The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Ella’s POV:

Oh, no, he didn’t. Stupid, arrogant, chauvinist. Jason really did it. He made sure everyone on campus knew that the hoodie girl and the diner waitress were one and the same. The fact that he went through all that trouble just because I refused to fall in line with his plans—because I went out with Max—was infuriating. I just prayed my father wouldn’t find out about this. If he did, he’d be on me faster than I could say shit. He already wasn’t happy about me leaving and disappearing from his radar, and this? This would be the final straw.

But Jason wasn’t going to win. No way. I’d deal with this, and if Dylan still wanted to go to the movies, I’d go. Even if I’d be exhausted from my shift, which was bound to be chaotic now that everyone would be showing up at the diner to catch a glimpse of the so-called hoodie waitress. I’d still go. Just to spite Jason. He thought he could humiliate me and get away with it? Please.

I only ever hid my identity because of my father’s spies from finding me, not because I cared about these people’s opinions. I was used to blending in, being invisible. But today, I’d have to deal with the consequences of Jason’s pathetic attempt to embarrass me.

I headed to campus for my first class, which started at 10 a.m. Like always, I was in my black hoodie and mask. Today, though, I felt gloomier than usual, so I went all out—black hoodie, black max, black top, black pants, and black Jordans. I looked like a walking shadow. Not that it mattered—my hoodie and mask already made me stand out in this crowd.

I didn’t know what Jason had done yet, but as soon as I walked onto campus, I started noticing something off. People were pointing at me, whispering, and some were openly laughing. I ignored it, thinking it was probably Amber and her usual drama. No big deal.

But as I entered my business class, I realized just how far this had gone.

The moment I stepped through the door, everyone—literally everyone—had placed dirty plates on their desks and started calling out to me like I was a waitress in the diner. They shouted that their plates were dirty, others started mock-ordering food, and some just outright laughed in my face.

I froze at the door, dumbfounded. Then, my eyes locked on Jason, Dylan, and Max. Jason had no plate in front of him, but that smug smirk on his face told me everything I needed to know. He did this. Dylan looked at me with curiosity—clearly, he hadn’t expected this—and Max, well, Max wouldn’t even look at me. He couldn’t make eye contact, which told me enough. They also like Jason did have a plate on their tables or joined in the mock-order.

Keeping my face blank, I moved to the back of the class, where my usual seat was, and sat down. I pulled out my earbuds and shoved them into my ears, blocking out the jeering and mocking around me. The class was still a few minutes away from starting, but I could already tell it was going to be a long, painful day.

But I wasn’t going to break. Jason thought he could humiliate me into submission? He had another thing coming. I’d endure this, and then I’d hit him where it hurt. He didn’t know who he was messing with.

True to my words, this was truly a long day.

The mocking started from the moment I walked into campus and only intensified throughout the day. After the incident in my business class, I thought things couldn’t get any worse. I was wrong.

The entire school knew. Everyone knew. Jason had really done a number on me, and the result was a day from hell.

Everywhere I went, people whispered behind my back, shot me dirty looks, or straight-up laughed in my face. In the hallways, someone thought it’d be funny to throw crumpled napkins and paper cups at me, pretending I was still working at the diner, calling out things like, "Hey, waitress, you missed a spot!" or "Can I get a refill?"

During lunch, I didn’t even try to sit in the cafeteria. I knew that would be a disaster waiting to happen. But even while passing through, someone actually threw their leftover fries at me. The ketchup splattered across my hoodie, but I didn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting. I just kept walking, head high, though inside, my blood was boiling.

Then there were the snide comments in class. Every time I raised my hand to ask or answer a question, someone would fake-order food. "Can I get fries with that?" Or, "Sorry, miss, I asked for no pickles on my burger." Even the professor didn’t seem to care, turning a blind eye to the harassment as if I wasn’t being taunted in front of the entire class. I had to sit through it, pretending like it didn’t faze me, but I was fuming inside.

Between classes, my day didn’t improve. Walking to my next lecture, a group of girls—Amber’s friends, I assumed—thought it’d be hilarious to block my path, arms crossed, smirking as they said, "You know, you’re not the kind of girl who should be going to this university. Shouldn’t you be serving tables somewhere? I heard the diner is hiring more staff—oh wait, you already work there." They cackled like it was the funniest thing in the world. I shoved past them without a word, but their cruel laughter echoed in my ears.

By the time I reached my last class of the day, the exhaustion had settled in. It wasn’t just physical—though that was bad enough after a full morning of being pelted with insults—but mentally, too. Every whispered comment, every taunting voice, chipped away at my patience.

As I stepped into my final lecture, the whispers continued. More plates had been strategically placed on desks, this time with sticky notes that said things like, "Waitress wanted!" or "Order here." My eyes found Jason at the front of the room, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, that same smug look on his face. He was enjoying this. He thought he’d won.

But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not today.

I slid into my seat at the back, kept my hoodie up, and put my earbuds back in. I blocked out the voices around me as best as I could, letting the music drown them out. My fingers tapped out a steady rhythm on my notebook, but all I could think about was how I’d make Jason pay. He thought this was a game, but I wasn’t playing anymore.

When the class ended, I didn’t wait for anyone. I grabbed my stuff and left before the professor could even finish the last sentence. Walking through the hallways felt like navigating a battlefield, but I kept my head down and powered through.