Chapter 3
Bruce frowned. "Why only three sessions a week? I can hire you every day. As long as the results are there, I don't mind raising your pay."
I refused.
Three times a week. No more, no less.
I wasn't the kind of person to put all my eggs in one basket.
Without hesitation, I turned around and messaged Bruce's sworn rival, Shawn Pendle—the second-to-last ranked student in the grade.
Cammy: [Tutoring lessons. Interested?]
Shawn: [?]
I laid out his current situation with brutal honesty. If he didn't make some changes, it wouldn't be long before he took Bruce's place at the bottom.
He scoffed. [Ridiculous. No matter what he does, Bruce is destined to be last.]
Then I sent him a picture of Bruce's latest quiz results.
Cammy: [Oops, wrong person.]
Silence.
On the other end of the screen, he was struggling. I could feel it.
After a long pause, he finally replied: [Let's talk in person.]
…
Soon, Shawn was locked in as well.
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were for Bruce.
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were for Shawn.
My great tutoring enterprise had officially begun.
Without a sound, Bruce and Shawn were rising in the ranks of this elite school.
According to Bruce, he simply couldn't tolerate being at the bottom any longer.
According to Shawn, he absolutely refused to let Bruce surpass him.
Making money from both of them wasn't easy.
I would casually let slip some of Bruce's recent progress, or accidentally leave behind one of his passing quiz papers.
"Oh? How did this get here?"
Shawn's eyes widened, locking onto the page like a hawk.
"Can we add an extra hour today? I'll pay triple."
"Deal."
I made sure to compliment his ambition. He soaked it in, working even harder.
With Bruce, I played to his sense of competition. After all, there was no place lower than dead last. He had no choice but to fight.
…
Over time, I grew exhausted.
I took back what I said about making money being a piece of cake.
Money was hard to earn. And dealing with these two was hell.
Tutoring wasn't difficult—it all depended on who I was tutoring.
Sometimes, I snapped. "Do you even have a brain between your ears?"
I finally understood the pain of cows being forced to work in fields.
I even felt I deserved compensation for emotional damages.
That day, rubbing the dark circles under my eyes, I stumbled out of the lounge, half-asleep.
Then I stopped.
A figure stood in front of me.
Wesley.
Armband on his sleeve, a blue folder in one hand, a black pen in the other.
His gaze lingered on me, unreadable.
"Cammy."
Instantly, I snapped to attention.
I was wary of Wesley.
He had a way of existing just enough to be noticed, yet not enough to be truly understood.
We were destined to be enemies from the moment we found ourselves standing in the garbage dump—or at least, that was my unilateral declaration.
I fully expected him to say something like, "This is my garbage dump. If you touch it, I'll deduct all your points."
Instead, he lowered his head and scribbled something on his notepad.
"No school badge. Minus two points."
I was speechless.
He was definitely not a friend.
Wesley eyed the dark circles under my eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he carefully chose his words.
"Be mindful of your image."
I admitted my fault. "Yes, I know. Not wearing the school badge is my mistake. But has it ever occurred to you that I don't even own a school uniform?"
The school had supposedly invited some famous designer to custom-make them.
The others had reacted as follows:
"This brand isn't high-end enough."
"Unbelievable. You expect me to wear this?"
"Is the school bankrupt? I'll ask my dad to invest in another building."
Every sentence made me be aware of my poverty.
Wesley paused. "You didn't know?"
I blinked. "Know what?"
After a moment's thought, he handed me his phone.
He pointed to the screen.
I glanced at it. A giant headline jumped out at me.
[The Innocent Cinderella Is Not What She Seems: Secret Trysts Revealed! Monday, Wednesday, and Friday With Him—And Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday With…]
I scratched my head. It looked like the kind of trashy gossip article you'd find in sketchy tabloids. Some random scandal, probably.
Then I scrolled down.
The first photo was a close-up of my face, dark circles and all, looking like something straight out of a horror movie.
I was shocked.
My innocent and cute schoolgirl image had turned into a vengeful spirit that lingered in the halls at night.
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