Chapter 5: The Lie Behind the Scholarship
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Before you celebrate, you should know what your stepsister told the judges about your dress.
My first instinct was to find Vanessa and demand an explanation.
My second was to delete the message and pretend it didn't exist.
I did neither.
Instead, I took a screenshot and sent it to my own email address. Then I saved the unknown number in my contacts under a single word: *Mystery*.
I had spent too much of my life reacting to Vanessa's provocations. If she had done something that could jeopardize my scholarship, I wanted to know exactly what it was before I confronted her.
Across the ballroom, Vanessa was posing for another photograph.
She had recovered her smile, but it looked strained now. Every few seconds, her eyes flicked toward the stage.
I approached Mrs. Bennett, who was organizing the showcase entries near a table covered in garment sketches.
“Mrs. Bennett, can I ask you something?””
She looked up immediately.
“Of course. What's wrong?””
I showed her the message.
Her expression changed as she read it.
“Who sent this?””
“I don't know.””
She handed my phone back.
“Emma, I don't want you to panic over an anonymous message. But I do want you to tell me if someone has threatened you or interfered with your entry.””
I hesitated.
“Does Vanessa know something about the judging process?””
Mrs. Bennett folded her arms.
“Every student was judged according to the same published criteria. The panel reviewed the photographs before tonight, then examined the garments in person.””
“That isn't what I mean.””
She studied my face.
“Then tell me what you mean.””
I took a breath.
“Vanessa poured red paint over my original dress last night. I made this one afterward.””
Mrs. Bennett went completely still.
“She did what?””
I told her what had happened, keeping my voice low. I explained the paint, the ruined fabric, the late-night sewing, and the way Vanessa had laughed while I sat on the floor.
When I finished, Mrs. Bennett's expression had hardened.
“Why didn't you tell me this earlier?””
“I didn't want people thinking I won because they felt sorry for me.””
She looked at the roses on my dress.
“Emma, you didn't win because your dress was damaged. You won because you transformed it into something original. Those are very different things.””
I looked down.
“I know.””
“Do you?””
Her question wasn't unkind.
She pulled out a chair and sat beside me.
“Your work deserved to be judged fairly. If someone has spread a false accusation about your entry, we need to know what they said.””
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of accusation?””
“I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out.””
She stood and walked toward the judges' table.
I remained beside the display board, trying to control my breathing.
A few minutes later, my father approached.
“Emma, can we talk?””
I looked at him.
“About what?””
He glanced toward the nearby students.
“Somewhere private.””
We stepped into the hallway outside the ballroom. The music became muffled behind the doors, replaced by the hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of students laughing.
Dad rubbed the back of his neck.
“Patricia told me there was a scene earlier.””
“Which scene?””
“Apparently, you accused Vanessa of ruining your dress.””
“I didn't accuse her. She did it.””
He sighed.
“Emma, I don't want to argue about this tonight.””
I stared at him.
“You don't want to argue about what happened to me, or you don't want to hear about it?””
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“That's not fair.””
“Neither was asking me to keep the peace when she destroyed something I worked for three months to buy.””
He looked away.
For a moment, I thought he might apologize.
Instead, he said, “Vanessa claims the paint was an accident.””
I felt something inside me go cold.
“An accident?””
“She said she was carrying it downstairs and tripped near your room.””
I almost laughed.
“She came into my bedroom holding the bucket. She told me she was going to improve my dress. Then she swung the paint at me.””
Dad looked uncomfortable.
“Maybe she was trying to make a joke.””
“Dad, the paint was on my chest. It was in my hair. It was all over the floor.””
“I understand you're upset.””
“No. You understand that I'm inconvenient when I'm upset.””
His face tightened.
“Emma.””
“You didn't even come upstairs last night.””
“I was tired.””
“So was I. I still had to rebuild my dress.””
He stared at me, and for the first time, I saw uncertainty in his eyes.
I continued before he could interrupt.
“I don't need you to punish Vanessa. I don't need you to choose sides. I need you to stop pretending that nothing happened just because admitting the truth would make dinner uncomfortable.””
Dad opened his mouth, but no words came.
Then he glanced toward the ballroom doors.
“Your scholarship is wonderful,” he said at last.
“I'm proud of you.””
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted those words to erase every time he'd told me to be patient, every time he'd asked me to understand Vanessa, and every time he'd treated my silence as proof that everything was fine.
But they couldn't.
“Thank you,” I said.
He reached for my shoulder.
I stepped back.
His hand fell to his side.
“Emma, please don't make this harder than it needs to be.””
I looked at him for a long moment.
“I'm not making it harder. I'm just not making it disappear anymore.””
Then I returned to the ballroom.
Mrs. Bennett was waiting near the stage with Dr. Porter.
Both women looked serious.
“Emma,” Dr. Porter said, “we've learned that a concern was raised about your entry before the announcement.””
My heart dropped.
“What concern?””
She gestured toward a quiet corner near the stage.
“Let's sit down.””
I followed her, suddenly aware of every person in the room.
Dr. Porter opened a folder.
“Earlier this afternoon, someone contacted the school and claimed your design photograph had been altered to misrepresent the garment. They suggested that the gown you submitted wasn't the gown you brought tonight.””
I stared at her.
“But I took the photograph myself.””
“We know. The judges examined the original image, and your design matches it.””
Mrs. Bennett nodded.
“The concern was reviewed before the final decision. Your entry was not disqualified because there was no evidence of misconduct.””
I gripped the edge of my chair.
“Who made the complaint?””
Dr. Porter exchanged a glance with Mrs. Bennett.
“We can't disclose the identity of someone who contacted the school without understanding the circumstances. However, the message was sent from an account that included a student's name.””
My throat tightened.
“Vanessa?””
Neither woman answered immediately.
That silence told me enough.
I looked toward the dance floor.
Vanessa was standing beside Olivia, holding a glass of punch. She laughed at something her friend said, but the sound didn't reach her eyes.
She had tried to undermine my entry before the judges even announced the winner.
She hadn't simply wanted me to look foolish.
She had wanted me disqualified.
Dr. Porter closed the folder.
“Emma, I want to be clear about something. Your scholarship is secure. The panel reviewed the evidence and made its decision independently.””
I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
“Thank you.””
“But I also recommend that you document any further interference. If you have messages or other evidence, preserve them.””
I nodded.
Then I asked the question that had been burning in my mind.
“Did Vanessa tell you anything else about my dress?””
Dr. Porter hesitated.
“She claimed that the garment might have been created by someone else.””
I stared at her.
“Someone else?””
“Yes. She suggested you had access to a professional designer who helped construct it.””
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“I repaired my mother's sewing machine at three in the morning. I made every rose myself.””
“I understand,” Dr. Porter said gently.
“And the judges found your account credible.””
I looked down at my hands.
There were tiny marks on my fingertips from the needle. A faint red stain remained near one nail, no matter how hard I'd scrubbed.
Those hands had made the dress.
Those hands had earned the scholarship.
And Vanessa had tried to convince strangers that I hadn't done either.
I stood.
“Thank you for telling me.””
Dr. Porter nodded.
“One more thing, Emma. Adrian would like to speak with you about a possible paid internship after your first semester. Your work caught his attention.””
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
A paid internship.
Another opportunity.
Another possibility I hadn't dared imagine.
“Please tell him I'd love to discuss it.””
She smiled.
“I will.””
I returned to the ballroom with my head held high, but the message on my phone still troubled me.
Who had sent it?
And how had they known what Vanessa had told the judges?
I walked toward the refreshment table, hoping a glass of water might settle my nerves.
Before I reached it, Olivia stepped into my path.
“Emma, can I talk to you?””
She looked frightened.
I glanced toward Vanessa.
She was watching us from across the room.
“Sure,” I said.
Olivia pulled me toward the corridor beside the restrooms.
“I need to tell you something, and I need you not to say my name.””
My pulse quickened.
“What is it?””
Olivia took out her phone.
“Vanessa didn't just tell the judges your dress was fake.””
She opened a message thread and turned the screen toward me.
There were several messages between Vanessa and another student, sent the previous night.
One read:
If Emma somehow gets to prom, she'll make a fool of herself.
Another said:
The judges will never give a scholarship to a girl wearing a dress covered in paint.
Then I saw the final message.
It had been sent at 11:48 p.m.
If she actually manages to make it look good, I'll make sure they know she stole the design.
My stomach twisted.
Olivia looked up.
“I thought she was just venting. I didn't think she'd actually contact the judges.””
“Why are you showing me this now?””
“Because I saw her talking to Mrs. Bennett. Then I heard her tell someone that you were going to get what you deserved.””
Olivia swallowed.
“I don't want to be part of this anymore.””
I looked at the messages again.
The last one had a reply beneath it, sent from Vanessa's account just minutes before midnight.
And if that doesn't work, I'll make sure she can't keep the scholarship.
I felt the ballroom tilt around me.
I had thought the paint was the worst thing Vanessa could do.
I had been wrong.
She hadn't stopped at destroying my dress.
May you like
She had tried to destroy the future I'd built from it.
And according to the messages on Olivia's phone, she wasn't finished.
