Dad stared at Sterling. I could see the muscles in his jaw ticking. He was calculating the terrain, recognizing that we were entirely surrounded by enemies who controlled the battlefield.
Dad reached out and gently placed his hand on my shoulder. “Get your gear, Maya. We’re leaving.”
“Dad, no!” I whispered, feeling a fresh wave of tears. “We can't just let them do this!”
“Get your gear,” he repeated, his eyes telling me to trust him.
I grabbed my saddlebag from my locker, slung it over my shoulder, and followed him out of the room. We walked past the police cruisers in the parking lot. The officers didn't even look twice at us; they were busy laughing with Arthur Kensington near his Range Rover.
The drive home in Dad’s old Ford truck was suffocatingly quiet. I sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, feeling utterly defeated. My hair was uneven and jagged against my neck. I still held the blue ribbon, but it felt worthless now. Victoria had won. She always won.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I finally whispered, staring at my lap. “I messed everything up.”
“You did nothing wrong, Maya,” he said, his eyes fixed on the road. “You out-rode her. That’s what started this.”
“But now I’m going to lose my scholarship. I’ll never ride in the State Finals.”
I pulled my saddlebag onto my lap to put the blue ribbon away. As I unbuckled the leather flap and reached inside, my fingers brushed against something thick and unfamiliar stuffed at the very bottom, beneath my riding gloves.
I pulled it out. It was a heavy, unmarked manila envelope.
I frowned, peeling back the taped flap.
My breath caught in my throat. The envelope was packed entirely with stacked, crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“Dad,” I choked out, my hands trembling so violently I almost dropped it.
Dad glanced over. He immediately hit the turn signal and pulled the truck sharply onto the shoulder of the road, throwing it into park.
He took the envelope from my hands, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He quickly thumbed through the stacks.
“It’s cash,” I panicked, my mind racing. “Did Headmaster Sterling slip it into my bag? Is it a bribe? Are they paying us off to keep quiet about the bullying?”
Dad didn't answer immediately. He examined the envelope, looking at the way it was taped, smelling the paper. Then, a dark realization washed over his face.
“This isn't a bribe, Maya,” he said quietly. “Nobody bribes someone by hiding unmarked cash in a bag they might not open for days. They bribe you by handing it to you and demanding a signature.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s exactly ten thousand dollars,” Dad said. “I overheard the registration officials talking this morning. The total cash collected from all the visiting competitors for the entry fees was exactly ten grand. It was being held in a lockbox in the main office.”
The blood drained from my face. “They’re setting me up.”
“Lexi bumped into you in the locker room, didn't she?” Dad asked, his military mind connecting the dots with terrifying speed. “While Harper had you pinned against the lockers. Lexi could have easily slipped this into your saddlebag.”
“They’re going to call the police and say I stole the entry fees,” I realized, a wave of nausea hitting me.
“Yes,” Dad said. “And when the police search our house, they’ll find the exact missing amount. It’s a felony. You wouldn't just be expelled; you’d be arrested. The Headmaster was just buying time to let us leave the campus with the evidence.”