Grayson hadn't expected Emily to actually slap Quinn. He realized that if he stayed, things would only get more tense. He quickly invented an excuse—claiming he had other business to take care of—and slipped out of the café.
Once Grayson was gone, Quinn rubbed her reddened cheek and glared furiously at Emily. Yet after a mont, to Emily's surprise, Quinn burst into giggles.
"Cousin," she said between laughs, "you really did slap , just to make Grayson think you're serious! Now that loser must be convinced you've fallen for him. Imagine—a rich, beautiful woman actually liking him. He'll be head over heels for you, no question."
She paused to tease, wincing as she touched her cheek. "But still...was it really worth it? You slapped so hard I can barely feel my face. And all for your little sche!"
Quinn clearly thought Emily was still just pretending, putting on a show for Grayson. She had no idea that Emily's slap had been made in genuine anger.
"All right," Emily said, backing away from the conversation. "I'll make it up to you." Of course, she wouldn't tell Quinn the truth—that she'd slapped her because she was worried Grayson might slip away.
Quinn grinned. "Better believe it. If you actually reel in Dylan, you owe big ti. I expect more than an apology."
Emily smiled and nodded, though inside she thought, "Hmph—Dylan rcer? That loser? He's not good enough for . I'm so lucky to have bumped into Mr. Cole again. Now I just need to play my cards right and win him over."
"By the way," Quinn said suddenly, as if she'd just rembered sothing, "although you and Grayson are pretending to be a couple, you need to watch yourself around him."
Emily frowned. "Why? What about him?"
"Well...Grayson might look like a loser, but he's actually kind of sleazy," Quinn explained. "You rember my best friend Lauren? You t her once, right?"
Emily nodded slowly. "Yes. What about her?"
"Last ti at the tennis courts, Lauren said a few words to him, and Grayson completely fell for her. He was even asking if Lauren was here just now." Quinn smirked. "He's like a toad trying to eat swan at—totally deluded. So you need to be on guard. If he really takes a shine to you, he might stick to you like glue, and that would be a huge pain. Oh—and make sure you're never alone with him in so secluded spot, or he might try sothing."
"Uh..." Emily put on a blank expression, but inside her mind was racing: If Mr. Cole really did start to like —thank goodness. That would be the luckiest break of my life. But wait—Quinn said he liked Lauren? Suddenly a pang of urgency seized Emily. She needed to move fast, before Grayson's attention drifted elsewhere.
"Speaking of which, cousin, didn't you say once that so top heir ca into the bank to withdraw money with his fingerprint, and they had a special vault just for his cash and valuables? Sounds like sothing out of a movie. You really have it made to see soone like that in your lifeti. If he cos back to your bank, find a way to sneak his contact info for , will you?"
Emily feigned ignorance. "Why would I get you his contact information? I don't see why."
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Because you've already got rcer lined up!"
Emily fell silent, leaving her cousin's words unchallenged—but in her mind she laughed at Quinn's cluelessness: the "top heir" was the sa Grayson Quinn had bossed around all along! And after hearing Quinn's warning, Emily was even more determined not to reveal Grayson's identity. If Quinn ever found out, she'd beco a direct rival for his attention—untoward competition Emily could not afford.
anwhile, Grayson had reached the campus gates. He thought back to his conversation with Emily: she had seed genuinely remorseful about her past gold-digging attitude, and if that was true, helping her out by pretending to be her boyfriend really wouldn't hurt.
Just outside the gate, a small shop drew a crowd of students. Each of them looked well-dressed and polished, clearly from families with ans. Above the shop's entrance hung a sign reading "Häagen-Dazs." As everyone knew, a single serving here could cost at least two hundred dollars—an indulgence only the wealthier students could afford. Grayson himself usually ignored this place when he passed by, but today, he decided, why not treat himself?
He joined the line at one of the two service windows, tucking his head to stay out of the gaze of passing classmates. As he waited, he heard hushed giggles behind him—several girls whispering.
"Look at him, wearing such ragged clothes, and he's here buying Häagen-Dazs."
"It's embarrassing. Poor people should stick to Great Value ice cream. This is only for us rich girls."
"If he buys this expensive treat, he'll have to drink plain water for a month."
"For the sake of appearances, hahaha. Bet he'll take a photo and post it on social dia."
"People like this embarrass their parents. If your family's poor, okay—but don't be so vain and greedy. He probably feels entitled. What a disgrace to have such children. Better if their parents had never had them."
Grayson's cheeks burned. Was all this chatter directed at him? Did these girls actually think he was one of "those" poor kids spoiling for luxury? He resisted the urge to spin around and confront them, but curiosity got the better of him.
He glanced over his shoulder. Indeed, three girls stood behind him, smirking. All three looked attractive, dressed in the latest trends.
The girl in the middle was the prettiest: she wore a black leather jacket and sported gray dreadlocks—like an unruly mop of mophead colored rags. She chewed gum, her eyes cool and dismissive, like a queen surveying her subjects. The other two were similarly dressed—AAPE sneakers gave away their comfortable financial standing. Their expressions were confident, even entitled.
Yet Grayson noticed that none of the three were looking at him. Their eyes were fixed on a girl standing in a different line. He realized they weren't talking about him; they were mocking soone else.
In that second line stood a slender girl, her head bowed as if ashad. She wore a simple T-shirt—one of those ten-dollars street-market specials—and baggy, ill-fitting jeans that looked frayed at the hems. But despite her modest clothes, her skin was smooth and fair, her face frad by rich, blond hair and dark blue eyes. Her profile glead with a gentle beauty: high cheekbones, a delicate nose, and lips that, if she smiled, must curve into sothing lovely. Right now, though, she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ground.
Why was this girl—standing in the Häagen-Dazs line? She clearly couldn't afford such extravagance. Grayson felt a pang of pity.
Then the three richer girls advanced on her. Grayson's heart clenched as he overheard them.
"Hey, Jasmine, are you deaf? We're talking about you—do you hear us?" they jeered. Now they surrounded her, closing ranks as if they owned the place. It was clear they already knew her.
Jasmine remained quiet, chin still bowed.
"Jasmine, I heard you just got the poverty grant from school. So you collect that money and then spend it on Häagen-Dazs?" the girl with the gray dreads taunted.
"Co on, everyone! Look at this: her parents can't even pay her tuition or dorm fees, and she's spending her grant on this?" another girl piped up, drawing other students' attention.
"Have you ever seen soone so lazy and spoiled? The school gives her that grant to help her study—what a disgrace, using it for ice cream. No ambition, no sha. Truly worthless."
Their cruel words drew disapproving glances from the crowd. Everyone saw Jasmine's clothing and assud she was poor. Now they looked down on her for daring to treat herself. Even Grayson felt a twinge of disappointnt—she was beautiful, yet here she was squandering what little aid she had on an overpriced dessert. It felt...unfair.
By now, the leader of the trio—still chewing gum—grabbed a fistful of Jasmine's long blond hair and yanked it back. Jasmine's head shot up, and Grayson froze in his tracks.
She was stunning. Her face had no trace of makeup—likely because she couldn't afford it—but her natural beauty shone through: smooth skin with a faint warm hue hinting at malnourishnt; eyebrows as fine and elegant as drawn ink; eyes deep and lancholy, like autumn ponds back ho; and a stubborn, quiet pride in the set of her jaw. Her lips remained pressed tight, though clearly the hair pull must have hurt. Yet she did not cry out. She simply stood there under their jeers, silent and composed.
"She's such a freak," one of the an girls sneered, evidently bored by Jasmine's wordless dignity. She kicked Jasmine's calf and let go. Jasmine winced but did not respond. She picked up her tub of vanilla Häagen-Dazs and turned away, head still bowed as she left.
"Girls these days are so vain," soone muttered. "Her parents probably earn only a few days' wages for the cost of that ice cream."
Grayson's chest ached in sympathy. Jasmine—so pretty, yet forced to scrape up enough money for a single scoop. It was one thing to occasionally splurge, but to use a poverty grant on luxury ice cream? It made no sense...yet he understood her need for a mont of sweetness.
Suddenly, the crowd's attention shifted. Now the three upper-class girls turned toward him, eyes flicking with disdain. "Look, there's another one," the leader sneered.
Emboldened by their harsh words, Grayson felt a flash of anger: they lumped him in with that poor girl, judging both of them for being out of place. He straightened his back, unwilling to take it any longer. Quietly, he stepped out of line, ice cream forgotten, and followed the path Jasmine had taken.
At the entrance of H ä agen Dazs store, a few students exchanged questioning glances as Grayson left. But he paid them no mind. He only wanted to catch up with Jasmine—first, to offer her a friendly word, and perhaps a bit of solidarity. He knew what it felt like to be judged by what he wore...maybe she needed soone to stand by her side.
Reviews
All reviews (0)