Clara had grown up alongside me. She had a sharp tongue, sure, but she'd always had my back.
Once, when someone talked trash about me, she nearly got into a fistfight over it.
So what changed? What made them turn on me like that?
Where did it all go wrong?
I'd won first place in a children's writing competition when I was a kid.
In college, I published regularly in literary magazines.
My mentor said it straight: first place in this contest was mine to lose.
So when the plagiarism accusation broke, most people believed me.
On top of that, I'd already serialized a novel and published it as a book. Sales were solid.
I had no reason to plagiarize anyone.
But then Geoffrey released screenshots showing the exact timestamps of our submissions.
His was an hour earlier than mine.
And a full week before the contest, he'd posted his inspiration and outline on his social media account.
His contest entry followed that outline to the letter.
The organizers moved fast. They sent people to check every piece of evidence Geoffrey had—the surveillance footage, the social media posts. All of it came back clean. Nothing altered, nothing faked.
And then they said it: I was the one who'd plagiarized Geoffrey Harrington.
My mind went blank.
That story was mine. I wrote every word. How could I have plagiarized it?
But I had no evidence to prove otherwise.
What I couldn't understand was why Geoffrey's contest entry was identical to mine.
Had Clementine shared her material with him too?
The questions kept piling up, and not a single one had an answer I could reach.
For now, though, Clementine and Clara weren't acting any differently than usual.
The only lead I could follow was Geoffrey's social media account.
By my count, he should have already posted the inspiration and outline.
But Clementine and Clara wouldn't leave my side, so I scribbled out a rough outline just to keep them satisfied.
Then I faked a stomachache and said I needed the bathroom.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Clara's eyes.
"God, you're so high-maintenance. Clem handed you everything—the inspiration, the material—and you're *still* trying to slack off!"
Clementine quickly signed to smooth things over.
"There's still a week before the contest. Don't rush him. There's plenty of time."
"As long as he follows my plan, he's taking first. Guaranteed."
But time to find the truth was running out.