Autumn's POV
Week One is whispers.
They follow me everywhere. In the hallways. In the cafeteria. Even in the bathroom where I hide between classes.
"She actually thought he liked her."
"So desperate."
"I heard she cried on the bus all night."
"Embarrassing."
I keep my head down. Hoodie up. Glasses on. I eat lunch in the art room with the door locked. I avoid eye contact. I count down the days.
Crew tries to talk to me every single day.
Monday: "Autumn, please. Just give me five minutes."
Tuesday: "I don't understand what I did wrong."
Wednesday: "Can we start over?"
Thursday: "At least tell me you're okay."
Friday: "I miss you."
Each time, I walk away without answering. Each time, Madison watches with that poisonous smile.
By Friday afternoon, I'm exhausted from dodging him. I duck into the library during lunch, hiding behind the tallest bookshelf in the back corner. Nobody ever comes back here except me.
I'm reading the same page over and over, not actually seeing the words, when I hear voices.
Madison's voice.
"I still can't believe she had the nerve to show up," Madison says. "After running away like that? I'd transfer schools."
"She's got thicker skin than we thought." Sarah's voice. "Or maybe she's just too poor to transfer."
They're close. Maybe one aisle over. I freeze, barely breathing.
"Well, mission accomplished anyway," Madison continues. "Crew officially hates me now. He actually called me cruel. Can you believe that? All because of that nobody."
"Do you think he actually liked her?" Sarah asks.
Silence. Then Madison laughs, but it sounds bitter. "Who cares? The point was to prove he could get anyone. Even the hoodie girl. And he did. Two hundred dollars richer, reputation intact. Win-win."
"Except now he keeps asking about her," another voice adds—I think it's Jake. "It's getting annoying."
"He'll get over it," Madison says coldly. "Boys always do. By next week, there will be some new drama and everyone will forget the scholarship girl who couldn't take a joke."
My hands clench the book so hard my knuckles turn white. A joke. That's what this is to them. A funny story they'll tell at parties.
They leave, heels clicking against library floors. I stay hidden behind the bookshelf, shaking with anger and shame.
Couldn't take a joke.
I didn't cry because I couldn't take a joke. I cried because someone I trusted destroyed me for entertainment.
But they'll never understand that. People like Madison don't have to understand. They just win.
Week Two is worse.
Someone posts a photo on Instagram. It's me at prom, smiling at Crew while we dance. The caption: "When you actually believe the bet is real 😂 #PoorThingActuallyFellForIt"
Within an hour, it has two hundred likes. The comments are brutal.
"Second-hand embarrassment"
"This is why scholarship kids shouldn't come to our school"
"Crew is a savage for pulling this off"
"She looks like she's about to cry lmaooo"
Riley reports it. Instagram takes it down. But screenshots live forever. By Tuesday, everyone's seen it.
I stop checking social media entirely. I delete Instagram, TikTok, everything except my secret photography account that nobody at school knows about.
My @AutumnLens page is the only place I can breathe. Fifty thousand followers who appreciate my art. Who don't know about prom or bets or humiliation. Who just see my photos and comment things like "This is beautiful" and "You're so talented."
Online, I matter.
At school, I'm a joke.
Week Three, Crew stops trying.
He doesn't approach me in the hallways anymore. Doesn't text. Doesn't stare at me in AP Literature.
Instead, he avoids looking at me completely. Like I've become invisible again—but worse this time. Before, I was invisible because people didn't notice. Now I'm invisible because people are actively choosing not to see.
It should feel better. It doesn't.
Riley stays by my side through everything. She eats lunch with me in the art room. She walks me to classes. She glares at anyone who whispers when I pass.
"You know what?" she says Thursday afternoon. "Screw all of them. After graduation, you're going to do amazing things and they're going to peak in high school. That's the real revenge."
I want to believe her. But right now, graduation feels a million years away.
That night, I'm scrolling through college websites when a message pops up on my photography account.
ZhangTech_Official: Your portfolio is extraordinary. Interested in a summer photography position? $8K for three months documenting product launches. DM if interested.
I stare at the message. Eight thousand dollars. That's more money than I've ever seen in my life. That's art school application fees. That's escape from Crestwood for three whole months.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. Is this real? Or another cruel joke?
But this is my anonymous account. Nobody from school knows about it. This can't be related to prom.
I click on their profile. Zhang Technologies—a real company. Big tech company. Their page has verified checkmarks and everything.
I respond: Very interested. What would the job involve?
The reply comes back within minutes: Product photography, social media content, event documentation. Experience with portrait and lifestyle photography preferred. Portfolio review tomorrow if you're available?
Tomorrow is Friday. Last day before spring break.
I'm available, I type back.
Maybe this is a scam. Maybe it's a mistake. But right now, it's also hope—and I'm desperate for any kind of hope.
Week Four arrives, and I spend spring break at Zhang Technologies.
The office is modern and professional. Uncle James—the Creative Director who interviewed me—is kind without being fake. He calls me Reed (my middle name from my email) and treats me like a real photographer, not a charity case.
"You've got an incredible eye," he tells me after reviewing my portfolio. "Natural talent like this is rare. When can you start?"
"Really?" I can barely believe it. "You want to hire me?"
"Why wouldn't I? Your work speaks for itself." He smiles. "We'll start you at eight thousand for the summer. If it goes well, we can discuss a permanent part-time position during the school year."
I want to cry, but this time from relief instead of pain.
For the first time in weeks, something good is happening. Something that has nothing to do with Crestwood or Crew or people who think I'm worthless.
Week Five, I come back to school different.
Not on the outside—I still wear hoodies and glasses. But inside, something has shifted. The photography job gave me something Crestwood never could: proof that I have value. Real, professional value.
I walk through the hallways with my head slightly higher. Not high enough to draw attention, but enough that I'm not cowering anymore.
Crew notices. I catch him watching me in AP Literature, confusion written across his face. Like he can't figure out what changed.
Good. Let him wonder.
Madison notices too. She corners me after class on Wednesday.
"You seem different," she says, studying me like I'm a puzzle. "Spring break glow up? Finally learning how to use makeup?"
"Something like that," I say neutrally.
"Well, don't get too confident." Her smile sharpens. "You're still the girl who ran away crying from prom. New lip gloss doesn't change that."
She walks away, but her words don't land the way she wants them to. Because she's right—I am that girl. But I'm also the girl who Zhang Technologies hired. The girl with fifty thousand Instagram followers who don't know my name but love my art. The girl who's going to make eight thousand dollars this summer doing something she loves.
I'm more than what they did to me.
Week Six is the last week of junior year.
Friday afternoon, I clean out my locker. Most students are celebrating—making summer plans, signing yearbooks, taking photos.
I just want this year to end.
Riley finds me shoving textbooks into my backpack.
"So," she says carefully. "I need to tell you something. And you're going to be mad."
My stomach drops. "What did you do?"
"I maybe, possibly, definitely signed you up for a summer art program." She talks fast. "It's through Zhang Technologies—the company you're working for. They offer free workshops for young photographers and I saw the application deadline was today and I knew you'd never apply yourself so I submitted your portfolio and—"
"Riley—"
"You got in!" She shoves a paper into my hands. "They want you to attend twice a week starting in June. It's completely free, networking opportunities, portfolio building, everything."
I stare at the acceptance letter. My name printed at the top. Autumn Reed Hayes—Selected for Advanced Photography Mentorship Program.
"I can't believe you did this," I whisper.
"Are you mad?"
I look up at my best friend. The only person who's stood by me through everything. Who's never made me feel small. Who sees me even when I'm trying to hide.
"No," I say quietly. "I'm not mad."
Riley grins and pulls me into a hug.
The final bell rings. Students pour out of classrooms, flooding the hallways with noise and excitement. Summer freedom calls to everyone.
I grab my backpack and head for the exit. As I push through the front doors, I glance back one last time at Crestwood Academy.
Crew stands by his locker, surrounded by friends but looking strangely alone. Our eyes meet across the crowded hallway.
For just a second, something flickers in his expression. Regret? Confusion? I can't tell and don't care enough to figure it out.
I turn away and walk out the doors into bright sunshine.
Three months. I have three whole months before senior year starts. Three months to work at Zhang Tech. Three months to get stronger. Three months to become someone new.
As I wait at the bus stop, my phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
Tomorrow, 9 AM. Zhang Technologies main office. Your summer position starts early. We have a special project that needs your eye. Don't be late. —Uncle James
My heart races. Tomorrow. My new life starts tomorrow.
I don't know it yet, but that special project will change everything.
Because tomorrow, I'm going to meet the boy who will teach me that not everyone at the top is cruel.
Tomorrow, I'm going to meet Kade Zhang.
And nothing will ever be the same.