Chapter 4: The Girl Behind the Perfect Smile
Nobody spoke.
Vanessa stared at the photograph.
Patricia reached for it.
“Where did you get that?””
Director Whitmore moved it out of her reach.
“Our academy received the image anonymously this morning. It appears to have come from a home security camera.””
I looked at the photograph.
The angle was slightly distorted, but there was no mistaking the person holding the bucket.
Vanessa.
Her red nails.
Her silver bracelet.
The metal handle.
Everything.
“That's not what it looks like,” Vanessa said.
Director Whitmore folded her hands.
“Then tell us what it looks like.””
Vanessa glanced at Patricia.
“Mom?””
Patricia stepped forward.
“My daughter was helping Emma clean up. There was an accident.””
I felt my face grow hot.
“An accident?””
Patricia ignored me.
“Vanessa would never intentionally destroy something belonging to another person.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The timestamp showed Vanessa entering my room at 8:16 p.m.
The paint-covered dress was visible in another image taken less than a minute later.
“Does that look like an accident?”” I asked.
Patricia turned sharply.
“Emma, don't make this worse.””
“Worse for whom?””
Richard finally spoke.
“That's enough.””
I turned toward him.
He looked uncomfortable, but not surprised.
“Richard, you saw the dress.””
“I said enough.””
“Did you know she did this?””
He looked at Vanessa.
She lowered her eyes.
For one second, I thought he might finally tell the truth.
Instead, he said, “We should discuss this at home.””
Director Whitmore interrupted.
“This matter is now part of an official scholarship review. It will not be handled privately.””
Vanessa began crying.
Not quietly.
Not naturally.
She covered her face and let out a trembling sob.
“Everyone is always against me,” she said.
Patricia immediately wrapped an arm around her.
“Oh, sweetheart.””
Vanessa looked at the director.
“I worked so hard on my design. Emma has always been jealous of me.””
I stared at her.
“You didn't even make that dress.””
Vanessa shook her head.
“She gave me the idea!””
“That's not true.””
“You were in my room all the time!””
“I have never been in your room without permission.””
Director Whitmore raised her hand.
“Enough. We'll examine the evidence.””
She turned to me.
“Emma, would you be willing to demonstrate how you created your design?””
“Yes.””
“Excellent. We have a studio available.””
I followed her down the hallway.
Lily stayed beside me.
Behind us, I heard Vanessa whisper to her mother.
Then Patricia said something that made me stop.
“Don't worry, darling. I'll take care of her.””
I didn't turn around.
But I remembered those words.
Inside the studio, Director Whitmore examined my gown again.
She asked about the materials, the construction, and the process.
I explained how the paint had changed the texture of the fabric.
“How long did the reconstruction take?”” she asked.
“About eight hours.””
“Eight hours?””
I nodded.
“I didn't have another dress.””
She studied the roses.
“Most students would have thrown the fabric away.””
“My mother used to say that something damaged wasn't necessarily useless.””
Director Whitmore smiled faintly.
“Your mother sounds like a wise woman.””
“She was.””
For a moment, I couldn't continue.
Then the director asked me to demonstrate the stitching.
I sat at the studio sewing machine.
My hands moved almost automatically.
I showed her how I had shaped the petals, secured the folds, and reinforced the silver embroidery.
She watched closely.
When I finished, she nodded.
“That's excellent craftsmanship.””
Lily grinned.
“Told you.””
Director Whitmore returned to her desk.
“I want to ask you something, Emma. Have you ever considered pursuing fashion professionally?””
I laughed softly.
“Every day.””
“Then why haven't you applied to a design school?””
I looked down.
“Money.””
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, “That's precisely why this scholarship exists.””
I felt my throat tighten.
Before I could respond, the studio door opened.
A young man in a black suit entered carrying a tablet.
“Ms. Whitmore, we've received the original submission metadata.””
The director took the tablet.
“Thank you.””
She read the screen.
Her eyebrows lifted.
Then she looked at me.
“Emma, can you confirm that your first design sketch was created on September twelfth?””
“Yes. I have the original notebook.””
She turned the tablet toward me.
The screen showed a digital file.
It was Vanessa's scholarship submission.
The creation date was September thirteenth.
One day after mine.
My heart began pounding.
“That's impossible,” Vanessa had told everyone.
But the digital record showed something different.
The file had been created using a photograph.
A photograph of my sketchbook.
Director Whitmore enlarged the image.
In the corner, almost hidden beneath the drawing, was a small section of my bedroom carpet.
The same carpet covered in red paint.
The file's metadata included the name of the device used to create it.
*VANESSA'S IPAD.*
Lily let out a breath.
“She took a picture of your sketchbook.””
I nodded slowly.
Director Whitmore looked at the tablet again.
“There's another issue.””
She tapped the screen.
A message history appeared.
The file had been sent to Patricia.
Then forwarded to the academy's scholarship committee.
But the original message contained an attachment.
The attachment was a photograph of a handwritten note.
I leaned closer.
It was written by my stepmother.
Emma has been copying Vanessa's work. If she attempts to submit anything, please notify me immediately. We cannot allow her to take credit for what my daughter has created.
I felt the room tilt.
Patricia hadn't simply believed Vanessa.
She had helped her prepare the accusation.
Director Whitmore looked at me.
“I think we have enough to suspend the complaint while we investigate.””
I nodded.
“Thank you.””
But the relief didn't last.
When we returned to the lobby, Richard was waiting alone.
Vanessa and Patricia were gone.
He approached me with his hands in his pockets.
“Emma, we need to talk.””
Lily stepped between us.
“She has nothing to say to you.””
Richard looked at her.
“This is a family matter.””
“Funny. It wasn't a family matter when she was crying upstairs last night.””
He ignored Lily.
“Emma, I understand you're upset. But you need to think about what happens next.””
“What happens next?””
“Vanessa is under a lot of pressure. She's young. She made a mistake.””
“She poured paint on my dress.””
“I know.””
“She stole my design.””
“I know.””
“She and Patricia accused me of plagiarism.””
He looked away.
I waited.
Then he said, “You don't have to destroy her future over this.””
I stared at him.
“My future mattered, too.””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Please. Just withdraw your complaint. I'll buy you another dress.””
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“You think this is about a dress?””
“I think we can settle this without involving the academy.””
I shook my head.
“You don't understand.””
“Emma—”
“No. You don't understand because you've never once asked what I wanted.””
His expression hardened.
“I've given you a home.””
I looked at him.
“And I've spent three years trying not to make you regret it.””
He said nothing.
I walked past him.
But before I reached the exit, he called after me.
“If you continue with this, don't expect to come home tonight.””
I stopped.
Lily grabbed my hand.
I turned around.
May you like
“Then I guess I'll have to find somewhere else to go.””
And for the first time in three years, I didn't feel afraid of saying it.
