I got why she was mad.

I mulled it over for a sec, and then I said, "Guess I'll skip the dorm life."

"Skip the dorm? You want to blow more cash having a blast outside?"

I managed a wry smile. "There's this little eatery near campus. I can snag a gig there and crash in their kitchen at night.

"Don't sweat it. I won't cause any trouble. If you're worried, feel free to video check on me anytime."

I was about to bounce when the lecturer showed a soft spot. "You should probably report those pictures to the cops. It's not good, leaving them up."

I just laughed and shook my head. "Nah, let them be."

Those pictures were not of me, anyway.

I would set the record straight someday.

No classes meant I was at the snack shop, hustling.

At night, I would curl up in the sweltering kitchen, drenched in sweat, on a bed so cramped I could barely roll over.

The lady who ran the place took pity on me and tossed a few extra bucks my way. I was thankful, especially since my parents had cut me off, hoping I would come crawling back.

They wanted to keep me on a tight leash.

However, my heart had iced over. I just dove into my books even harder.

Jennifer, Ella, whatever name I went by did not matter.

I was determined to rock the life ahead of me, no matter the label.

After four years of grinding, I made it to college, nailed my undergrad, and aimed for grad school.

When Kingsford University's grad acceptance hit my hands, I lost it, tears and all.

However, even there, some still pegged me as the chick who tried to swipe her sister's spot and got tagged with some nasty rep.

Everyone in my class ghosted me.

Even the lunch lady gave my tray the side-eye, dousing it with alcohol like I was toxic.

Luckily, my advisor saw my potential and assured me she was not swayed by idle gossip; only hard results mattered to her.

Night after night, we toiled away in the lab, meticulously crunching numbers.

We were on the brink of a national breakthrough, backed by a hefty investment.

Any slip-up could spell disaster for us, even land us behind bars. However, if we nailed it, I would be on the fast track to glory.

Exhausted, I stepped out of the lab when my parents' call jolted me.

"Get home now!"

I knew instantly what they were plotting.

Jennifer had weaseled her way into a top university, but her old habits died hard; she played hooky more than she hit the books.

Predictably, she flunked out, diploma-less after four wasted years. Then, with no prospects, she was slinging burgers and fries.

That kind of grind would break her spirit in no time.

So, she had her sights set on me again.

She wanted to trade her greasy spoon gig for my grad student grind.

I hung up and eyed the calendar.

In 36 hours, my advisor and I would unveil our findings.

A steely resolve took hold of me.

If they would not back off, I would have to hand it all to Jennifer, every last bit of my hard-earned success and the mess she had made.

With a heavy heart, I spilled my guts to my advisor.

Her face ran the gamut from shock to fury, then settled on a look of deep compassion.

"You do what you need to do," she said. "I've got your back."

I nodded, my throat tight, and after ordering some custom glasses with a hidden camera, I boarded the train home.

Before stepping inside, I flicked on the glasses' secret eye.