The Fake Heiress Who Borrowed My Life

1: 1

At the class reunion, the class president took it all on herself. "We just graduated, everyone's tight on money. Forget splitting the bill—it's on me."

The others cheered. "Long live Teresa! That's our beloved class president—beautiful and kind."

The waiter brought the check. Sixty-three thousand and change.

Teresa glanced at it and turned to me. "Ada Henson, step outside for a second. I need to talk to you."

This was the fifth time now. Every reunion, she picked up the whole tab like it was nothing, and everyone praised her for it. She got all the glory.

But every single time, she found some excuse to make me front the money—and she never paid me back once.

When I didn't move, she called out, impatient. "Ada, what are you spacing out for? Come on, get out here!"

I looked at her calmly. "You're the one paying. What do you need me outside for?"

Her face went sour. "I have something to tell you."

I stayed exactly where I was. "What is it that can't be said in front of everyone? Don't tell me you can't cover the bill and you've just been putting on a show this whole time?"

Every head in the room turned toward her.

This time, I was going to leave her nowhere to hide.

1

After graduation everyone scattered, all of us stuck in the swamp of job hunting.

Only Teresa Simmons spent her days chatting in the group, showing off new bags, fresh manicures, trips out of town.

Every few days she'd organize a reunion, refuse to split the bill, and pay for everything herself.

The others all called her a beautiful, kind-hearted rich woman. They practically made her out to be a living saint.

Another reunion came around.

Early that morning, Teresa called me.

"Ada, I've got something out of town this morning. You know I'm the guest of honor tonight, I can't be late. Lend me your Mercedes, would you?"

I hesitated.

"We're classmates," Teresa pressed. "We're supposed to help each other out. You wouldn't say no to something this small, right?"

"You're not that petty, are you?"

"Don't worry, I'll fill the tank all the way up, and I'll get it washed for you too."

This was the sixth time she'd borrowed the car.

Every time there was some excuse.

And every time she brought it back, not once was the tank ever full.

There was even a time she ran it down to empty, didn't want to pay to fill it, and called to say something had come up and I'd have to come get the car myself.

I took a taxi dozens of miles through the rain, late at night, to where she'd left it.

I hadn't driven far before the tank hit empty.

In that unfamiliar place, I didn't even know where to find a gas station.

The car sat there, rain pouring down outside, deep into the night, and I toughed it out in the driver's seat until morning, when I finally called a tow truck.

I let out a soft sigh. "President, I need the car today too. I have to go out."

Teresa sounded put out. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

I blinked. "What do you mean, what are you supposed to do?"

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I need the car urgently. So what are we going to do?"

But it was my car.

I opened my mouth, and Teresa cut in. "How about you just tough it out and lend it to me first? I'll get back as fast as I can and return it to you. That works, doesn't it?"

I was about to refuse when her voice turned wounded. "The reunion's tonight, and I'm the one who set it up. I can't not show."

"Oh, and Ada, remember? When you were writing your graduation thesis, I helped you out."

She said that line every time.

And every time, I'd thanked her more times than I could count.

I bit my lip.

I could only give in. "Then you'd better hurry. I need to drive out at one this afternoon."

Teresa agreed to everything. "Fine, relax, I'll have it back to you right on time."

But I waited all the way until half past one, and there was no sign of Teresa.

I called her. "Teresa, didn't you say you'd definitely have the car back before one?"

Loud car music blared down the line. Teresa's voice came through, all innocence. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, Ada, you know how my head is, my memory's terrible, I completely forgot."

"I'm still dozens of miles out right now, there's no way I can get it back to you in time. Why don't you just grab a taxi?"

"Cabs are easy to catch anyway."

"I'm in the middle of something, I can't talk. Bye now."

She hung up before I could get a word in.

I gave a bitter little laugh. Of course. Same as always.

That evening, when I got to the hotel where the reunion was being held, everyone had already arrived.

They stood around the entrance chatting, trading greetings, asking after each other's lives, fishing for word of any good job openings.

When I walked in, only a few of them said hello. The rest just kept talking among themselves.

A class reunion was classmates in name only. In truth it broke down into its own little inner circles.

Sometimes I wondered whether these reunions meant much at all.

Soon enough, my own familiar Mercedes pulled up in front of the hotel.

Teresa got out and tossed the keys to the valet with a flourish.

The classmates who'd been clumped in their little circles all caught the scent and swarmed over.

"Well, look who finally made it, President! We got here ages ago, all of us waiting on you."

"Right, President, none of us would go in without you. You have to be the first one into the room."

"Our president really is a rich woman. Just the drive-off price on that Mercedes has to be over eight hundred grand, doesn't it?"

Facing all that envy,

Teresa shot me a glance, then said proudly, "It's just a Mercedes. At my house, it's the cheapest car we've got."

I stood outside the crowd, watching her.

Watching her shamelessly claim the car as her own.

And I finally understood why she'd kept stalling and refused to give it back.