My Best Friend Framed Me for Stealing Her FutureChapter 1

While everyone was celebrating me as this year’s Avery STEM Scholar, my friend Mia showed up outside my house and slit her wrist.

With hundreds of thousands of people pouring into her livestream, she held up her application packet and accused me of using my family connections to steal the Avery Humanities spot that should have been hers.

“She got a C in AP U.S. History, but because her uncle sits on the Avery Foundation board, she could just have my name swapped out for hers. What’s the point of working this hard when someone like me, living on financial aid, can still lose everything to a girl with the right connections?”

The story exploded overnight. My uncle was immediately placed under an independent conflict-of-interest review, my home address was doxxed, and someone spray-painted THIEF across our garage door.

Watching Mia soak up sympathy on camera and become the girl the internet believed had been robbed by privilege, I almost found it funny.

I applied for STEM.

She was a Humanities candidate.

So what exactly was I supposed to have stolen?

...

“Sloane, how can you possibly be laughing right now?”

A reporter shoved a microphone so close to my face it nearly hit my mouth.

I stood in front of our garage, broken eggs scattered at my feet. Red paint dripped down the door.

THIEF.

That was what they had written.

My mother was white as a sheet, gripping my hand hard enough to hurt.

My father tried to block the cameras, only to be swarmed by livestreamers.

“Step aside. Let her answer.”

“You’ve got a board member in the family. What are you afraid of now?”

“Let her talk!”

“Let her answer!”

I looked toward the phone held up at the front of the crowd.

On the livestream, Mia sat on the stone steps outside our gate. Her left wrist was wrapped in gauze, and a small patch of blood stained the cuff of her white sweater.

She held up the application packet and cried so hard she could barely catch her breath.

“I don’t want money.”

“I’m not asking her for money.”

“I just want a fair shot.”

“If the selection committee originally recommended me, why did Sloane end up becoming the Avery Scholar?”

The comments flew past the screen.

[This is heartbreaking. She’s a first-gen college applicant.]

[Sloane needs to apologize.]

[So being the niece of an Avery board member makes you untouchable?]

[Investigate her uncle. All of it.]

The reporter pushed his microphone toward me again.

“Sloane, Mia says you got a C in AP U.S. History your junior year. Is that true?”

I looked at him. “Yes.”

The woman livestreaming beside him practically shrieked.

“She admitted it!”

“Did everyone hear that? She really did get a C in history!”

“How does someone pulling a C in history beat Mia in Humanities?”

I laughed.

“Do any of you do research before you show up with cameras?”

She gave a contemptuous snort.

“Research what? How your uncle pulled strings for you?”

“Mia hurt herself over this. An eighteen-year-old girl did that to herself, and you’re still standing here trying to deny it?”

My mother finally snapped.

“She hurt herself. What does that prove about my daughter? You can’t decide Sloane is guilty just because another girl is crying!”

“Mrs. Whitmore.”

The woman instantly swung the camera toward my mother.

“Your daughter stole a life-changing opportunity from a low-income student, and you’re still defending her?”

“No wonder Sloane thinks she can get away with anything.”

My mother trembled with anger.

I pulled her behind me.

“First, I didn’t steal anything.”

“Second, my uncle is cooperating fully with the conflict-of-interest review.”

“And third—”

I looked straight into the livestream camera.

“Tell Mia to stop crying long enough to show some evidence.”

The crowd erupted.

“She’s asking for evidence?”

“Isn’t the application letter evidence?”

“What about the internal screenshot?”

“What about the bandage on her wrist?”

I looked at the sea of flushed faces and raised phones. They were acting as though they had personally watched me hack into Avery’s system.

“Her injury proves she hurt herself.”

“It does not prove I stole an Avery spot from her.”

A familiar voice came from behind the crowd.

“Sloane.”

“How can you be this cold?”

The crowd parted.

Mia came toward me with her mother, Lisa, supporting her arm.

The second Mia saw me, tears slid down her face.

“I thought you’d at least feel guilty.”

“But you’re really standing here saying what happened to me has nothing to do with you?”

I stared at her.

“You’re the one who came to my house and livestreamed it.”

Lisa rushed forward.

“Do you have any conscience at all?”

“Mia thought you were her best friend, and you took her opportunity from her. You nearly drove her to do something irreversible!”

Then she turned toward the cameras and burst into tears.

“Please. I’m begging the Avery Foundation to give my daughter a fair hearing!”

“We don’t have money or connections.”

“My daughter did everything she was supposed to do.”

“Why should any of that matter less just because we don’t know the right people?”

“The Whitmores are rich and powerful. We can’t fight people like them.”

“But my daughter’s future shouldn’t be decided by who has the better connections!”

Mia lowered her head.

Her voice was soft, but somehow every microphone picked it up.

“Mom, stop begging.”

“People like us can’t fight the Whitmores.”

That set the crowd off all over again.

“Did you hear that? She’s still scared of them!”

“How can you stand there and act like none of this matters?”

“You didn’t just take an award. You took away her chance!”

My father finally lost his patience.

“Anyone who refuses to leave our property is getting reported to the police.”

“Call them!” the livestreamer shot back, shoving herself toward him. “Let the police come see how your family bullies people!”

Mia reached out and lightly caught my sleeve.

“Sloane.”

“Give the spot back to me.”

“This has gone too far now.”

“Even your uncle can’t protect you anymore.”

I looked at her swollen, tear-reddened eyes and suddenly found the whole thing almost funny.

Four years of friendship.

When she couldn’t afford a winter coat, I bought her one.

When her AP fee waiver didn’t cover the full cost one year, I paid the difference.

When she qualified for a state debate tournament but couldn’t afford a hotel, my mother covered the room.

When things were chaotic at home and she kept skipping breakfast, I packed an extra sandwich every morning.

And this was what she did with every kindness I had ever shown her.

She turned every bit of it against my family.

I pulled my sleeve out of her hand.

“Mia.”

“You’d better be sure about this.”

She immediately stumbled back half a step, crying harder.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Did everyone hear that?”

“She just threatened me!”

Every camera swung toward me.

I stopped explaining.

I took out my phone and called the Avery Foundation.

“This is Sloane Whitmore.”

“I’m formally requesting a public review of this year’s Avery Scholars Program selection process.”

“I authorize Avery to review and release whatever records are necessary to verify my application.”

I paused.

“And I want the review livestreamed.”

Mia’s crying stopped for a second.

I looked at her.

“Will you show up?”

She stared at me.

A few seconds later, she clenched her jaw.

“Of course.”

“You’re the one who should be afraid.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

“See you tomorrow.”