No Sympathy For The Fake Victim

Melanie Landry, my housekeeper’s daughter, had what you might call a pathologically thin skin.

Not physically—though she acted as if a gentle breeze would bruise her—but emotionally. On her very first day at Briarwood Prep, I approached her desk.

As student council president, I figured it was my job to make her feel welcome. "Hey, Melanie," I said, keeping my tone warm. "If you need anything at all, or just want a tour of the campus, let me know." Her eyes welled with tears instantly.

She bit her lower lip, staring up at me with a look of pure, concentrated betrayal. "Brynn, I know my family doesn't have what yours does," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But do you really have to rub your privilege in my face?

Does making me feel small make you feel good?" I stood there, utterly speechless. My desk mate, Zora, noticed how distressed Melanie looked.

Melanie had buried her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking. Zora, being the genuinely kind soul she is, leaned over. "Hey, are you feeling okay?

Do you need a bottle of water, or maybe a trip to the nurse's office?" Melanie slammed her hands on her desk and stood up so fast her chair screeched against the linoleum.

She pointed a shaking finger at us, tears streaming down her face. "Enough! You rich kids have no idea how hard I had to fight just to get into a school like this!

I'm already struggling to keep up with the curriculum, and you just sit there and mock me!

Is my struggle a joke to you?!" Zora blinked, completely bewildered. "I... literally just asked if you wanted to see the nurse." Just then, Wayne strolled into the classroom, his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder.

Melanie’s entire demeanor shifted. The tears dried up, replaced by a sudden, fragile shyness. She practically floated over to him, looking up through her lashes. "Hi.

Um, is anyone sitting next to you? You're the only person here who doesn't look like a snob. Everyone else is bullying me...

Can you... protect me?" Wayne stared at her, his expression a mix of profound confusion and mild annoyance. "Uh, the only empty spot next to me is the trash can.

Is that what you're asking to sit next to?" Melanie’s face flushed a violent, angry red. "You're all the same!" she shrieked. "You all just look down on me because my family is poor!" I rubbed my temples, the first headache of the semester blooming behind my eyes. "If you hate us so much," I said quietly, "then why are you even here?" … The moment the words left my mouth, Melanie broke down completely.

She looked at me with a mixture of grief and utter indignation. "Brynn, I don't know what I did to make you hate me. From the second I got here, you've done nothing but target me!

Yes, my mom is your housekeeper. I get it. But housekeepers have dignity, too!

Who do you think you are, trying to kick me out of school?" Before I could answer, she sank onto the floor right there in the middle of the classroom, sobbing loudly.

The commotion drew everyone’s attention.

Students began crowding around the door, whispering. "She wants to expel me!" Melanie wailed, pointing an accusatory finger at me. "My mom worked herself to the bone to get me into this academy!

Expelling me is as good as ruining my life!" I sighed, trying to keep my voice even and calm. "You're twisting my words, Melanie. Nobody is trying to expel you.

I just think you're overanalyzing everything we say. If you're going to view every casual conversation as a personal attack, you're going to make yourself miserable here." "See?

There you go again!" she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Gaslighting me!

You are so malicious!" Zora, desperate to stop the scene, grabbed a bag of organic chips from her backpack and tried to hand them to her. "Look, just get off the floor, okay?

We can talk about this.

I swear I was just trying to be nice earlier." Melanie slapped the bag out of Zora's hand. "I don't want your pity!" She looked up at Wayne, clearly expecting him to defend her honor.

Wayne, who possesses the emotional intelligence of a golden retriever and a mouth that operates entirely without a filter, just looked at her, then back to me. "Brynn, why is she sitting on the floor waving her arms around like that?

Is she doing some kind of weird toddler cosplay?" The classroom went dead silent. Even Melanie’s crying hitched.

She stared at him, looking utterly crushed. "How can you say that to me? Is it because of her? Because she’s rich, you're taking her side?" I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I had forgotten that Wayne is practically incapable of diplomacy.

With Melanie on the verge of another hysterical fit, and desiring nothing more than a peaceful school year, I stepped in. "Wayne, stop. Melanie is just overwhelmed.

Don't make it worse." But before Wayne could even shrug, Melanie turned her fury back on me. "Oh, cut the act, Brynn! You're just gloating because he chose you over me.

You're trying to rub your little high school romance in my face. You are disgusting!" I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. I remembered this morning, when her mother, Mrs.

Landry, had stood by our front door with a look of quiet, desperate anxiety. She had begged me to look out for Melanie, to be patient with her. At the time, I thought Mrs.

Landry was just being a nervous mom. Now I realized she knew her daughter was a walking, talking powder keg. "I was just trying to get you to stop crying," I said. "Look at you!

I express my discomfort, and you minimize it by calling it 'crying'!" "You're overthinking this." "I haven't done anything, and you're already calling me paranoid!" "Fine.

I'm sorry. Is that what you want?" "What is that supposed to mean?

You think I'm just throwing a tantrum?!" I was losing my mind. "Then what, exactly, do you want from me?!" I burst out.

Melanie wiped her face with the back of her hand, her chin lifting defiantly. "I want a public apology! From all of you!

You have degraded my character!" A collective gasp echoed through the room.

I took a deep breath, forcing my hands to remain steady at my sides. "On what grounds, Melanie?" Her face lit up with a strange, triumphant energy, as if she had been rehearsing this speech in front of a mirror for months. "You think you're better than me because of your family's money," she said, her voice ringing out clearly. "You treat me like a joke.

And your family treats my mother like a slave! She works tirelessly to take care of you, and you treat her like dirt.

Why does your family get to sit in an airconditioned living room eating expensive fruit while my mother has to get down on her knees to scrub your floors?!" She stood up, brushing off her skirt, looking down at me as if she had just won a historic victory.

But as the seconds ticked by, the triumphant silence she expected didn't come. Instead, she was met with a room full of people staring at her as if she had lost her mind.

We were at a private prep school; almost everyone in this room had household staff.

Our class representative, a quiet girl named Chloe, spoke up, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Wait, doesn't Brynn’s family pay her mom a base salary of like eighty thousand a year?

Plus health insurance and bonuses? That's more than my cousin makes as a junior accountant.

Scrubbing floors is literally the job description." "Seriously," someone else whispered from the back. "Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.

If Brynn's parents didn't pay her mom so well, she wouldn't even be able to afford the tuition here." "If you care so much about your mom scrubbing floors, why don't you help her?" Zora added, her sympathy completely evaporated. "You just want to play the victim." I looked at Melanie, feeling a profound sense of exhaustion. "My mom actually bought Mrs.

Landry a highend industrial steam mop so she wouldn't have to bend over. Mrs.

Landry insisted on scrubbing by hand because she said she wanted to do a perfect job to justify her salary.

We've told her a dozen times she doesn't have to do that." Nods of agreement went around the room.

Melanie’s shoulders began to shake violently, her face twisting in pain. "You're lying! You're all ganging up on me! Is it because I'm poor?

Is that why you think you can treat me like this?

What is even the point of working hard and getting an education if all you people care about is money?!" She was falling apart, her voice cracking.

It was obvious this wasn't how she pictured this going. At her old public school, playing the misunderstood, underprivileged girl had always won her friends and sympathy.

Here, the mirror was being held up, and she hated what she saw. "You're all just a bunch of elitist snobs!" she screamed.

I sat back down, completely checked out of the conversation. "Whatever you say, Melanie." Melanie sobbed even harder.

Zora leaned over, whispering in my ear, "Is she... clinically insane?" "I think she's just incredibly insecure," I sighed.

Wayne, after staring at Melanie for another long minute, reached his own conclusion. "She's a psycho." A few minutes later, the homeroom teacher called me to the office.

Because of her transfer status, there were still some administrative forms Melanie needed to sign regarding her academic records.

Even though she was the last person I wanted to speak to, I was the class president. It was my responsibility.

I walked back to her desk and kept my voice completely neutral. "Melanie, the counselor needs you in the front office to sign your transfer paperwork and verify your transcripts." I delivered the message in one breath and turned to leave, but Melanie slammed her book shut and stood up. "Why do you have to yell it out like that?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Are you trying to make sure the whole room knows I'm a transfer student?

Do you want to make sure everyone knows I don't belong here?" I closed my eyes, counting to three. "I didn't yell.

You didn't respond the first time I called your name, so I raised my volume slightly so you could hear me.

It was a normal speaking voice." "So now you're saying I'm deaf?" I had no words. The rest of the class stared in disbelief.

Wayne finally snapped. "Do you even speak English?" Melanie’s face went white, then red. She threw a vicious glare at me, her eyes burning with hatred. I just shook my head.

I hadn't even been the one who insulted her. By the time the final bell rang, I was thoroughly drained. When I got home, Mrs.

Landry was waiting by the foyer, looking at me anxiously. "Miss Brynn... how was Melanie’s first day?

Did she... settle in okay?" I forced a polite, empty smile. "Oh, she made quite an impression, Mrs. Landry." Mrs. Landry caught the dry sarcasm in my voice.

She wrung her hands, looking incredibly small and helpless. I sighed, setting my backpack down on the bench. "Mrs.

Landry, with her personality, why did you insist on sending her to Briarwood? It's a highpressure environment." Mrs.

Landry let out a long, weary sigh. "I told her she shouldn't come here. But she... she accused me of holding her back.

She said I thought she wasn't good enough to be around wealthy kids. She cried for weeks, Brynn. I didn't know what else to do... I'm so sorry.

She's just so sensitive, but she really isn't a bad girl. I'll talk to her, I promise." I didn't say anything. When Mrs.

Landry first brought up the transfer to my parents, we hadn't thought much of it. It was her money, and she had every right to spend it on her daughter's education.

But looking back, it was a massive mistake. Later that evening, Zora called me. "Brynn, you need to go on TikTok right now. Melanie started an account.

She’s livestreaming, claiming she’s 'fighting the elite' at school, and she’s dragging us—and specifically you—through the mud!" She sent me a link.

I clicked it and saw Melanie’s face on the screen. The video was titled: "Class vs. Character: Surviving Briarwood Prep.

We might start at the bottom, but we have the grit they’ll never buy." In the comments, hundreds of strangers were cheering her on, sharing their own stories of being bullied by wealthy peers.

In just a couple of hours, her follower count had jumped by over ten thousand. I stared at the screen, utterly baffled. Mrs. Landry made over eighty thousand dollars a year.

Melanie wore midtier designer clothes, and her mother bought her practically whatever she wanted. In what world was she an impoverished, oppressed victim?

Wayne texted me next, asking if I wanted him to handle it. I thought of Mrs.

Landry—of how she had stayed up with me, making soup and checking my fever when I was sick and my parents were stuck in Europe on business. "Don't worry about it," I texted back, feeling a dull ache in my chest. "I'll talk to her tomorrow.

Let's just hope she lets it go." The next morning, I intercepted Melanie before homeroom. "Melanie, we need to talk. There's clearly a misunderstanding, and I want to clear the air.

Let's not make things harder for your mom." Melanie scoffed, a cold, ugly smirk spreading across her face. "Oh, now you're scared?

You're terrified I'm going to take your friends away, aren't you? You should have thought of that before you treated me like trash. Just wait.

By the end of the term, everyone in that classroom is going to be on my side." "Melanie, list—" She covered her ears, shoving past me. "I don't want to hear your lies!

I'm going to make sure you know what it feels like to be completely isolated!" I stood in the hallway, watching her walk away. I was genuinely baffled.

Why did she hate me this much? What had I actually done to her? When I walked into the classroom a few minutes later, Melanie was handing out gourmet artisanal popsicles.

She was laughing, chatting with a group of girls. "It's so hot today, I thought I'd treat everyone," she was saying.

The other students, caught off guard but polite, accepted them with quick smiles. Melanie looked over at me, tossing her hair with a smug, triumphant grin.

Then, she walked over to Wayne’s desk, holding out a premium, customflavored ice cream bar. Her voice turned soft, almost breathless. "Wayne...

I think we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe someone has been whispering things in your ear to turn you against me.

Can we start over?" Zora nudged my elbow. "Brynn, is she seriously hitting on Wayne?" I stared at Wayne, remembering the time a girl had tried to hand him a love letter in freshman year, and he had asked her if it was a formal declaration of war, sending her running away in tears.

I couldn't help but let out a sudden, sharp laugh. The second the sound left my lips, I knew I had made a mistake. Melanie’s eyes filled with tears instantly.

But before she could utter a single word, Wayne scrambled out of his chair and walked over to me, looking genuinely terrified. "Brynn, tell me she didn't poison this.

She looks like she’s about to unhinge her jaw and eat me alive." I looked at Wayne’s completely earnest, terrified face, and then at Melanie’s devastated, venomous expression. "Ah," I realized. "That's what this is." It wasn't about the money.

It was about Wayne.

Melanie had developed an instant, intense crush on him the moment he walked into the room yesterday, and because Wayne only paid attention to me, I had become her ultimate enemy.

Melanie marched over, her voice shaking with rage. "What's the matter, Brynn? Is your family's fortune so grand that you can't even tolerate a simple popsicle?

Are you threatened by a dessert, or are you just threatened by me?!" My patience finally snapped. "Are you actually insane, Melanie?

If I wanted to target you, do you honestly think you'd still be enrolled at this school?" Melanie gasped, her body trembling. "There it is! You finally admitted it!

You look down on me! You think I don't belong here!" Tears streamed down her face as she gestured wildly. "I spent my own allowance to buy the most expensive treats for everyone!

I offered you my absolute best, and you still treat me like dirt!" I stared at her, unimpressed. "You didn't even buy one for me." The words hung in the air. Melanie froze.

The dramatic tension evaporated in a second of pure, awkward silence.

The students who had already started eating their popsicles suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable, staring at the melting treats in their hands.

Melanie glared at me with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. Then, she turned and bolted out of the classroom, sobbing.

Zora gave me a slow thumbsup. "Seriously, how has she survived this long?

Does she just run on a constant cycle of salt water?" I sighed, stepping out of the room to call my parents.

I asked them if we could gently arrange to have Melanie transferred to another class, or even another school.

Having her in my class was becoming an exhausting, fulltime job, and I still had to study for my exams. As I hung up, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. "Brynn.

I'm going to make sure everyone knows how cruel you really are. I'm going to make you feel the pain of being publicly ruined." A cold knot formed in my stomach.

Seconds later, a commotion erupted in the hallway. Someone screamed, "Oh my God! Someone is on the roof! She's going to jump!" We rushed to the windows.

High above us, on the edge of the school’s concrete roof terrace, sat Melanie, her phone clutched in her hand, streaming live to the world.