I almost turned around.
Then Theo held out his trembling hand.
“One dance. Then we leave if you want.”
I took it.
The music slowed.
Theo placed his hands gently on my waist as though he feared breaking me.
“I practiced this for a month,” he whispered near my ear. “I didn’t want to step on your dress.”
Something inside me cracked wide open.
“Theo, you don’t have to be nervous. It’s just me.”
“It’s never just you, Eliza. It hasn’t been since seventh grade.”
My phone buzzed again.
And again.
I pulled it out slightly and looked down.
Seventeen messages from Marcus.
The final one read:
“I’m coming to get you. You have no idea what you’ve done.”
I tried to hide my panic.
Theo saw it anyway.
“He’s coming, isn’t he?”
I nodded.
Unable to speak.
“Then I need to do this now,” he murmured. “Before he gets here. Eliza, there’s something you have to see.”
He swallowed hard, squeezed my hand once, and walked toward the stage.
I stood frozen among glittering dresses and tuxedos.
Moments later, Chloe appeared beside me.
“Eliza, what is he doing? People are still filming.”
“I don’t know,” I murmured.
The Red Folder
Theo climbed the three steps to the stage and tapped the microphone.
The screech of feedback silenced the entire gym.
Two hundred faces turned toward him.
My cheeks burned.
“Excuse me,” Theo said. “I won’t be long.”
Someone snickered.
Someone else groaned.
Theo ignored them.
He was looking directly at me.
“Eliza, you said yes to me on Monday when nobody else would have. You think you saved me by agreeing to dance with me tonight.”
His voice cracked.
“But actually, I’m saving you too. From your brother. Please. Look inside.”
He stepped off the stage and walked straight toward me.
From inside his jacket, he pulled out a red folder and placed it into my shaking hands.
“What is this?” I whispered.
“Open it. Before he gets here.”
“Before who gets here?”
Theo glanced toward the gym doors.
“Marcus.”
My fingers fumbled with the folder.
Chloe leaned over my shoulder.
The first page was a photocopy of a bank transfer authorization.
My name was on it.
My signature too.
Except I had never signed it.
“That isn’t my handwriting,” I breathed.
“Keep going,” Theo urged.
I turned the page.
An email from a law firm.
Addressed to Marcus.
It confirmed the closure of a trust fund one week before my eighteenth birthday.
The next page revealed an offshore account number.
Routing details.
Rows of numbers with far too many zeros.
My college fund.
Marcus was planning to steal the final gift our parents had left me.
“How,” I whispered. “How did you get this?”
“I work in the principal’s office during fifth period,” Theo said quietly. “Filing. Faxes. Three weeks ago a packet came through addressed to your brother by mistake. The lawyer had used the old contact information from when Marcus was a student here.”
I stared at him.
“I almost handed it over,” he continued. “Then I saw your name, and I thought… I thought this didn’t seem right.”
For illustrative purposes only
The Truth Comes Out
Suddenly, the gym doors slammed open so hard they bounced against the brick wall.
Marcus stood there.
His eyes locked onto me.
Then onto the folder.
“Eliza!” he roared. “Give that to me right now!”
The room gasped.
Phones rose higher.
Marcus stormed across the dance floor.
“Marcus, stay back,” I said.
“That folder is not yours to read. That little freak stole confidential documents. Give it to me, and we’ll handle this at home.”
“Confidential to whom?” I asked. “To you?”
“You don’t know what you’re looking at,” he hissed. “Those are tax planning documents. Boring stuff. Theo doesn’t understand finance.”
“He doesn’t need to understand anything. I do, and I know my signature was forged.”
“Eliza…”
His voice lowered.
Theo stepped slightly in front of me.
Skinny.
Shaking.
Wearing a thrift-store suit.
Yet standing firm.
“She doesn’t need your permission to read what belongs to her,” he said.
Marcus glared at him.
“You don’t get to speak to me, kid. You don’t even exist.”
“He exists more than you do right now,” I said.
A circle formed around us.
Cameras everywhere.
Mr. Donovan, the principal, pushed through the crowd.
Marcus lunged for the folder.
I stepped back.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m your brother. I’ve taken care of you since Mom and Dad died.”
“What’s going on here?”
The principal had finally reached us.
“Sir, my brother has been stealing from my college fund. Theo found the proof. Please, could you call the police?”
Marcus lunged again.
Two teachers grabbed his arms.
“Eliza, please. I had debts. I was going to put it back.”
“You were going to leave me with nothing.”
