Sorry, Tom. Collateral damage.”

I rolled it up gently and placed it under my bed for safekeeping.

Next, I attacked the shelf.

Off came the glittery unicorns, the My Little Pony plushies, the Barbie dream camper—yes, I still had it, don’t judge me—and every sparkly stickered diary I hadn’t touched in years. I stuffed them all into a box labeled CHILDISH NONSENSE and shoved it into the back of my closet.

This wasn’t a girl’s room anymore.

This was a war room.

I pulled out the blank poster board I’d bought for last week’s biology project (which I hadn’t started—whoops) and spread it across my bed like it was a battlefield map. I grabbed my colored Sharpies. I wasn’t just angry—I was organized angry.

At the top, in bold red letters, I wrote: OPERATION: VINDICATION.

Underneath it, I started listing everything I knew about Amanda Bentley.

Her weaknesses.

Her minions (aka “The Plastics”).

Her pets (aka boys she’s manipulated with her hair flips and fake smiles).

Her schedule.

Her social life.

Even her favorite Starbucks order. (It’s a vanilla sweet cream cold brew with caramel drizzle, because of course it is.)

I stared at the empty section labeled “Allies.” I chewed the cap of my marker. Doing this alone was going to be hard. Amanda had an army. I needed a team.

Or at least… one spy.

I left my room and tiptoed back downstairs.

Johnny was still on the couch, headset on, yelling into his mic. “DUDE, YOU JUST RAN INTO MY GRENADE!”

I waited until his round ended before clearing my throat.

“Ahem.”

He glanced over. “What?”

“I need your help.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

Johnny paused his game. “Okay, finish.”

“I need you to be my spy. I need intel. Surveillance. I need to know everything Amanda Bentley is up to. Her movements. Her weaknesses. And I also need you to throw the party of the year.”

He stared at me like I’d grown three heads. “What?! Mom will kill me.”

“I know. But it’s the only thing I’ve ever asked for as your big sister.”

“Not true. You once asked me to pretend to be a fairy frog prince and marry your Build-A-Bear.”

“That was different. I was six and under the influence of glitter glue. This is serious.”

He groaned and rubbed his face. “Why me?”

“Because you’re kind of popular now. Because she talks to you. Because you can get invited to her inner circle without anyone suspecting you’re working with the enemy.”

Johnny hesitated.

“I’m not asking you to sabotage her,” I lied. “Just observe. Report back.”

“And the party?”

“Your friends love you. You just have to... host. I’ll do the rest.”

He groaned again. “Fine. But if I get grounded, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair.”

I darted back upstairs before he could change his mind. I launched myself onto my bed, grabbed a marker, and wrote JOHNNY – SPY #1 under the “Allies” column.

I was officially no longer alone.

The next few days were a blur of “accidental” eavesdropping, hallway reconnaissance, and tracking Amanda’s movements through social media. I knew she had ballet on Thursdays, that she liked to “accidentally” run into football players during lunch, and that she had a private burner Insta account where she posted cryptic “sad girl” quotes.

I started sketching maps of her social reach. Notes. Timelines. Names connected by colored strings. I was turning into a mini stalker, sure, but it was justified. This was justice, not obsession.

But that Thursday afternoon, as I crouched behind a tree near the studio window, pretending to tie my shoe while watching her dance with fake elegance, I felt it.

Eyes.

Someone was watching me.

My skin prickled.

I looked around quickly—nothing.

Probably just nerves. After all, no one ever noticed me. That was the whole point, right?

Still, I packed up and walked home fast, head low, heart racing. Just in case.

By Friday, school felt like a war zone.

Every hallway a minefield. Every class a battlefield. Amanda passed me in the hall and “accidentally” bumped into me—twice. Her friends snickered. One of them posted a blurry photo of me in the cafeteria captioned “tragic.” The post got thirty likes in two minutes.

But I didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

This was all part of the plan.

Let her think I was still the same old invisible Aaliyah. Let her underestimate me.

Today felt... strange, though. Like the air had changed. There was an electric buzz in the halls. People were whispering. Phones flashing. Something had dropped, and it was fresh. Fresh gossip always brought a frenzy.

I relaxed a little.

If people were gossiping, that meant it wasn’t about me.

I approached my locker, twisted the combination, and sighed with relief as the whispers swirled around me like a storm cloud I had miraculously dodged.

And then—

He walked in.

I didn’t see him at first. I felt him.

It was like gravity shifted for a second.

Then I turned my head and saw him strolling down the hallway like he owned the place. Hair slightly messy, dark hoodie unzipped over a plain white tee, backpack slung over one shoulder. Tall. Broad. Trouble.

Landon Taylor.

Amanda Bentley’s ex.

My breath caught in my throat.

He’d transferred schools after they broke up last spring. She said it was mutual. He said nothing at all. He was older, a junior, and every rumor said he was mysterious, angry, and kind of dangerous.

And now… he was back?

Whispers turned into full-on buzz.

Amanda hadn’t seen him yet.

But I had.

And for one strange second, our eyes met across the hall.

He looked… tired. Sad. But curious.

And then—he smirked.

At me.

I quickly looked away, slammed my locker shut, and nearly ran into Johnny, who had appeared beside me like a ghost. “Did you see—?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Landon Taylor was back.

And suddenly, I had a new idea.

Revenge is good.

But revenge with backup?

That’s even better.