His Jealousy Sent Me Straight to the Ivy League novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Why Yale?

Three polished essays about the wrong schools, Tate on the porch calling it a stunt for attention, and her mother drinking his coffee; by noon the page is disabled and her screenshots are the only copy.

I read all three essays at the kitchen table while my mom made eggs.

The Harvard one said I had loved the pine trees on its campus since a visit in tenth grade.

I had only ever visited Emory.

The Princeton one said my grandmother lived forty minutes from campus.

My grandmother lives in Dayton.

Every box held a clean, polished answer about a school I had never applied to.

"They're good," my mom said, setting a plate in front of me. "They're really good. They're just about the wrong place."

"Admissions officers read these, Mom. They think I'm a liar."

"They think you're an applicant who got sabotaged and has a screenshot."

"They don't know that yet," I said.

"Then tell them again, louder," she said.

I sent three more emails with the post attached, and I put Hallie's advice at the top: facts first.

Hallie left at eight, before her mother woke up.

She hugged me hard at the front door.

"Let me talk to Tate," she said into my hair. "He listens to me."

"No," I said. "Not yet."

She nodded, kissed my cheek, and walked home the long way, down the road.

I was washing the pan when the doorbell rang.

My mom looked through the window and her whole face changed.

"Oh, it's him," she said. "And he brought his father's coffee."

Tate Larkin stood on our porch in his lacrosse jacket with a paper cup in his hand.

He looked like he hadn't slept.

Good.

I stepped out beside my mom and shut the door behind us.

"I came to talk to you," he said to me. "Not to your mom."

"She lives here."

"Delaney." He lowered his voice. "I don't know what you posted last night, but I didn't send that."

"I didn't ask if you did."

"Everybody's saying it's about me."

"It is about you."

He glanced at the street.

The man across the road had stopped shoveling.

"I think you wrote it yourself," Tate said, louder. "I think you've liked me since seventh grade, and you wanted everyone to look at you."

I heard my own pulse in my ears.

"The cat," I said.

"What cat?"

"The punch cat. I drew it, and I sent it to two people. You and Hallie."

"Delaney, half the school has that cat," Tate said.

"No. Two people have that cat."

He took a swallow of the coffee.

"You don't even have proof," he said. "You have a post on a page you won't put your name on."

My mom took the cup out of his hand.

She looked him in the eye, and she drank it, slowly, all the way down.

Then she put the empty cup back in his fingers.

"That was your father's order," she said. "He gets it every morning at the same place. I know because I see him in line."

Tate's face went red.

"Mrs. Frost, I'm not here to..."

"I know why you're here. You're here to find out whether she can prove it."

He looked at me.

For a second he looked eight years old.

"Can you?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

His jaw tightened.

"I'm sorry about your applications," he said, loud enough for the man with the shovel. "I really hope it works out."

He walked down the steps and across the lawn without looking back.

My mom waited until he was three houses up.

"He's going to say you made it up to everyone who'll listen."

"I know."

"What's your plan?"

"I don't have one yet."

"Then get one by tomorrow," she said, and went upstairs to sleep.

I took my laptop to the front steps and started saving everything.

The post. The comments. Every line of the DM, one screenshot at a time, and then a copy on my flash drive, and a copy in an email to myself.

Nothing would disappear from my side.

By noon the post had passed eleven thousand views.

By twelve-fifteen, strangers had written under it.

You deserve better. This is evil. Name him.

I scrolled through them with my coffee going cold.

Then my phone showed a red banner across the top of the app.

This account has been disabled for violating our community guidelines.

I tapped it.

I tapped it again.

Ashgrove Confessions was gone, with four thousand followers and three years of posts.

Somebody had reported it, hundreds of times, in one morning.

Everything I had was on my flash drive, in my inbox and in my camera roll.

It was the only copy.

← Chapter 2 · All chapters · Chapter 4 →

Want to keep talking to characters like these? Chat with AI romance characters: AI Boyfriend · AI Girlfriend · Dark Romance · Fantasy Romance · BL (Boys’ Love) · Billionaire Boyfriend · Mafia Boyfriend · Possessive Boyfriend · Hockey Boyfriend · Older Boyfriend · K-Drama Boyfriend · Anime Boyfriend · Vampire Boyfriend · Werewolf Boyfriend · Demon Boyfriend · Fae Romance · GL (Girls’ Love) · Anime Girlfriend · Goth & Alt Girlfriend · Gamer Girlfriend · Tsundere Girlfriend · Fantasy Girlfriend