“Don’t tell me his story was fantastic. Remarkable. Amazing. Going to win the prize. You know he copied the entire story. Or at least ninety percent of it.” I sat staring at the email I desperately wanted to send to my English professor, but knew I would never do it. I knew Garrett would win the prize and I wanted him to, I really did. But I was in dire need of the scholarship the writing competition was boasting as the prize. Garrett had never had to worry about anything related to money. His trust fund had been set up before he had been born and his grandparents were already promising to buy him whatever he wanted when he graduated. He mentioned the car he wanted and had already been scoping out houses he could never afford without help.
I wondered if there was a chance to get the scholarship and Garrett not know it was me who had turned him in. As the moments passed, I realized exactly what I could do to win the prize and the only person I needed to involve was my brother. My brother who could hack into any computer put in front of him. Two weeks later, I was shocked to learn I had not actually won the writing competition. Garrett won. With the story I had written. I had convinced my brother into hacking into whatever computer he could (I never really understood hacking) to change the author’s name on Garrett and my stories. I had never felt like such a fool.