Chapter 2: The Girl Everyone Hates

Caleb Brooks is a campus legend.

He’s the kind of guy who’s always at the center of every group photo, the one people talk about in the hallways, whether he’s there or not. He’s the guy every teacher remembers, for better or worse.

Tall, good-looking, smart, from a well-off family in Maple Heights. He’s dated plenty of girls, but none of his relationships have lasted more than a month.

He’s generous, though, so every breakup is friendly. Even so, girls still flock to him, hoping to be the one who finally tames the bad boy.

Not me. I never had such big dreams.

I chased after him for one reason only: I’m a sucker for a pretty face, and he’s exactly my type.

Being with Caleb has been genuinely enjoyable. He’s charming, thoughtful, romantic—and most importantly, looking at that face every day just puts me in a good mood.

It was almost like dating the poster boy of every Abercrombie ad I’d ever seen in high school. He’d bring me coffee on a whim, send a dumb meme at 2 a.m., and laugh so loud the whole room would turn to look. I didn’t care about forever. I liked the now.

So, even though the comments say he’ll fall head over heels for someone else, I’m not going to blame him for things he hasn’t even done yet.

But if it really comes to that, if he does fall for someone else, I’ll let go without a second thought.

No one is irreplaceable in a relationship.

I remembered Mom, always up before dawn, pouring Folgers into a chipped mug, telling me: “You gotta know when to hold on, and when to walk away, kiddo.” Guess I’d finally understand what she meant.

---

That afternoon, I went to the coffee shop near campus. The place smelled like burnt espresso and cinnamon, indie rock humming from a Bluetooth speaker behind the counter. A barista with a nose ring was scribbling names on paper cups.

As soon as I placed my order, the comments popped up again:

[The side girl is about to make things difficult for the main girl at her part-time job.]

[Can the side girl just leave already? Protect our girl!]

So, this is where Natalie Summers works part-time.

A gentle female voice spoke beside me:

"Strawberry shortcake for you! And, uh, need a top-off on your water?"

I turned to see Natalie Summers.

Oval face, bright watery eyes, fair skin, long silky brown hair. She looked delicate and lovely.

She had the classic girl-next-door look, the kind casting directors love—like she’d wandered straight off a Target back-to-school ad. The sunlight coming through the window caught the little flyaways in her hair, turning them gold.

When she saw me, she froze, eyes widening in shock. The pitcher in her hand tilted, pouring cold water all over me.

I gasped from the chill.

My cheeks burned as cold water soaked my dress, and I could feel every pair of eyes in the café land on me. Someone snickered. I wanted to disappear.

Natalie snapped out of it and quickly set down the pitcher:

"I’m so sorry!"

She reached for a napkin, but in her panic, knocked the strawberry shortcake onto me as well. Sticky cream smeared all over my dress.

The pink icing dripped down my skirt, and a clump of cake landed on my knee. The whole café seemed to pause, waiting to see if I’d explode or just melt into the linoleum.

I sucked in a breath.

Great. This dress is real silk chiffon. You can’t just wash it—cream stains mean it’s ruined.

I frowned in frustration.

Seeing my expression, Natalie’s eyes instantly turned red, like a frightened deer:

"I’m really sorry. How much was your dress? I’ll pay you back."

I looked up at her.

She looked terrified, her whole body trembling. But when our eyes met, I caught a flash of stubbornness in her gaze.

For a second, I almost admired it—like she wasn’t going to break, no matter how many times life (or I) knocked her down.

I said, "Three thousand for the dress."

Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said three grand. But the comments had me on edge, and for a second, I wanted to play the villain they already thought I was.

Natalie’s eyes widened in disbelief. She stumbled back, tears streaming down her cheeks:

"What?"

I sighed, about to say I didn’t actually want her to pay. But the comments cut in:

[The main girl didn’t mean it! Why is the side girl demanding so much money?]

[Who wears such expensive clothes to eat? If it gets dirty, isn’t that her own fault?]

[Someone call the cops and arrest the side girl, she’s disgusting.]

[Main girl, don’t cry! You did nothing wrong.]

The words caught in my throat. I felt a surge of irritation.

Seriously? Why does it look like I’m bullying her?

My fingers curled into fists under the table. It didn’t matter what I said or did—they’d already picked their villain. I wanted to scream at the invisible crowd, but I bit my tongue, swallowing my pride with the bitter aftertaste of injustice.