By the time the third ambulance screamed into the student parking lot of Riverside High, everybody in that sleepy California suburb knew something was very wrong.
Red and blue lights flashed over the faded “Home of the Eagles” sign. A cheerleader in a glittering uniform was hunched over a trash can, gagging. A wrestler was sprawled on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around his stomach, face gray. Teachers shouted into radios, trying to sound in control. Kids hovered at the edges with their phones out, filming, because that’s what kids do when something awful happens in an American high school—they document it.
Veronica Chen watched the chaos through the smudged glass of the nurse’s office window and thought, This is all connected. It has to be.
She tugged at the hem of her oversized NASA hoodie, trying to hide the way her hands shook. A week ago, the idea that she’d be at the center of the biggest scandal Riverside High had seen in years would’ve sounded like the plot of one of the stories she wrote in her coding notebook. Now it just felt like a bad Black Mirror episode—with fewer British accents and way more vomit.
Behind her, her mom’s voice hummed low into the phone, calm and clipped in that way only a woman who’d worked in American healthcare for twenty years could manage.
“Yes, we’re at the hospital now… symptoms are the same,” Dr. Thompson said. “Vomiting, blurry vision, rapid weight loss, electrolyte imbalances. It’s not food poisoning. Something is being distributed on campus. Yes, I’m sure.”
Riverside, California. Land of palm trees, Target runs, and kids who grew up on TikTok and Uber Eats. It was supposed to be boring. Safe. The kind of place where nothing this dramatic ever actually happened.
But boring places are exactly where secrets grow best.
Especially the kind kids will risk everything to keep.
Two weeks earlier, Veronica’s biggest problem had been trying to ignore the way the popular girls laughed when she ordered ice cream.
“One chocolate chip mint for my favorite, albeit only sis,” Howie said, handing her a drip-ringed cup across the counter of the Sunny Scoops on Main. His Riverside High hoodie was pushed up on his forearms, the sleeves shiny where he’d wiped chocolate off a blender. He worked there after school, saving for a used car that didn’t smell like fries.
“Thanks,” Veronica said, forcing a smile.
They were the only Asian kids in line. The rest of the place was filled with the usual after-school crush: kids in Riverside Eagles jerseys, freshmen glued to their phones, a little league team still in their dusty uniforms.
Over by the door, a trio of cheerleaders were turned halfway toward the counter, half toward a mirror they’d made out of a darkened window. The one in the middle—honey-blonde ponytail, perfect winged eyeliner, the Riverside High logo stitched across her chest like a crown—watched Veronica with open disgust.
“That’s lame,” the blonde—Lyla—said loudly, not bothering to lower her voice. “Guess you really can’t keep the cow away from the dairy farm.”
Her friends snorted. One of them actually mooed.
Veronica’s fingers tightened around the plastic spoon. She felt heat crawl up her neck.
“Come on,” Howie said quickly, shooting the girls a glare. “Don’t listen to them. It’s our monthly tradition.”
“We’re not ten anymore,” Veronica muttered. Her stomach twisted, appetite evaporating. She set the cup down on the counter like it was evidence.
“Just eat your ice cream,” Howie said softly. “You’re fine. They’re jerks.”
She stared at the pale green swirl, at the chocolate chips starting to melt. Suddenly, it looked less like a treat and more like proof. Proof that she didn’t belong on the same planet as girls like Lyla, let alone the same cheer squad.
“I’m gonna wait in the car,” she said.
“Vera—” Howie started, but she was already pushing past the cluster of cheerleaders, keeping her eyes on the floor.
“Seriously, that school should put a maximum weight limit on the lunch program,” one of the girls giggled as Veronica passed.
Lyla laughed along with them.
It stung more than it should have.
Because once upon a time, before Riverside High and Botoxed PTA moms and college counselors, Lyla Chang had been on their side of the cafeteria.
“Got the stuff?” a whisper floated down the hallway the next morning.
Lyla’s fingers tightened around her backpack straps. She kept her gaze straight ahead, face neutral, the perfect captain-in-training.
“Shh,” she hissed as a hand brushed her elbow. “Not here.”
She’d forgotten how loud American hallways were in the morning. Sneakers squeaked on polished linoleum, locker doors slammed, some kid halfway down the row practiced beatboxing for TikTok. The scent of dry erase markers and cheap body spray hung in the air.
Behind Lyla, someone muttered, “Eww. Stalker alert. Your ex is creeping again.”
She didn’t have to look to know they meant Howie. He was leaning against the lockers with his friends, hoodie up, pretending not to see her.
Lyla fought the urge to look back.
“Hannah, you okay?” someone asked nearby. “You look like you dropped a lot of weight.”
“She’s fine,” a cheer voice answered automatically. “Just leave it.”
Lyla kept walking. Her heart was beating too fast, pulse loud in her ears.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Last year, she’d been sitting next to Howie at the computers in AP Comp Sci, turning in extra credit assignments nobody asked for, dreaming about building games for Google or Meta one day. People had called them “the Code Couple” even though they weren’t dating. Two Asian nerds with matching glasses and matching GPAs, laughing over bugs and memes.
Then summer happened.
And with it, a slow, boiling realization: nobody else wanted to be that person. Nobody envied the quiet girl with the top grades. They envied the girls in the short skirts and the glitter bows, the ones everyone watched at halftime.
By the time junior year rolled around, Lyla had decided she was done being invisible.
Her mom’s clinic ID badge had given her access to a lot more than volunteer hours.
“Everybody take five,” Coach Jenkins called, blowing her whistle like they were lining up for battle instead of running a cheer routine.
The Riverside High gym smelled like rubber and hairspray. Lyla bent over, hands on her knees, sweat dripping down her spine. The giant American flag on the wall fluttered every time the air conditioner kicked on.
“I think it’s time to talk to her,” one of the senior captains murmured, jerking her chin toward Lyla.
Lyla straightened, smoothing her uniform, heart hammering. This was it. The conversation. The one where they finally told her she had what it took. That the years of dieting and extra practice had paid off. That she would be joining the holy trinity of varsity captains.
“Hey,” one of them said, giving her a once-over. “Nice bow and arrow.”
Lyla brightened. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing. I really hope to be captain one day. Just like you guys.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then one of them laughed.
“Um-hmm,” the other said, lips curling. “Aw.”
“Did I do something?” Lyla asked, stomach dropping.
“No,” the first girl said. “We’ve just never seen a captain with a waist that size.”
The words landed like a slap.
She actually glanced down at herself, as if her uniform had suddenly inflated. She’d lost fifteen pounds since last season. She’d given up boba, late-night ramen, everything that made life feel less hollow. And it still wasn’t enough.
“You just need to lose, like, ten inches around the waist if you ever want to be cheer captain,” the girl added matter-of-factly.
Lyla managed a smile. “Right,” she said. “Got it.”
That night, she stood on the scale in her mother’s bathroom, counting the pounds between her and everything she thought she deserved.
At the clinic where Dr. Thompson worked, fluorescent lights buzzed over rows of locked cabinets and security cameras. On the wall in the front lobby, an American flag hung next to a poster about flu shots and a flyer for discounted sports physicals for student athletes.
“Very nice work, Lyla,” Dr. Thompson said, sliding the last of the intake forms into a folder. “Stanford is going to be lucky to have you. Honestly, Google and Meta will be banging down your door one day.”
“Thanks,” Lyla said, cheeks flushing. There it was. Someone seeing her. Not as the weird nerd from freshman year, but as the brilliant, capable girl she’d always wanted to be.
“Mom, what’s with the cameras?” she asked, nodding toward the new dome-shaped cameras perched in each corner of the hallway.
Dr. Thompson’s expression darkened. “Oh. I recently had to fire Dr. Wilson,” she said. “Some prescription meds went missing. There was tampering, theft… I don’t want to go into it, but we decided to increase security measures.”
“That sucks,” Lyla said.
“It does. Some people are the absolute worst,” Dr. Thompson sighed. “Anyway, thanks for helping with inventory. Do you need anything before I go back to charts?”
Lyla shook her head. “No. I’ll see you at home.”
As soon as her mom disappeared into her office, Lyla slipped her hand into her pocket.
She’d seen enough in the past six months. Enough inventory lists, enough drug names, enough late-night YouTube videos about “miracle weight loss shots” and off-label uses that people whispered about in fitness forums.
She knew exactly which cabinet she wanted.
And she knew exactly how to get past the keypad.
Her mom’s birthday. Her brother’s graduation year. Easy.
She told herself she was only borrowing. Just a few vials. Just to get to captain.
Then it wouldn’t matter. She’d be on top. People would finally see her.
And the girl who had spent her whole life being called “cute but nerdy” would finally be enough.
“Hannah, are you okay?” Veronica asked a few days later.
They were in the hallway outside the cafeteria. Hannah—a tiny flyer on the JV cheer squad—was leaning against the wall, one hand pressed to her stomach.
“You look like you dropped a lot of weight,” Veronica added, worry knitting her brows.
“She’s fine,” one of the senior cheerleaders said, sliding between them like a shield. “Come on, Han. We’re gonna be late for practice.”
Veronica watched them go, a bad feeling settling heavy in her chest.
At home that night, she opened her laptop and started typing notes in the same doc where she wrote story ideas.
“Symptoms: sudden weight loss. Nausea. Pale skin. Mood swings,” she wrote. “Possible side effects? Miracle diet stuff? Pressure from team?”
She stared at the blinking cursor.
“Nerd alert,” she muttered to herself. “Overthinking much?”
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something ugly was crawling under the glossy surface of Riverside High’s cheer culture.
“Until you drop ten pounds, you’re off the team,” the captain said flatly, looking Veronica’s friend Bethany up and down in the locker room. The fluorescent lights flickered over rows of metal lockers and yoga mats.
“What?” Bethany’s voice cracked. “I… I’ve been working so hard.”
“Not hard enough,” the captain said. “Honestly, we’ve never seen a captain with a waist that size. We can’t have a girl who looks… big in the back row. It makes us look bad.”
Veronica wanted to speak up. Wanted to say You can’t say that, wanted to scream that strength mattered more than thigh gaps. But her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“If I were you,” one of the seniors added, dropping a small, unlabeled packet into Bethany’s hand, “I’d take that at full dosage.”
“What is it?” Bethany whispered.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” the girl said with a practiced smile. “Just a little something to help you drop the fluff. Everyone’s doing it.”
Veronica watched Bethany tuck it into her bag with shaking fingers.
Her stomach twisted.
Something was very, very wrong.
“Principal Henry, what can I do for you?” Dr. Thompson asked a few days later, closing her laptop as the principal stepped into her small office at the clinic. He still had his Riverside High lanyard on, the little American flag pin on his blazer glinting under the fluorescent lights.
“We’ve had a staggering number of absences caused by… stomach issues. Weight loss. Fatigue,” he said. “Some students are refusing to eat lunch. You know how teen girls can be. I was wondering if you could help us with a plan to increase awareness about healthy habits.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll put together a presentation. Kids need to hear this from someone other than social media.”
If she’d looked a little closer, she might’ve noticed Lyla’s face go white across the room as she listened from behind the half-open door.
“Hey,” Howie said, leaning in Veronica’s doorway that night. The old “Star Wars” poster behind her glowed in the light of her desk lamp. “I just wanted to check in. How are you doing?”
“Fine,” she lied, closing the tab with the medical article she’d been reading.
“Listen, we can’t let those cheer tyrants get to you,” he said, flopping onto her beanbag. “They’re dumb. Trust me, I know. They’re in my math class. Their group chat is called ‘Skinny Legends’ and I swear they think calories were invented by communists.”
Veronica snorted despite herself.
“Maybe they’re right, though,” she said quietly. “Maybe I should lose a couple of pounds. It’d be nice not to be the ‘before’ picture in every room.”
Howie sat up, frowning. “No,” he said firmly. “You do not need to. You look great. You remember what Mom says every time someone at church makes a comment? Your self-worth is not measured by other people’s opinions of you.”
“Mom also cries in her car after those comments,” Veronica murmured.
“Yeah, well, adults are disasters,” Howie said. “Doesn’t mean they’re wrong about everything. You’re smart. You’re funny. You care about people. Those things don’t show up on a scale. They make you who you are.”
She swallowed hard.
“I’m here for you,” he added. “Even if you become a cheer overlord.”
“Gross,” she said, but her chest felt a little lighter.
“Good night, Veronica,” he said, backing out of the room.
“Night, loser,” she called.
At Riverside High, rumors moved faster than the Wi-Fi.
“You got the stuff?” a wrestler whispered to Lyla by the vending machines, glancing around nervously like they were in some bad Netflix crime show instead of in front of a Pepsi logo.
She shifted her backpack. “I’m sold out,” she said. “For now.”
“That’s lame,” he groaned. “I’ve got to make weight for meet day. My cousin wants some too. This stuff is insane.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. He looked at her the way everyone looked at her now: like she mattered. Like she had power.
“I can get more,” she said slowly. “A lot more. Soon.”
The little ping of her phone that afternoon confirmed it.
I’m so snatched thanks to you! one text said, followed by a string of fire and heart emojis.
Can we get some? My cousin wants too, another read.
She stared at the screen and told herself this was what winning looked like.
She didn’t think about the side effects section of the drug database she’d scrolled past. She didn’t think about Dr. Wilson in the hallway, insisting she was innocent as security guards escorted her out past the American flag and the framed “Employee of the Month” photos.
You have to believe me, Dr. Wilson had cried. I wouldn’t do this. Please don’t do this.
Lyla had believed her then.
But believing her wouldn’t have helped Lyla climb the pyramid.
And at Riverside High, pyramids weren’t for building. They were for climbing, even if you stepped on people on the way up.
The first time Veronica saw one of the girls collapse, she was in the nurse’s office waiting for her mom’s presentation to start.
Principal Henry’s voice echoed through the auditorium a few minutes later, the whole school packed into the rows of worn red seats.
“Healthy bodies come in different shapes and sizes,” Dr. Thompson said from the stage, her voice ringing out clear and sure. “You can be strong at a size two or a size twelve. The most important thing is not a number on a scale, but how you treat your body. Any so-called ‘miracle’ weight loss supplement or drug is not always healthy. A lot of dieting fads and hacks you see online can have dangerous side effects.”
In the third row, Nicole shifted uncomfortably. Two rows back, a junior cheerleader dabbed sweat off her forehead.
Lyla sat dead center, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Afterward, in the hallway, Howie caught Dr. Thompson’s elbow.
“Mom,” he whispered. “I think you should know… the cheerleaders have been pressuring Veronica’s friend Bethany to lose weight. They gave her something. I don’t know what.”
Dr. Thompson’s face went tight. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out. Tell Veronica to stay away from anything like that. Please.”
But it was already too late.
That night, Veronica woke up to the sound of retching.
She stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom, heart pounding.
Bethany was hunched over the toilet, clutching the bowl so hard her knuckles were white. Her face was the color of chalk.
“Did you eat seafood?” Dr. Thompson asked, appearing behind Veronica, half-asleep and already in diagnostic mode.
“N-no,” Bethany groaned. “I just… I feel funny.”
“Blurry vision? Stomach cramps?” her mom asked.
Bethany nodded weakly.
Dr. Thompson’s eyes narrowed.
“This isn’t food poisoning,” she muttered, more to herself than to them. “This looks like… a reaction. To something. Veronica, get me that tote bag.”
Veronica grabbed the bag from the counter, heart pounding.
A small, familiar-looking vial rolled out.
Her mom’s breath caught.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered.
Bethany’s eyes flicked to Veronica. “I can’t,” she said. “If I tell, I’m off the team. I’ll lose everything.”
“This is what’s making everyone sick,” Dr. Thompson said, voice shaking. “Vomiting, diarrhea, blurry vision—this explains all of it. Veronica, you know you have to tell me if you’re taking any of this. There are lives at risk.”
“I’m not,” Veronica said quickly. “I swear. But…” Her throat closed around the next words.
“Baby, please,” her mom said softly. “We need to put a stop to this. Before someone dies.”
Veronica closed her eyes.
“It’s Lyla,” she said finally. “She’s been selling them to the whole school.”
The truth tasted like acid.
“How did we not see this before?” Dr. Thompson whispered an hour later in the emergency room, watching nurses hook Bethany up to an IV.
On the TV mounted in the corner, a commercial for a weight-loss app flashed by, followed by a news story about a Silicon Valley CEO. Life in California rolled on, oblivious.
“You told us you found the culprit,” Principal Henry had snapped earlier that week in her office, standing under the glow of the stars-and-stripes. “We let Dr. Wilson go because you swore to us it would solve the problem. And now more meds are missing?”
“There must be someone else involved,” Dr. Thompson had said then. “I’ll get this under control. I promise.”
Now she knew exactly who that someone was.
And exactly how badly she’d failed to see it.
“We need to get to the school,” she said, grabbing her keys. “Now.”
“Mom?” Lyla blinked as Dr. Thompson burst into the Riverside High lobby, Veronica and Howie on her heels. The polished tile floor reflected the PTA banners and motivational posters in warped patterns.
“What are you doing here?” Lyla asked, forcing a laugh. “I’m late for practice—”
“How could you?” Dr. Thompson demanded, holding up a small vial between two fingers. “Did you know your daughter has been selling this stuff?” she said to Mrs. Chang, who’d happened to be there for a PTA meeting. “This is what put my girl in the hospital. And half your daughter’s teammates.”
Mrs. Chang’s face went slack. “Mom, let’s just go,” Lyla muttered.
“No,” Mrs. Chang said, voice trembling. “We’re not leaving. Not if she’s done what they’re saying.”
Principal Henry appeared from his office, followed by two district administrators. His American flag pin glinted like an accusation.
“We all know, Lyla,” he said quietly. “You can’t get out of this.”
“Is this the one?” one of the administrators asked, taking the vial from Dr. Thompson. “We had the lab run tests on samples from the clinic. The numbers were off. Upon further investigation, we discovered that some were replaced with saline, others stolen. The cameras show your mother’s keypad being used late at night. And then yours.”
“That’s it,” Dr. Thompson said. “The same drug these kids have in their systems.”
“No, no, no, you can’t go in there,” Lyla said as they moved toward the cheer locker room. Her voice rose, cracking. “You have no idea what I’ve been through all these years! No one ever even looked at me until now. I was a joke. A nerd. Invisible. I did what I had to.”
“That’s not true,” Howie said, stepping forward. His Riverside High hoodie hung limp, his eyes tired. “Like I said before, your self-worth isn’t measured by other people’s opinions of you. People will like you for you. I did. When you were the girl who stayed up all night coding a game with me and eating pizza crusts. And you threw that all away.”
He swallowed hard, voice breaking.
“And you put my sister’s best friend in the hospital,” he added.
“It’s nothing personal,” Lyla said weakly. “You don’t get it. You’re still a nerd.”
Veronica stared at her, something fierce and sad burning in her chest.
“Right now, you might be on top of the food chain,” she said quietly. “But deep down, you’ll always be that ‘nerdy loser’ I liked. You just forgot that girl. And if being popular means hurting people to stay there, then it’s not worth it.”
Silence settled over the lobby like dust.
“You’re expelled, Lyla,” Principal Henry said finally. “Effective immediately. And as for criminal charges, the district will be following up with law enforcement. Stealing and distributing prescription drugs is a felony. In the United States, we take that seriously.”
Lyla’s face crumpled. “Wait, what? No. This isn’t fair. I just wanted to be… I just wanted to matter.”
Dr. Thompson closed her eyes for a moment.
“Baby,” Mrs. Chang whispered, voice torn between anger and aching love. “This isn’t the way.”
Security escorted Lyla down the hallway, past the trophy cases and the giant mural of the Riverside Eagle soaring over a cartoon American flag. Phones recorded every second. By the time the final bell rang, the clip had already hit Instagram and TikTok under a dozen different captions.
NERD GIRL RISKS IT ALL TO BE POPULAR, one read.
CHEERLEADER CAUGHT SELLING “SKINNY SHOTS” AT CALIFORNIA HIGH SCHOOL, another screamed.
Everyone had an opinion. Nobody knew the whole story.
Except the kids who’d lived it.
That night, Veronica sat at her desk, laptop open, coding window split-screened with a blank document.
“How’s Bethany?” she asked softly.
“She’s going to be okay,” Dr. Thompson said from the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Her labs are stabilizing. Her kidneys took a hit, but we caught it in time. Some of the other kids… they’ll be monitored for a long time. But they’re alive. That’s what matters.”
Veronica nodded, blinking back tears.
“Mom,” she said after a moment. “Do you… do you think I’m pretty? The way I am?”
Dr. Thompson’s eyes softened. She crossed the room in three long steps, cupping Veronica’s face in her hands.
“I think you’re brilliant,” she said. “And kind. And funny. And stubborn. And yes, I think you’re beautiful. You know why? Because you’re you. And nothing anyone at that school says changes that. Not in this country, not in any country. Okay?”
Veronica nodded, throat tight.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening sooner,” Dr. Thompson added quietly. “I was so focused on catching a thief at the clinic, I forgot that the real danger was the lies those girls were being fed about their bodies. You tried to tell me. I should have listened.”
“We both missed things,” Veronica said. “But we figured it out. That has to count for something.”
They sat there for a while, the sounds of Riverside night drifting in through the window—distant sirens, someone’s TV playing the late-night news, a car stereo thumping down the street.
On Veronica’s screen, the headline of her newest story slowly took shape.
“Sometimes,” she typed, “the scariest monsters in an American high school aren’t in the horror movies. They’re in the mirror, whispering that you’re never enough. And sometimes, the bravest thing a nerd girl can do is refuse to listen.”
She paused, then added one more line.
“Your self-worth isn’t measured by a scale, a squad, or a follower count. It’s measured by how you treat yourself—and the people who trust you.”
Howie knocked on the doorframe, his Sunny Scoops hat crooked on his head.
“Got the stuff?” he joked, holding up two pints of chocolate chip mint.
Veronica laughed. “Depends what kind,” she said. “If it’s the illegal kind, I’ll pass. If it’s the kind that comes with sprinkles and a side of emotional support… I’m in.”
He grinned. “Extra sprinkles,” he said, stepping into the room.
Outside, under the California sky, Riverside High’s lights flickered off one by one.
Inside, in a small house on a quiet street, a nerd girl ate ice cream with people who loved her, and realized something she should’ve known all along:
Being seen wasn’t worth risking everything.
Being herself was.
