The noise was the first thing that hit me, a roar of angry voices.
Then the hands, grabbing my arms, tight.
Event security, then local police.
They said I cheated.
The American Youth Scholar Championship, the final round. I didn' t even need to win, Stanford was already a done deal, full scholarship.
I just wanted the experience.
They found a micro-earpiece, they said, woven into the charm on my bracelet. A custom one, a gift.
A receiver too. Sophisticated.
Someone, a college kid they called "Ace," was in a motel room nearby.
Booked under my name, with my ID, stolen.
He pointed me out instantly. Said I paid him.
Digital records, they claimed, showed Venmo payments. From an account linked to me.
It wasn't true. None of it.
But no one listened.
Stanford pulled my acceptance.
The town, our small Oregon town, turned on us.
Mom and Dad. He was a doctor, she taught elementary school. Respected. Loved.
Until then.
Online, it was a storm of hate.
Dad' s heart couldn' t take the stress. He had a heart attack. Fatal.
Mom... she just faded. Broken. Gone a few weeks later.
I was in a cell, waiting for a trial I knew I' d lose.
The grief, the injustice, it was a physical weight.
Then, a sharp pain in my chest, and everything went dark.
I never understood how they did it.
Not until I woke up.