By the time the email that was supposed to change Flint Carter’s life finally loaded, the Friday night lights of the school stadium were still burned into his eyes.
He could almost see them reflected in the cracked screen of his phone—glare from a hundred games, a hundred hits, a hundred moments where he’d believed if he just ran fast enough, hit hard enough, kept his grades up and his record clean, the world would open for him.
And now it had.
“Dude,” Sarah’s message popped up first, before the email even finished loading.
hey sarah
did you get it yeah
you know what that means
you me and joey are going to irvine together
He didn’t even need to open the official notification to know. He’d already heard the rumor in the locker room—coaches slapping his helmet, teachers smiling a little too wide in the hallway.
Full-ride football scholarship to UC Irvine.
In Southern California, that was practically a golden ticket.
Flint leaned against the dented blue locker in the hallway of Westview High, the faint smell of floor cleaner and cafeteria pizza hanging in the air, and finally opened the email. He read the words twice, then a third time, just to be sure they were real and not one of those dreams he’d wake up from in his too-small bed, back in their middle-class housing development with its manicured lawns and HOA rules.
Congratulations, Flint Carter… full athletic scholarship… University of California, Irvine…
His chest tightened in a way that felt like joy and panic rolled into one.
“Dude.” Joey’s voice came from behind him, loud, impossible to ignore. “Did you check yet?”
Flint turned. Joey Reyes stood there in his faded varsity hoodie, curls messy, backpack hanging off one shoulder, eyes bright with the kind of energy that never seemed to run out.
“I got it,” Flint said, and for the first time the grin actually broke through. “Full ride.”
Joey whooped, way too loud for 7:45 a.m. in a public hallway. “Let’s gooo! Bro, this is it. This is literally it. Irvine, baby. Tritons. Or Anteaters. Whatever they are.”
“Anteaters,” Flint laughed.
“Yeah, that. You, me, Sarah—same college, same town, same In-N-Out, same everything. Irvine’s not even ready.”
Flint’s phone buzzed again.
wait does joey know yet
yeah i told him over the weekend
dude this is a dream come true
He typed back with one thumb.
i know right
But as he hit send, another thought nudged the edges of his mind. A secret he hadn’t told Sarah yet. A secret Joey definitely didn’t know.
“Hey,” Joey said, lowering his voice. “You told Sarah about… you know…?”
Flint’s fingers paused over the screen.
He and Sarah had been a “thing” once in that almost-but-not-really way that high school friendships sometimes are. Late-night texts, too-long glances, the kind of emotional closeness that made people whisper. Nothing official, nothing labeled. Then lines blurred, feelings cooled, they drifted back to being just… friends. Best friends, even.
Only he’d never told Joey about the almost more.
“By the way,” Joey added, “she doesn’t know about—”
“Oh, no,” Flint cut him off quickly. “Not yet.”
He shoved the phone into his pocket before he could overthink it. Scholarship. College. California sunshine. That was all that mattered now. Messy feelings could wait.
The bell rang, shrill and demanding. Students scattered. Flint and Joey headed down the hallway toward first period, a math classroom that always smelled faintly of dry-erase marker and burnt coffee.
He didn’t know that by lunch, the same hallway would feel like a crime scene. He didn’t know that before the day was over, his name would be whispered like it had turned radioactive.
He definitely didn’t know that a fake Instagram account, a jealous heart, and four digits of a phone number were about to turn his dream into a nightmare.
It started with Amber.
She met them just outside the math room, chewing on her bottom lip, fingers clenched around her phone. Her braces flashed under the fluorescent lights when she spoke.
“Flint,” she snapped, voice wobbling between hurt and anger. “What is your problem?”
Flint blinked. “My… what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she said, thrusting her phone toward him. “I know it was you.”
On the screen was Instagram, a DM thread open. A profile picture he didn’t recognize. A username that hit him like a punch:
@MeAndSteele
Messages scrolled above it, ugly gray bubbles in a chat history he’d never seen.
nobody’s ever gonna ask you out with all those train tracks in your mouth
seriously, you look like a walking railroad
The words felt like acid just reading them.
“Amber…” Flint’s voice came out hoarse. “That wasn’t me.”
Sarah, standing just behind him, leaned in. “Flint would never say that.”
“Really?” Amber jabbed at the screen. “Because he left his location on one of his Stories. So I screenshotted it.” She swiped to her photos app—a screenshot of an Instagram story. A tree-lined street. A neat row of identical beige houses in a gated California community.
“There,” Amber said triumphantly. “That’s your neighborhood. You’re the only person at this school who lives there. And look—” she flipped back to Instagram “—the username. Me and Steele? Flint Carter and Steele High School? It’s obviously you.”
The hallway hummed around them—lockers slamming, kids laughing, a squeaky cart rolling by. Flint felt like the whole world narrowed to the tiny glowing screen in Amber’s hand and the way her eyes were shining with tears she refused to let fall.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, because it was the truth.
Amber stared at him a second too long, then scoffed. “Yeah. Whatever. It really hurt, okay.”
She spun around and disappeared into the classroom.
“That was… weird,” Joey murmured.
Flint barely heard him. “This is all one big misunderstanding,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “She’ll figure it out. It’s not—”
“You don’t need to convince us,” Sarah said quietly. “We believe you.”
“I just hope she doesn’t tell any teachers,” Joey added. “Or the principal. Last thing you need right after getting your scholarship is some big cyberbullying drama. Girl from my sister’s school had her offer revoked over something like that.”
Flint swallowed. The word revoked sank sharp teeth into his stomach.
But I didn’t do anything, he thought. That has to count for something.
Except high school didn’t run on truth. It ran on perception. On screenshots. On who got to tell the story first.
First period passed in a blur. Second, slower. By third, Flint could feel the rumor spreading. Amber’s circle of friends kept glancing at him, whispering. A girl moved her backpack when he tried to sit next to her in history.
By the time he stepped into the hallway before lunch, the storm had a face.
Maddie.
Short. Sharp. The kind of guy who’d once been in Flint’s friend group before something changed—before late-night Fortnite parties and shared jokes turned into eye rolls and sarcastic comments. His mom had lost her job last year; they’d had to move from Flint’s gated community to a smaller apartment across town.
Maddie stood leaning against a drinking fountain, arms crossed, a smirk carved into his lips.
“I just heard Amber telling people outside class what you did,” he said loudly, the second Flint walked past. “You’re gonna get what’s coming to you, Carter.”
“Be quiet, Maddie,” Sarah snapped. “He didn’t do anything.”
Maddie laughed. “His username was such a dead giveaway. Me and Steele? I thought you were smarter than that, dude.”
“I’m telling you it wasn’t me,” Flint said. The way he said it surprised him—sharp, desperate, defensive.
“Mm-hmm.” Maddie tipped his head. “Sure. Your good-guy act doesn’t work on me. You think you’re better than everyone with your perfect grades and your varsity jacket. But people are gonna see the real you now.”
“Get lost, man,” Joey said.
Maddie shrugged. “You can’t run from the internet.”
He slipped into the crowd, leaving the smell of cafeteria fries and the sour aftertaste of his words behind.
“Congratulations on your scholarship,” Mrs. Henderson, his English teacher, said as he slid into his usual seat. “Very well deserved.”
“Thanks,” Flint replied automatically.
He sat. Joey dropped into the seat beside him. Sarah turned around from the row in front and flashed an encouraging smile.
For a moment, things almost felt normal again.
Then the classroom door opened.
Amber stood there, eyes red. Behind her, Gordon, a quiet guy Flint sometimes lifted with in the weight room. Behind him, Mrs. Tanner—the science teacher with the oversized glasses Flint had once privately thought looked kind of cool, like something from a movie.
“Good morning, class,” Mrs. Tanner said, stepping into the room. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Flint’s pulse kicked up.
She looked straight at him.
“Flint,” she said, voice tight. “Can I talk to you in the hallway, please?”
Dozens of eyes swung his way. The room suddenly felt too small.
He stood up on legs that didn’t quite feel attached. When he stepped into the hallway, Mrs. Tanner held up her phone.
“For your information,” she said, her tone brittle, “I can’t wear contacts. I can’t have lasik surgery. If I could, I would. So I don’t appreciate you making fun of my glasses in an email.”
“What?” Flint stared. “Mrs. Tanner, I never emailed you.”
She turned the phone so he could see.
A Gmail window, on her school-issued iPad. An email sent last night.
from: [email protected]
subject: you really should fix those glasses
message: ever heard of contacts?
At the bottom, in neat black letters:
– Flint
His name. His signature.
His lungs forgot how to fill.
“That’s not me,” he said. The words felt thinner every time he had to say them. “Someone must have… made that account. Pretended to be me. I swear, Mrs. Tanner. I would never—”
“Oh, that’s what he said to me, too,” Gordon cut in, folding his arms. “He made fun of my weight in my DMs, and Amber’s braces. His account is called ‘MeAndSteele.’”
“It’s obviously him,” Amber added. “Same handle. Same neighborhood.”
Mrs. Tanner let out a long breath. “Flint, if it were just me, I might believe you. But when three different people are saying the same thing…”
“He didn’t do it,” Sarah blurted from the doorway. He hadn’t even realized she’d followed them. “Someone’s framing him.”
Maddie appeared behind her, like the universe wanted to stage the perfect lineup of tension.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he scoffed. “What, we’re all lying now? He made fun of my skin too. Sent me messages about my acne. From that same handle. He hasn’t gotten to you yet, Mrs. Tanner, but he will.”
“I’m going to have to tell the principal,” she said, not unkindly. “We have a very strict zero-tolerance policy when it comes to online harassment. I’m sorry, Flint. I really am.”
“Mrs. Tanner, please,” Flint said. His voice cracked on the last word. “You have to believe me. Someone is trying to ruin my life.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “You can explain all that to Mr. Collins. For now, get to class. We’ll call you down later.”
As she walked away with Amber and Gordon, Maddie lingered, enjoying the wreckage.
“Better watch your back, Carter,” he said softly. “Rumor has it you’re about to be in huge trouble. And maybe Irvine loses interest in boys who bully their classmates.”
Flint’s hand curled into a fist at his side. “Get a life, Maddie.”
“I have one,” Maddie replied coolly. “Which is more than I can say for your scholarship once this gets around.”
He sauntered away.
Sarah turned to Flint, eyes wide and worried. “This is getting out of control.”
“I know,” Flint murmured. “And I don’t know how to stop it.”
The things he’d always loved—football plays and calculus puzzles and late-night jokes with his friends—blurred into meaningless noise. All he could think about was the way everyone looked at him now, like he’d grown horns.
By lunch, his phone buzzed with a new email.
From: Principal Collins
Subject: Meeting
Flint, please see me in my office at 3:00 p.m. today.
Your mother has been contacted.
He stared at the screen until the letters swam.
“I’m so sorry,” Sarah said, sliding her tray across from him in the cafeteria. “This is… not okay.”
“We’re here for you, man,” Joey added, dropping down beside him. “Seriously. You didn’t do this. And it’s not like they can prove you did.”
“That’s the problem,” Flint said quietly. “Sometimes perception is reality. If everyone thinks I’m this guy… that’s all that matters.”
Sarah’s jaw tightened. “We just have to prove it isn’t you.”
“To who?” Flint asked. “Half the school already decided.”
“To the only person who really matters right now,” Joey said. “Collins. And Irvine. Whoever’s on the other end of that scholarship.”
Flint rubbed his forehead. “Maddie,” he said. “It has to be him.”
“You think he’s framing you?” Sarah asked.
“Who else knows my neighborhood, my routines?” Flint said. “We were neighbors for ten years. He knows what the houses look like behind my block. And he hates me. Or, I don’t know, hates what he thinks I have—my grades, my house, my scholarship. I heard he got into Irvine too but can’t afford tuition.”
Sarah winced. “That would hurt.”
“And if you’re looking for someone to take it out on…” Joey said. “You pick the guy who has what you don’t.”
“The sad part is,” Flint muttered, “we used to be pretty close.”
Sarah sighed. “You know what they say. It’s always the people closest to you that end up hurting you the most.”
Flint glanced at his phone again, at the 3:00 p.m. appointment that felt like a ticking bomb.
“I’m not letting him take everything from me,” he said. “We need proof. Real proof.”
“How?” Joey asked. “It’s not like he’s going to hand us a confession.”
Flint looked past them, out toward the locker room doors at the end of the hallway. PE students were streaming through, gym clothes and sneakers, the clatter of metal lockers echoing faintly.
“Maddie has PE last period,” Flint said slowly. “He always leaves his phone in his gym locker.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Flint, no. Absolutely not. You can’t break into the locker room.”
“What other choice do I have?” Flint asked. “If I do nothing, Collins suspends me, Irvine hears about it, my scholarship is gone. If I take a risk and we find something… maybe I get my life back.”
“That’s not how risk analysis works,” Sarah muttered, but her voice shook.
Joey drummed his fingers on the table. “You know his number, right?”
Flint gave him a look. “…Yeah?”
“Then I might have an idea,” Joey said, a slow grin starting despite everything. “And if this works, we don’t even need to crack his password. We find the account, we trace it, we show Collins, boom. Case closed.”
Sarah groaned. “Why do I feel like this involves breaking something?”
“Just a little rule,” Joey said. “Not a limb.”
The boys’ locker room always smelled like sweat, old socks, and that weird tangy chemical that never quite masked it. After school, it was quiet. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
“Okay,” Joey whispered, pushing open the door a crack. “Coast is clear. PE doesn’t start for another ten.”
Flint slipped in after him, heart thudding. Sarah waited in the hallway, acting as look-out despite her protests.
Rows of battered metal lockers stretched out like a maze. Flint headed straight for the one that still had a faded sticker of a basketball on it.
“Maddie Parker,” he read under his breath from the label.
Joey leaned over. “What’s his code? You know it?”
Flint shook his head. “No. But I have his number.”
He pulled out his phone and dialed.
Through the thin metal, they heard a vibration. Joey’s eyes lit up.
“Perfect,” he said. “Now, voicemail trick.”
He hung up and dialed again. This time, when it went to voicemail, a robotic voice asked:
“Please enter your password.”
“Most people use their birthday,” Joey said. “Last four digits. Try that.”
Flint punched in the numbers he’d known since fifth grade, when they’d first swapped homework answers and PlayStation gamertags.
0 – 8 – 2 – 0
The locker clicked open like it had been waiting.
“You’re a genius,” Flint whispered.
Joey grinned. “Don’t tell my math teacher.”
Inside, among gym shorts and a crumpled jersey, lay the prize: Maddie’s phone.
Flint grabbed it and shut the locker.
He walked back into the hallway with his heart in his throat.
Sarah stared at the phone in his hand. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” she said. “If you get caught—”
“If I get caught, I’ll explain,” Flint said. “But right now, this is all I’ve got.”
He unlocked the phone with 0-8-2-0 again.
Home screen. Same school app icons, same social media.
“Go to Instagram,” Sarah said. “Check if he has multiple accounts.”
Flint opened Instagram. Maddie’s main profile popped up: selfies at the beach, team pics, memes.
He tapped the username, looking for the little arrow that showed linked accounts.
Nothing.
“That’s odd,” Joey murmured. “He must’ve deleted @MeAndSteele once he realized we were onto him.”
“Okay, but Mrs. Tanner said she got an email,” Sarah said. “From MeAndSteele. Maybe it’s a Gmail account.”
Flint opened the email app.
Inbox. Sent. Drafts.
He typed “meandsteele” into the search bar and held his breath.
No results.
“Okay, now I’m actually confused,” Joey said. “If it’s not Maddie, then who—”
A shadow fell over them.
“What. Are you doing. With my phone.”
Maddie’s voice, low and lethal, cut through the air.
Flint’s stomach dropped. He turned slowly.
Maddie stood a few feet away, gym bag slung over his shoulder, eyes blazing. Behind him, the PE teacher’s whistle shrilled faintly, calling students to the field.
“And why,” Maddie added, “are you in the boys’ locker room, Sarah?”
Sarah’s cheeks flamed. “We—we thought—”
“I think the better question,” Flint cut in, anger finally starting to simmer through his fear, “is why you’re framing me for something I didn’t do.”
Maddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You made that fake Instagram account,” Flint said. “You sent those messages to Amber and Gordon. You even emailed Mrs. Tanner from that MeAndSteele address. Because you’re jealous. Because I got the scholarship and you couldn’t afford to go. You hate that I still live in the old neighborhood and you don’t.”
Maddie stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
Then he laughed.
“You really think I’d waste my time doing all that?” he said. “Flint, I got a full ride to UCLA. My first choice. I couldn’t care less about Irvine.” His face hardened. “Yeah, I don’t like you. But that has nothing to do with your zip code.”
“Then why have you had it out for me all year?” Flint demanded.
“Because you’ve been sending me DMs,” Maddie snapped. “Making fun of my acne. From that same account. When I heard you were doing it to other people, too, I got mad. But I figured it was just, I don’t know, your way of being secretly cruel. I didn’t think you’d drag me into some weird conspiracy in the locker room.”
“That wasn’t me,” Flint said. “We thought it was you. That’s the only reason we’re in your phone.”
Maddie shook his head. “You guys are unbelievable.”
“Look,” Sarah said, stepping forward. “Someone is framing Flint. We’re just trying to figure out who. If it’s not you… then help us.”
Maddie hesitated, eyes darting between their faces and his phone.
Finally, he sighed. “You idiots really haven’t tried password recovery?”
“What?” Joey asked.
“On the email,” Maddie said. “If you say you forgot your password, it shows you the last four digits of the phone number tied to the account. You might not get the password, but you’d at least know whose line it is.”
Flint exchanged a look with Sarah. “…That’s actually smart.”
“Yeah, I’m full of surprises,” Maddie said dryly. “Now give me my phone back before you get suspended double.”
Flint handed it over.
“Follow me,” Maddie said. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
The computer lab always felt a little too cold, with its humming desktops and its motivational college posters plastered over every bare wall. The clock above the whiteboard read 2:42 p.m.
Eighteen minutes until Flint’s appointment with the principal.
Eighteen minutes until everything changed.
“Okay,” Maddie said, sliding into a chair and pulling up Gmail. “Search ‘meandsteele.’”
The browser loaded a sign-in page.
Maddie clicked “Forgot password.”
A recovery screen popped up, asking for a verification method. Then, in faint gray letters, it showed four little asterisks and the last digits of the tied phone number.
–-1984
Flint’s heart hammered.
“That definitely isn’t my number,” he said. His ended in 3027.
“And it’s not mine,” Maddie said. “Unless I somehow got a second phone my mom doesn’t know about.”
Sarah frowned. “Do you recognize it at all?”
Flint ran through his contacts in his head. Teammates. Coaches. Teachers. Friends.
Then it hit him.
His blood ran cold.
“I think I know whose it is,” he whispered.
He pulled out his phone, flicked to his contacts, and tapped the search bar.
1984
One name popped up.
Joey Reyes – cell
Flint stared at it, the numbers blurring.
“No way,” Sarah breathed. “Joey?”
Maddie sank back in the chair. “Huh,” he said. “Guess this mystery just got a lot uglier.”
“We have to tell Collins,” Sarah said. “Now.”
Flint didn’t move.
It felt like someone had taken the floor from under him, like he was still standing but nothing solid was actually holding him up.
“Flint,” Sarah said softly. “We have to go.”
He closed his phone. Nodded.
They walked to the office together.
Principal Collins’ office smelled like coffee and laminated paper. Diplomas lined the wall. A framed photo of the football team from five years ago—back when their jerseys were a slightly different shade of blue—hung beside a banner with the school mascot.
Flint sat in the hard plastic chair in front of the desk while Collins, tall and graying at the temples, leafed through a manila folder.
“I hope you understand the seriousness of what you’ve been accused of,” Collins said, not looking up. “Multiple students. A teacher. Written messages. Screenshots.”
“It wasn’t him,” Sarah said, from her seat against the wall. “We can explain.”
“Sarah,” Collins warned.
“Actually,” a new voice cut in, “they’re not the only ones with something to say.”
Everyone turned.
Joey stepped into the office. He looked smaller than Flint had ever seen him—like he’d shrunk two inches since morning. Behind him stood his mom, in work slacks and a blouse, eyes tired.
“What’s going on?” Collins asked, brows lifting.
Joey’s mom squeezed his shoulder. “Go ahead,” she said. “Tell them what you told me.”
Joey swallowed. His gaze met Flint’s for half a second, then dropped.
“This morning,” Joey said, “my mom was working from home. She went to use her personal laptop and saw some outgoing emails to teachers and students. From an account called ‘MeAndSteele.’”
Collins’ eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“We… traced it back,” Joey’s mom said quietly. “The account is tied to Joey’s phone number. It seems he’s been… sending messages. From a fake email and Instagram handle. To kids at this school.”
Collins leaned back, the chair creaking. “So you’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that the online harassment did not come from Flint?”
“No,” Joey whispered.
“It was you?” Flint’s voice cracked. “Joey…”
“I couldn’t believe it either,” Joey’s mom said, voice breaking. “But the evidence is there. On my computer. On his phone.”
“Why?” Collins asked. “Why would you do this? To your classmates? To your friend?”
Joey’s lip trembled. He took a breath that sounded like it hurt. “I did it because of Sarah,” he blurted.
The room froze.
“The truth is…” Joey’s eyes flicked to Sarah, then back to the carpet. “I’ve liked you since fifth grade. Since you shared your chips with me at lunch and helped me cheat on a spelling test.”
“Wow,” Sarah muttered. “Way to make that sound romantic.”
“I wanted to ask you out,” Joey continued, voice shaking. “But I never had the courage. And then I started noticing… you and Flint. Texting all the time. Sitting together at games. Walking home. Laughing at jokes I wasn’t part of.”
Flint opened his mouth. “Joey, that was—”
“It felt like… something,” Joey said. “And when Flint got the Irvine scholarship, and you texted that all three of us were going to be at college together… It just… broke something in me. I thought if Flint didn’t go—if he lost his scholarship—then maybe I’d finally have a chance. Just me and you at Irvine. No star quarterback in the way.”
Sarah’s face went white.
“So you framed me,” Flint said, the words scraping his throat. “You made a fake account. You made fun of Amber, of Gordon, of Mrs. Tanner. You took a picture of my block from your car and posted it like it was my story. You literally tried to get my scholarship revoked.”
“I know,” Joey whispered. “I know it was messed up. I just… every time I saw you two hanging out without me, it hurt. I thought you were drifting away. I thought you’d forgotten about my birthday. I saw you and Sarah whispering by your locker and I thought…”
Flint closed his eyes.
“The reason we were whispering,” he said slowly, “was because we were planning your surprise party. We weren’t ignoring you. We were trying to set up something you’d never forget.”
Joey stared at him. “You were… planning a party?”
“Yeah,” Flint said. “We booked a lane at Strikers. Ordered that ridiculous cookie cake you like with extra frosting. Sarah made a slideshow of all your embarrassing childhood photos. We had a whole thing ready.”
“We were literally on our way to pick up decorations when you texted that you were ‘done with us,’” Sarah said. “And stopped answering.”
Joey’s shoulders sagged. “I thought… you forgot,” he said weakly. “I thought you chose each other over me.”
“Irvine and prom and all that doesn’t mean anything if we don’t have our day-ones, man,” Flint said. “You’re my family.”
Joey’s eyes filled with tears. “The entire time I thought you two had something going on,” he whispered. “That you were leaving me behind.”
“For the record,” Sarah said quietly, “I did like you. For a long time. That way. I just never said anything because I didn’t want to mess up our friendship.”
Joey looked up, hope flaring and dying all at once.
“You… liked me?” he asked.
“I did,” Sarah corrected. “Past tense.”
She swallowed hard, anger finally pushing through her hurt.
“But after everything you’ve done?” she said. “The lies. The messages. The way you tried to destroy Flint’s future because you were jealous? That completely changes everything for me.”
Joey flinched like she’d slapped him.
“Same here,” Flint said softly. “You could’ve talked to us, man. Instead, you chose to hurt everyone around you. Sometimes… it really is the people closest to you that can hurt you the most.”
Collins cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, folding his hands on the desk. “I appreciate all of you being honest. Joey, we’re going to have to contact your Irvine representative and your counselor. There will be consequences for this, both at school and possibly with law enforcement, depending on the district’s policy on online harassment.”
Joey nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I understand,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“As for you, Flint,” Collins continued, his gaze softening slightly, “I owe you an apology. I was too quick to assume the worst.”
“It’s okay,” Flint said, though his voice betrayed that it wasn’t. “You were just doing your job.”
“I’ve already spoken to Irvine’s athletics department,” Collins said. “I’ll be contacting them again to clarify that you were the victim, not the perpetrator. Your scholarship is safe. As far as this office is concerned, your record remains clean.”
It felt like someone had just lifted a sixty-pound weight off Flint’s chest. His lungs worked again.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
“You three are free to go,” Collins said to Flint, Sarah, and even Maddie, who’d lingered awkwardly near the door. “We’ll speak more tomorrow, once things settle. Joey, you and your mother will stay.”
They walked out into the hallway together.
The air smelled like it always did—floor cleaner, something fried from the cafeteria, a hint of cologne from the sophomore boys who over-sprayed. But it felt different now.
Lighter.
And heavier all at once.
“I’m really sorry,” Maddie said as they reached the lockers. “For thinking it was you. And for… everything else.”
Flint let out a long breath. “You’re not the one who almost cost me my future,” he said. Then, after a beat, he added, “But maybe we can stop being enemies now.”
Maddie gave him a surprised half-smile. “We’ll see,” he said. “UCLA’s gonna crush Irvine anyway.”
“In your dreams,” Flint shot back automatically.
As Maddie walked away, Sarah turned to Flint.
“You okay?” she asked.
He thought about the morning—the joy of the scholarship, the easy laughter with Joey, the feeling that everything was finally lining up.
He thought about the afternoon—the DMs, the accusations, the way people backed away from him in the hallway like his name was contagious.
He thought about Joey in that office chair, small and sorry and ten years old again.
“No,” Flint said honestly. “But I will be.”
Sarah nodded. “We still have a surprise party to throw,” she said softly. “Just… maybe not the way we planned.”
“You still want to do it?” Flint asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe someday, when he’s really sorry. Not just ‘caught’ sorry. For now… I’m more worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Flint said. Then, because he suddenly meant it, he added, “Really.”
As they walked down the hallway together, past the college pennants and the trophy cases and the classroom where it had all started that morning, Flint’s phone buzzed.
A notification from his email. Subject line:
UC Irvine – Scholarship Confirmation
He opened it.
We look forward to welcoming you to campus this fall, it read.
The words didn’t magic away the hurt. They didn’t change what Joey had done, or the way Amber and Gordon still looked at him, or the memory of being accused by a teacher he respected.
But they did remind him of something important.
He was still going.
He still had a future that was his.
And the people who tried to tear it away—whether because of jealousy, or hurt, or their own chaos—weren’t going to decide who he was.
Sarah nudged him with her shoulder. “So,” she said lightly. “You, me, and Irvine, huh?”
He smiled, a real one this time. “Yeah,” he said. “Irvine.”
They stepped out into the California afternoon, the sun bright and unforgiving, the air buzzing with the sound of traffic and a distant siren. Somewhere, palm trees waved lazily above strip malls and coffee shops and a life that was waiting.
Behind them, the doors of Westview High swung shut.
In front of them, the world stayed wide open.
