Ethan slipped out near the service entrance, blending into a crowd of students stepping out of Teslas and BMWs. He was sixteen, brilliant in physics, invisible everywhere else.
In AP Physics, Mr. Callahan slapped a test down on Ethan’s desk.
“Ninety-eight percent,” he announced. “Highest grade I’ve seen in years. Outstanding, Ethan.”
Two rows back, Tyler Kensington crushed his own paper—an 87—in his fist. Tyler was the crown prince of Westbridge. His mother was a powerful senator. He didn’t hate Ethan for being poor. He hated him for being better.
After class, Tyler caught up to him.
“Hey, genius,” Tyler said smoothly, throwing an arm over Ethan’s shoulders. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“I just studied,” Ethan muttered.
“It’s Senior Send-off lunch today. Sit at the Founder’s Table with us. Stop hiding in the library.”
Ethan hesitated. The Founder’s Table was sacred territory—reserved for athletes, legacy students, future CEOs.
“Me?”
“Yeah. Sushi’s on the way. Don’t embarrass us by saying no.”
For one fragile second, Ethan felt hope. “Okay.”
From the end of the hall, Robert was mopping near the lockers. He saw the smile on Tyler’s face. It wasn’t friendly. It was calculated.