someone who isn' t just going

olished oak table of the student lounge. Her eyes scanned the room, fille

ng to blend into the

nding like a sweet poison on he

k. I was Lily Reed, the scholarship student. The one who

rmchair. He was handsome, talented, and knew it. He was also t

didn' t look at me, but I knew he was talking to me. "Her mom wo

or a collector, she was a gallery assistant. She hung paintings for people like them. The com

rson," I said, my voice barely a whisp

usand times since we were kids, but now it felt different, heavy with expectation. "It' s not that much work

ty. They just wanted to paint and enjoy their trust funds. I was the re

xpression was unyielding. He was pressuring me

ord tasting bitter in m

lips. Mark just nodded, as if the outcome was

he class art fund, a pool of over two million

s, approved legitimate expenses, and made sure every receipt was filed. I poured myself into my art, my final gradu

ccount balance dwindled as we bought canvases, paints, and rented equipme

of the graduat

were hung in a prime location, and I felt a surge of pride. For a moment, I forgot about the social

e small stage at the center of t

e large space. "This is a proud moment for all of us. But before we

owd. I felt a knot of d

the room. They were cold, h

d a hammer blow, "that our class art fund has been misma

the shock ripple

?" someon

at me. "One point ei

arted whispering, their eyes darting between Mark

fund," Mark continued, his voice lace

me. I could see the judgment, the suspicion, the confirmation of

s on fire. Humiliation washed over me, so to

voice shaking but loud enough t

of his head. "Lily, we all

insisted, taking a step forward. "E

side Mark now, her arm linked through his, a picture of supportive concern

anger. This was a lie. A set-up. And I wouldn' t let them destroy me. "L

ok with Tiffany. He hadn' t expe

. "Let everyone see

s bank account on the large projector screen behind the

aw it. My bl

d the balance was displa

Balance:

h the room. It was far less than anyone

is voice booming. "Where is the one point eight mi

the transaction history. They were sh

demanded, my voice trembling with a mix o

ward, her eyes glistening with tears. She looked

ake this any harder on yourself. We were friends. Just tel

ered criminal and her as a heartbroken friend. She was trying to

"Mark, maybe we should handle this pri

rofound sense of shock. This wasn't just an accusation

e. He was my childhood friend. We grew up together, sketched in the

as destr

couldn't breathe the s

intings, on the shocked and accusing faces of my classmates.

nto the cold night air, the sound