Marcus
The Riverside University campus buzzed louder than usual, all glitter and nerves and perfume in the air. The Winter Ball wasn’t just another school event—it was a symbol of everything we’d survived, and maybe everything we still could be.
Stanford had funded the event as part of their summer program showcase, and Betty—of course—was the headliner. Her video had gone viral, her story was making waves, and tonight, the world was watching.
I stood outside the main hall in a fitted navy tux, nervously tapping my foot on the marble steps. The last few weeks had been a blur of workouts, scout meetings, and whispered hallway stares that followed me like shadows. But tonight, none of that mattered. Because she was coming. And this time, she wasn’t just the girl I was trying to win. She was Betty Branson. And I was the idiot lucky enough to get a second chance.
She walked up the steps like a slow-motion dream. Black satin hugged her waist, her lips glossed with that shade of courage I remembered from her first vlog. The second she looked up, the world stopped moving.
"Hey," she said softly, a playful glint in her eye.
I swallowed hard. “Hey yourself.”
“You clean up okay.”
“And you look like every reason I’ve been trying to be better.”
She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze like she wasn’t scared anymore. “You ready to go in?”
“Only if we walk in together.”
She took my arm.
Inside, lights spilled from the chandeliers, and music pulsed through the floor. People turned when they saw us. Some whispered. Some stared. And for once—I didn’t care.
We danced. We laughed. I didn’t let go of her hand, not even when someone called me out to congratulate me on the scout’s offer. It wasn’t a proposal. Just a start. But it felt like everything.
At one point, while refilling our drinks, I bumped into Stacy and Val—laughing at the bar, sipping mocktails with linked arms. They looked smug, smugger than usual. I blinked.
Stacy raised an eyebrow. “What? Surprised we’re not fighting over you anymore?”
Valerie smirked. “She’s moved on. Found someone with more brains and better hair.”
They both laughed and twirled away, leaving me stunned and vaguely impressed.
Betty leaned in. “Did that just happen?”
I nodded slowly. “I think it did.”
She laughed. “Good for them. Keeps them out of our way.”
The night wore on. Between slow songs and whispered jokes, the nerves settled. This wasn’t just some fairytale end. It was real. It was us. Rebuilt from the wreckage and still standing.
***
As the clock neared ten, the emcee’s voice rang through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, for the final presentation of the evening—Betty Branson.”
My heart kicked as she let go of my hand and walked to the front of the ballroom. The lights dimmed. A screen flickered on.
She stood beneath it in her sleek black dress, suddenly small against the glow, but her voice—when it came—was anything but.
“I used to think silence would keep me safe,” she began. “That if I shrank enough, the world would stop hurting me.”
Gasps, murmurs. The video played. Her story unfolded in clips—bullying, braces, vlogging, heartbreak, the transformation not of her looks, but of her spirit.
“This isn’t about revenge,” she said, once the footage ended. “It’s about voice. And choosing to be the main character of your own life—even if they laughed at you for it first.”
Applause erupted. People rose to their feet.
I clapped the hardest.
She returned to me glowing, breathless. “Was it okay?”
“Betts,” I said, grabbing her hand, “It was our story, insane!”
She smiled, and for the first time in forever, I saw her believing it.
Later, when the band started packing up, she tugged me close again, her voice brushing my ear. “We don’t have to stay long.”
I looked down at her. “You wanna get out of here?”
She smirked. “Back to my dorm. Unless you’re too scared.”
That grin of hers was my undoing.