When my uncle is a campus star, and I’m just a nobody

The whispers started before I even reached the stairs.

"That's her."

"The drama girl?"

"She doesn't *look* like that type."

I pulled Jackson's scarf higher on my neck and kept walking. A guy by the vending machine lifted his phone and snapped a picture of me. He didn't even pretend to hide it.

"Hey," I said. "What are you doing?"

He smirked. "Ask the forum, sweetheart."

My stomach dropped.

I opened the campus forum right there in the hallway. The post sat at the top of the homepage, pinned, with a fire emoji next to it.

**DRAMA CLUB'S "INNOCENT" PRINCESS IS TWO-TIMING! Seducing the leading man behind the QB's back!**

The photo came first. Jackson's fingers at my collar. My face tipped up toward him. Mike's hand in mine.

Below that sat a video. Jackson pulling me into a hug outside the stadium last month, the day I'd cried over a failed quiz. Someone had slowed it down and added sad violin music.

Then came the screenshots.

*Jackson: Did you like the bracelet?*

*Me: I love it. You spoil me too much.*

*Jackson: Don't tell your little boyfriend.*

I'd never typed those words. Not one of them.

The last paragraph made my hands go cold.

*Anonymous source says she didn't even get in on her own grades. The QB pulled strings with the admissions office. Ask yourself how a girl like that got a full freshman scholarship.*

Four thousand comments. And it was 8:40.

---

My locker door hung open a crack.

I pulled it wider, and a wave of garbage slid out onto my shoes. Coffee grounds. Banana peels. A soggy hamburger wrapper. Someone had written across the inside of the door in pink lipstick:

**JACKSON IS OURS, SLUT.**

Two girls in football jerseys giggled at the end of the hall.

"Smells like you," one of them called.

I didn't answer. I knelt down and started scooping trash into the bin with my bare hands, because the other choice was crying in front of them.

---

The rehearsal hall was full when I walked in. Nobody was rehearsing.

Marcy, the stage manager, stepped in front of me with a clipboard pressed to her chest like a shield.

"Lina. Hey. So." She chewed her lip. "We had a quick group vote."

"A vote about what?"

"About the Christmas show." She wouldn't meet my eyes. "With everything going on, people think it's better if you step back. Just for now."

"I'm the *lead*."

"Were," someone muttered from the second row.

"None of it is true," I said. My voice came out too loud. "Jackson is my uncle. My mom's little brother."

A few people laughed outright.

"Your uncle," Marcy repeated. "Lina, your last name is Carver. His is Delgado."

"Because he's on my *mom's* side!"

"Then why didn't you ever say so?" A tall guy from the lighting crew folded his arms. "You two have been all over each other since September. Now that you're caught, he's suddenly family?"

"He made me promise not to—"

"Convenient."

I fumbled for my phone and hit Jackson's name. Straight to voicemail.

I tried again. Voicemail.

Third time, I called the athletics office.

"Football's at a closed camp in Ohio until Thursday," a bored voice told me. "Coach collects all phones. No exceptions, hon."

"It's an emergency."

"It always is."

Click.

I stared at the screen. The one person who could fix this in ten seconds was four states away with his phone in a lockbox.

---

"Lina?"

Irene's voice was soft and wet. She pushed through the crowd, her eyes already red, a tissue crumpled in her fist.

She threw her arms around me. I went stiff as a board.

"Oh, Lina." She sniffled into my shoulder, loud enough for the back row. "I *told* you. I begged you not to play with two guys' feelings. Didn't I?"

I shoved her off. "You never said that."

"I did. In our room. You just laughed." A tear rolled down her cheek, perfectly timed. "I'm not mad. I'm just sad for you."

"You posted it."

Gasps.

Irene pressed a hand to her heart. "How could you even say that? After what you did to *me* and Ethan?"

"I didn't do anything to Ethan!"

"Wow," someone said. "She's blaming her best friend now."

The crowd shifted. Closed in. I backed up until my shoulders hit the edge of the stage.

"Just admit it," a girl hissed.

"Admit what? That I have a family?"

"Admit you're a liar!"

A plastic cup flew out of nowhere. Iced coffee hit my chest, soaked through the scarf, and dripped down my stomach. Ice cubes bounced across the floor.

For a second, I just stood there, dripping.

Then I laughed. One sharp, broken sound. Because of course it was coffee. Of course it was Jackson's scarf.

"Is she *laughing*?"

"She's insane."

Someone raised another cup.

"*Hey!*"

Mike shoved through the circle so fast he knocked a music stand over. He grabbed me and pulled me into his chest, turning his back to the room. The second cup splashed across his shoulders instead of my face.

He didn't even flinch.

"Mike," I whispered. "You'll get soaked."

"Already am." His hand cupped the back of my head. "You okay, princess?"

I shook my head against his shirt.

Irene's tissue stopped moving halfway to her eye.

"Mike," she said carefully, "you saw the post, right? The screenshots? She's been lying to you."

He turned around slowly, still holding me.

"I saw it."

"Then why are you—"

"Because the Lina I know isn't the girl in that post." His voice was quiet, which somehow made the whole room quieter. "I don't know who wrote it. I don't know who that guy is to her. But if the whole world wants to doubt her, fine. I'm going to hear her out first."

Nobody spoke.

Irene's face went white. Not pale. White, like paper. Her mouth opened and stayed open, as if she'd been holding a line ready for the scene where Mike dumped me, and he'd just thrown away the script.

"You're making a mistake," she said thinly.

"Then it's mine to make." He grabbed my bag off the floor. "Come on. Let's get you dry."

---

My phone buzzed as we reached the hallway.

An email. Official university seal at the top.

**Office of Student Conduct — Notice of Investigation**

*Ms. Lina Carver: The Disciplinary Committee has received allegations regarding academic dishonesty and improper admission. You are required to attend a formal hearing. Failure to cooperate will result in the immediate suspension of your Freshman Merit Scholarship.*

I read it twice. My fingers left coffee smears on the glass.

"Lina?" Mike leaned over my shoulder. "What is it?"

"They think I cheated my way in." My voice didn't sound like mine. "If I lose that scholarship, I can't stay here. My parents can't afford it."

"Then we prove them wrong."

"With what? The only proof is in Ohio. With no phone."

Behind us, the rehearsal hall door creaked open. Marcy's voice floated out, bright and relieved.

"Okay, everyone! Good news. We already have someone for the lead. She signed up this morning."

I turned.

Through the gap in the door, I saw Irene step up onto the stage, wiping her eyes, and take my script from Marcy's hands.

She looked straight at me through the crack.

And she smiled.

"This morning," I whispered. "Mike. The post went up at eight."

He frowned. "So?"

"So how did she know to sign up before anyone asked me to leave?"