Molly's driver picked her up from school in a sleek black Escalade with tinted windows. She slid into the leather seat without a word, pulling out her phone to scroll through Instagram. Perfect photos. Perfect friends. Perfect lies.
Her home? A literal mansion tucked behind iron gates, with a fountain in the front and chandeliers in the hallway. But that afternoon, as she sank into the silk cushions in her room, she felt…hollow.
Her grades were slipping. Algebra had officially declared war on her GPA.
"Molly sweetie?" her mother called through the door. "Your college counsellor says if you don't raise that math grade, Stanford is off the table."
Molly groaned into a pillow.
"Maybe you need a tutor," her mum added. "One of those…smart scholarship kids. Do you know a girl named Jessica Winters?"
Her blood ran cold.
"What?! No. Absolutely not. Anyone but her."
But three days later, Jessica stood at the Hastings' front door, hoodie zipped to her chin, bookstore name tag still clipped on.
"I can't believe I agreed to this," she muttered.
Ben had laughed for a solid minute when he heard. Hannah warned her it was a trap. Jake said, "Charge her rich ass triple."
Molly opened the door, arms crossed. "You're late."
Jessica held up a coffee cup. "I work. Some of us don't have butlers."
Molly stepped aside with a sigh. "Come on, then. The study dungeon is this way."
Jessica followed through the massive house, eyebrows raising at every chandelier. "Is this a house or a museum?"
"Its just…home," Molly said quietly, almost defensive.
They ended up in a sun-drenched study overlooking a garden. Jessica pulled out her battered laptop and a notepad, sitting at the marble table like she owned it.
"Alright, Molly," she said, smirking. "Time to find out if you actually have a brain under all that hairspray."
Molly glared. "Say that again and I'll shove a calculator down your throat."
"Oh no," Jessica said mock-dramatically, "the cheerleader's threatening me with math. I'm quaking."
And yet…they worked. Jessica explained things with sharp clarity, never dumbing it down, never patronizing. Molly tried, really tried, even when her head started pounding.
By the end of the hour, Jessica closed her notebook and leaned back.
"You're not hopeless," she said. "Just distracted by your own ego."
Molly tilted her head, studying her. "You really think I'm stupid?"
Jessica paused, then softened. "No. I think you've never had to be smart before. You just had to be pretty. And rich."
Molly didn't answer. But that night, she stared at ger ceiling longer than usual.