Chapter 4 : Rumors and Heartbeats
843 Words
Samantha's POV
The morning after detention, West Bridge High School felt entirely different. Not because anything had physically changed, but because every single eye was locked onto me.
Whispers started the exact moment I stepped through the front gates.
"That's her."
"The scholarship girl."
"The one who fought Peter Kingston."
"I heard they spent two hours alone together yesterday."
"No way. Peter would've killed her."
I tightened my grip on my backpack straps and kept moving, pretending I couldn't hear a thing. People stared as though I had suddenly become some kind of campus celebrity. I hated it.
I wasn't here to become the school's daily entertainment. I was here because my mother had sacrificed everything to give me this opportunity. I couldn't afford a single distraction.
"Morning!" Cassie hurried toward me, slightly out of breath. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"You found me," I said, offering a tired smile.
She glanced around nervously before lowering her voice. "You've become the hottest topic in school."
"I noticed."
"They're saying Peter likes you."
I nearly laughed aloud. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all week."
Cassie shrugged. "I know it's ridiculous, but people believe it."
"They can believe whatever they want."
"You don't seem worried.""I am," I admitted quietly, looking down at the scholarship badge pinned to my uniform blazer.
Cassie’s smile faded; she understood immediately. West Bridge had strict rules, and one serious disciplinary issue could put a
scholarship under review. My family couldn't pay the tuition. If I lost this chance, everything my mother had worked for would disappear.
"I'll be careful," I whispered, more to myself than to her.
Together, we walked toward our lockers.
The hallway buzzed with conversation until someone suddenly shouted, "Peter's here!"
Like magic, the crowd parted. The girls straightened their uniforms, and the boys stepped out of the way. I didn't bother turning around, refusing to let him control my day again.
His footsteps echoed through the hallway—confident, unhurried, and dominant. The ambient whispers grew louder as he passed.
For a brief moment, I felt his heavy presence right behind me. Then... nothing. He walked right past.
I blinked. That was completely unexpected.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him continue toward his classroom without even looking in my direction.
Cassie frowned. "That's strange."
"What is?"
"He ignored you. Peter never ignores people."
"Good. I wish he'd start."
She looked unconvinced, but I ignored it and unlocked my locker. The metal door swung open, and my heart instantly stopped.
Thick, wet red paint was dripping slowly down the shelves.
Across the inside of the door, written in huge, uneven letters, were the words:
GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM, SCHOLARSHIP GIRL.
For a second, I couldn't breathe. The busy hallway fell dead silent as a crowd instantly gathered around us. Someone covered their mouth in shock; someone else pulled out a phone to snap a picture.
Heat rushed into my face, and my books slipped from my numb hands, crashing loudly onto the floor.
Cassie gasped, her voice trembling. "Oh my God..."
Tears burned fiercely behind my eyes, but I forced them back. Not here. I won't cry in front of them. Not again.
A slow, deliberate clap suddenly echoed from the back of the crowd.
Students immediately stepped aside, and Peter Kingston walked forward. His eyes landed on the vandalism, and the lazy expression
vanished from his face. His jaw tightened.
For the first time since I'd met him, he looked genuinely angry.
I turned toward him, my voice shaking with rage. "So this is your idea of revenge?"
His brows pulled together. "What?"
"You weren't satisfied with humiliating me once?"
His eyes flicked from the bleeding red letters back to my face. "I didn't do this."
"Liar."
"I said I didn't."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe," he said, his voice dropping to a calm that was far too dangerous. That somehow made me angrier.
"You've made it perfectly clear what you think of people like me, Peter."
Peter looked back at the cruel words. Something dark flashed across his features—not satisfaction, but a raw, unbridled rage.
Except it wasn't directed at me. He took one step closer, towering over me.
"I said... I didn't do this."
I let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Of course. You expect me to think this just happened by itself?"
Before he could answer, the warning bell rang sharply.
The crowd quickly scattered toward their classrooms, but neither of us moved. For several long seconds, we simply stared at each
other, neither willing to be the first to back down.
Finally, I bent down and gathered my fallen books. "I'll report this."
Peter didn't stop me, and he didn't argue. He just stood there, his eyes fixed on the hateful words inside the locker.
As I turned my back and walked away, I caught him muttering something so quietly that it was almost swallowed by the empty
hallway.
"Who the hell did this?"
- Writer
