I tried to stay invisible. I let my roommate insult me, rummage through my things, spread rumors, and even parade her knockoffs around like they were superior to mine. None of it mattered—until she stole my scholarship and labeled me “unfit” for it. That was when my patience finally snapped. And when my father made one single phone call, the girl who called me “low-brow” finally realized who she had been provoking. Recently, my roommate Danielle Clementine has been dating a so-called “trust fund guy,” and she flaunts it around the dorm nonstop. “Hey, check out this Tiffany bracelet he got me. Isn’t it gorgeous?” She lifted her wrist toward the light, angling it so the metal glinted dramatically. “Wow, that must’ve cost thousands! Your boyfriend treats you so well!” “For real! Does he have any friends? Set us up!” The girls crowded around her, piling on compliments. Their worship made Danielle glow like she’d just won a pageant. She even tossed out a handful of high-end cosmetics, and the others scrambled to grab them, squealing in excitement. I sat off to the side reading, not joining the commotion. That, of course, caught Danielle’s attention. She shot me an annoyed look. “Sophie, don’t you think this Tiffany bracelet is stunning? Way better than that cheap silver bangle you always wear, right?” I glanced at the bracelet and immediately recognized the telltale signs—it was a knockoff. The “plain” silver bracelet on my wrist? Limited-edition Tiffany. Still, I stayed low-key. “Yeah, it’s pretty. My silver bracelet is nothing special.” Pleased, Danielle walked over and snapped my book shut. “Sophie, you really need to, like, invest in decent jewelry. It’s embarrassing standing next to you.” I didn’t respond. Everyone knew Danielle’s background wasn’t glamorous; she wasn’t even solid middle-class. Before this “boyfriend,” she lived in cheap T-shirts and jeans. Now she acted like a socialite. I quietly reopened my book, trying to find my place. Alexa Wind looped her arm through Danielle’s. “Forget her. You two aren’t in the same league anyway. Let’s go eat tonight—I want the full update about you and your boyfriend.” Danielle smirked. “Can’t. I’m going out with him tonight.” Jealousy flashed across Alexa’s face. “At some fancy restaurant, right? Don’t forget to post pictures!” Danielle didn’t answer. She spent fifteen minutes applying makeup, put on her only dress worth over $500, and strutted out like a swan. That evening, I ordered spicy gumbo and ate in the dorm while Alexa squealed, “Danielle just posted! Look—foie gras, caviar, red wine, steak… oh my gosh!” The roommates crowded around her. Alexa looked at my gumbo with disdain. “Some people go on luxury dates, and some stay home with cheap gumbo. Talk about contrast.” Gumbo was now a moral failing, apparently. She shoved her phone at me. “Look how perfect they look together.” I glanced at the photo—and paused. The “trust fund guy” in the picture? My family’s new security guard. My dad had made his fortune in Seattle after an early jackpot win, and during high school I’d had everything—designer clothes, a chauffeur. Unfortunately, that also made me a target, and I almost got kidnapped. Since then, Dad insisted I keep a low profile. Even though he bought a mansion in Greenwich, Connecticut, near Columbia University, he encouraged me to stay in the campus dorms. I still liked quality clothing, but to avoid attention, I’d often call my things “knockoffs.” Eventually, everyone assumed I was a poser with a taste for fakes. I didn’t care. I was here to study. Dad always said: “We only have money. You have to earn the honor.” A whole wall of our home displayed my awards—each framed like a priceless treasure. Once, Dad climbed a ladder to fix a peeling corner on one of the frames. My goal in college was to win scholarships every year. Money meant nothing; the recognition did. Recently, we replaced our security guard, and the previous one recommended his nephew, Tony James. He seemed responsible. I had no reason to expect he’d pose as a rich boyfriend for Danielle. As the roommates gushed over her post, I couldn’t help but laugh silently.
Danielle returned from her date wearing a knockoff Chanel outfit and carrying a pile of gifts. One by one, she laid them out as the roommates crowded around. “Danielle, that Chanel looks amazing.” “Gucci perfume? Can I just hold it?” “Ugh, I’m so jealous!” Danielle smiled smugly and stole a glance at me before lifting one bag. “Sophie, I remember you have a similar Hermès. Want to compare?” I removed an earbud and watched calmly as she opened my locker and pulled out my Hermès tote. She placed hers beside mine and raised her voice dramatically. “Hmm? Sophie, yours looks a bit… different from mine.” Different was an understatement. Her bag had the shiny surface and thick piping typical of a knockoff. Feigning innocence, she said, “How strange. Mine’s a gift from my boyfriend. Yours is from home, right?” Alexa chimed in eagerly, “Oh yeah. Sophie started school with knockoffs. Makes sense her bag wouldn’t be real.” Then, as if she were some wise critic, Alexa continued, “Sophie, buying fake designer stuff doesn’t change your background. Flaunting knockoffs only distorts your values.” Danielle looked proud, as though she’d won a debate. I kept calm. “Danielle, did you even ask before going through my things? And Alexa, your flattery is impressive. You two make quite the duo.” Danielle scoffed, grabbed a pair of scissors, and said, “If I hadn’t checked, I wouldn’t have known how vain you are. Let me help you out by cutting this knockoff.” She raised the scissors while Alexa gestured for the others to hold me. I didn’t flinch. “Go ahead. But if you make even one cut, you’ll pay for it.” Danielle hesitated. “Even if it’s fake, Hermès knockoffs still cost thousands. Are you sure you can cover that?” A beat passed. Then she backed down and put the scissors away. I said lightly, “Clean up my locker when you’re done.” Alexa snapped, “Sophie, don’t push your luck.” Danielle ignored me, humming while cleaning. I gave her one last warning. “Danielle, I’ll only say it once more—clean my locker.” She rolled her eyes, so I stood up and kicked her chair. “I won’t ask again.” The room froze. Even Alexa went silent. Shivering, Danielle finally cleaned it properly. When she finished, I checked the locker, sat down, and began reading my textbook aloud. The entire dorm went quiet.
I didn’t think much more about Danielle after that. I threw myself into my goal: winning the scholarship. My GPA was the highest in the department. I aced every physical exam. I never missed any scholarship-eligible activity. So when award day came, I was stunned to see Danielle listed as the National Merit Scholarship recipient—while my name was missing entirely. Not even a minor award. All my effort, brushed aside. I checked my evaluation. Every score was top-tier—except “character.” Ms. Julia Lambert had marked me “unsatisfactory.” Heart racing, I went straight to her office. Danielle was already there, smiling triumphantly. “Wow, Sophie. Didn’t think luck would be on my side. Guess hard work doesn’t always matter.” I ignored her. “Ms. Lambert, I have a question about the scholarship results.” She sighed impatiently. “Sophie, academic ability alone doesn’t define you. You lack teamwork and good conduct, so I couldn’t recommend you.” I was speechless. I had always shared notes, helped classmates, and served as class rep. The only people I’d clashed with were my roommates. Danielle’s guilty expression confirmed everything. I steadied myself. “Ms. Lambert, basing this on one person’s word seems inappropriate.” Her expression darkened. “Are you questioning my professionalism?” Danielle added sweetly, “Ms. Lambert, don’t bother. Sophie can be pretty low-brow.” I glanced at Ms. Lambert’s “Tiffany” bracelet—also a knockoff. “Ms. Lambert, Danielle gave you that bracelet, didn’t she?” She froze. I stood. “If I can’t get justice here, I’ll speak with the Dean.” Danielle snorted. “Go ahead. I’d love to see you try.” In the hallway, people whispered about the scholarship. Alexa mocked loudly, “Look who’s here—the top student who can’t even get a scholarship.” I ignored her and called the Dean. When I couldn’t reach him, I emailed a detailed report with evidence. After a week with no response, I nearly gave up—until Dad texted: “Proud of you for winning. Don’t forget about your old man.” I called home, crying as I explained everything. Mom was furious. “Frank! Call the Dean right now and have that counselor fired!” I choked, “Mom… they won’t respond. What can Dad do?” Dad rubbed his head awkwardly. “Didn’t I tell you? I joined the board of trustees.” Before I could react, the Dean called personally, apologizing and promising immediate action. Danielle walked into the dorm just as the Dean’s voice came through the speaker: “As per school policy, your roommate will face disciplinary action and return the scholarship.” Danielle burst out laughing. “Seriously? Did you hire someone to pretend to be the Dean? That’s hilarious.” Alexa added, “Right? She must be losing it.” Then the Dean asked, “Who is speaking?” “That would be my roommate,” I said. He replied, “Understood. Sophie, the updated list will be posted tomorrow.” He hung up. I glanced at Danielle, blissfully unaware of the disaster awaiting her. Then I went to sleep. The next morning, I jolted awake to Danielle screaming like the world was ending. She was sitting upright on her bed, hair sticking out in all directions, gripping her phone as if it had
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