My Friend, the Fake Rich Kid

The day before the semester began, my childhood friend Daniel Carter asked if he could borrow my private jet.

Thinking he'd finally changed his ways, I agreed without a second thought.

A moment later, he transferred a single dollar, calling it rent because he couldn't stand the thought of freeloading.

The quirky amount said more than words ever could. I smiled and accepted it.

On the first day of school, I kept things low-key, taking a cab back to campus. But when I arrived, there it was, my private jet parked right in the middle of the quad.

The jet had been decked out in bubblegum pink, and students crowded around, their eyes shining with envy.

My heart leapt. For once, I thought Daniel had finally figured it out. Beaming, I braced myself for his surprise.

But as I drew closer, my smile froze. Sitting barefoot in the pilot's seat, my seat, was Clara West, the campus' queen bee.

The Jet That Wasn't Hers

"Oh my God, that's a private jet! Whose is it? That's insane!"

"You didn't see Clara, our department's queen bee, sitting inside? Figures."

"No wonder she posted yesterday that her back-to-school gift was sweet. Talk about filthy rich."

I stood on the edge of the crowd, watching my private jet smothered in pink ribbons and balloons like some oversized birthday cake, my brows tightening.

That jet, Serena Vale, had been my eighteenth-birthday gift.

And yesterday, my childhood friend Daniel borrowed it.

Thinking I must be seeing things, I pushed through the crowd to take a closer look.

I pulled aside the gaudy decorations on the tail, only to find the initials my mother had carved there herself had been scratched almost beyond recognition.

Clara, in a brand-new white dress and wearing a smug smile, strutted toward me with a flock of girls trailing behind.

She lifted her chin, squinting at me. "Serena? You're here too? I wasn't planning on showing off like this, but my boyfriend insisted the first day of school had to come with a surprise."

I stepped forward, my voice flat. "Clara, I'm giving you ten minutes to put my jet back the way it was."

Her smile froze, a flicker of panic crossing her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I said, pointing at the ruined jet, "that this jet is mine. And for the record, I don't like people shoving their bare feet into my pilot's seat. It makes me sick."

"Liar! This jet was a gift from my boyfriend. He's the Carter family's only heir. The Carters—probably too far above you for you to even know the name! You show up here in cabs and now you're so desperate for money you'd stoop to claiming this is yours?"

With a cold laugh, she flicked her wrist. The girls at her side instantly shoved me against the fuselage.

The crack of her slap echoed in the air. My cheek burned like fire.

The crowd went silent. I locked my