The Fake Heiress Who Borrowed My Life

1: 1

At the class reunion, the class president took it all on herself. We just graduated, everyone's tight on money. Forget splitting the billit's on me.

The others cheered. Long live Teresa! That's our beloved class presidentbeautiful and kind.

The waiter brought the check. Sixty-three thousand and change.

Teresa glanced at it and turned to me. "Ada Henson, step outside for a second. I need to talk to you."

This was the fifth time now. Every reunion, she picked up the whole tab like it was nothing, and everyone praised her for it. She got all the glory.

But every single time, she found some excuse to make me front the moneyand she never paid me back once.

When I didn't move, she called out, impatient. "Ada, what are you spacing out for? Come on, get out here!"

I looked at her calmly. "You're the one paying. What do you need me outside for?"

Her face went sour. "I have something to tell you."

I stayed exactly where I was. "What is it that can't be said in front of everyone? Don't tell me you can't cover the bill and you've just been putting on a show this whole time?"

Every head in the room turned toward her.

This time, I was going to leave her nowhere to hide.

After graduation everyone scattered, all of us stuck in the swamp of job hunting.

Only Teresa Simmons spent her days chatting in the group, showing off new bags, fresh manicures, trips out of town.

Every few days she'd organize a reunion, refuse to split the bill, and pay for everything herself.

The others all called her a beautiful, kind-hearted rich woman. They practically made her out to be a living saint.

Another reunion came around.

Early that morning, Teresa called me.

"Ada, I've got something out of town this morning. You know I'm the guest of honor tonight, I can't be late. Lend me your Mercedes, would you?"

I hesitated.

"We're classmates," Teresa pressed. "We're supposed to help each other out. You wouldn't say no to something this small, right?"

"You're not that petty, are you?"

"Don't worry, I'll fill the tank all the way up, and I'll get it washed for you too."

This was the sixth time she'd borrowed the car.

Every time there was some excuse.

And every time she brought it back, not once was the tank ever full.

There was even a time she ran it down to empty, didn't want to pay to fill it, and called to say something had come up and I'd have to come get the car myself.

I took a taxi dozens of miles through the rain, late at night, to where she'd left it.

I hadn't driven far before the tank hit empty.

In that unfamiliar place, I didn't even know where to find a gas station.

The car sat there, rain pouring down outside, deep into the night, and I toughed it out in the driver's seat until morning, when I finally called a tow truck.

I let out a soft sigh. "President, I need the car today too. I have to go out."

Teresa sounded put out. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

I blinked. "What do you mean, what are you supposed to do?"

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I need the car urgently. So what are we going to do?"

But it was my car.

I opened my mouth, and Teresa cut in. "How about you just tough it out and lend it to me first? I'll get back as fast as I can and return it to you. That works, doesn't it?"

I was about to refuse when her voice turned wounded. "The reunion's tonight, and I'm the one who set it up. I can't not show."

"Oh, and Ada, remember? When you were writing your graduation thesis, I helped you out."

She said that line every time.

And every time, I'd thanked her more times than I could count.

I bit my lip.

I could only give in. "Then you'd better hurry. I need to drive out at one this afternoon."

Teresa agreed to everything. "Fine, relax, I'll have it back to you right on time."

But I waited all the way until half past one, and there was no sign of Teresa.

I called her. "Teresa, didn't you say you'd definitely have the car back before one?"

Loud car music blared down the line. Teresa's voice came through, all innocence. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, Ada, you know how my head is, my memory's terrible, I completely forgot."

"I'm still dozens of miles out right now, there's no way I can get it back to you in time. Why don't you just grab a taxi?"

"Cabs are easy to catch anyway."

"I'm in the middle of something, I can't talk. Bye now."

She hung up before I could get a word in.

I gave a bitter little laugh. Of course. Same as always.

That evening, when I got to the hotel where the reunion was being held, everyone had already arrived.

They stood around the entrance chatting, trading greetings, asking after each other's lives, fishing for word of any good job openings.

When I walked in, only a few of them said hello. The rest just kept talking among themselves.

A class reunion was classmates in name only. In truth it broke down into its own little inner circles.

Sometimes I wondered whether these reunions meant much at all.

Soon enough, my own familiar Mercedes pulled up in front of the hotel.

Teresa got out and tossed the keys to the valet with a flourish.

The classmates who'd been clumped in their little circles all caught the scent and swarmed over.

"Well, look who finally made it, President! We got here ages ago, all of us waiting on you."

"Right, President, none of us would go in without you. You have to be the first one into the room."

"Our president really is a rich woman. Just the drive-off price on that Mercedes has to be over eight hundred grand, doesn't it?"

Facing all that envy,

Teresa shot me a glance, then said proudly, "It's just a Mercedes. At my house, it's the cheapest car we've got."

I stood outside the crowd, watching her.

Watching her shamelessly claim the car as her own.

And I finally understood why she'd kept stalling and refused to give it back.

2: 2

I knew she wanted the vanity, the show of it.

But I didn't call her out.

We were classmates, after all. We'd once shared a dorm, eaten and lived side by side.

I couldn't very well stand up now and insist the car was mine, and burn everything to the ground with Teresa.

The reunion got started.

Two tables had been set out in the private room.

All through it, people kept toasting Teresa, flattering her:

"Teresa, thinking back to high school, you were my class president, and even then you were the best, the prettiest one of us. All these years later, you're still the best of us all."

"Exactly. Someone that good is the best wherever she goesschool, the real world, doesn't matter. You'll always be my class president, and no one could ever take your place."

"Once my class president, always my class president. Here's to you."

The fawning I could let slide.

But for some reason I couldn't figure out, a girl named Myrtle Chavez, someone I barely knew, suddenly turned the whole thing on me:

"Say, Ada, don't you even know to raise a glass to the class president?"

"Every reunion, she goes out of her way for you. Seats you right next to her, drives you all the way home herself."

"She treats you like a real sister. She's good to you, gives without asking for anything back. You can't just take all of that for granted!"

The others nodded along:

"That's right, Myrtle's got a point this time. There's really nothing bad you can say about how the class president's treated you. Remember senior year?"

"That summer, a few of us who got into the same college went on a trip together, and you didn't have a cent on you. She paid for all your food and drinks the whole way, and you never said one word of thanks."

The crowd kept nodding along.

Some looked at me with envy and spite.

Others just shook their heads at me.

Like I didn't know how to read a room.

Like I was ungrateful, even.

But the reason I had no money on that trip that summer was that Teresa had borrowed every cent I had.

Money she still hasn't paid back to this day.

And the reason she drove me home after every reunion?

It wasn't that she was looking out for me.

It was that the car was mine to begin with!

Faced with all their pointless accusations, I gripped my glass tight and was about to defend myself when Teresa stood, taking it on herself to raise a glass to me:

"Everybody, stop it. We're all classmates. Ada and I even roomed together in high school and college. We're closer than anyone, so what's the point of keeping score like this?"

"Come on, Ada, this one's for you."

I looked around at the ring of sour faces, then back at Teresa, and there was nothing to do but lift my glass.

I drank.

Across the table, a girl muttered, put out:

"No class, no manners, no sense of decency. The class president was so good to her, even stood up to toast her first, and look at hershe didn't even get to her feet."

The people beside her shook their heads too, contempt in every glance.

When the meal finally wound down.

That girl Myrtle spoke up again:

"Oh, come on, the class president foots the bill every single time. That won't do. Why don't we split it this time?"

The others chimed in at once that yes, that sounded good.

But at the same time there was a flicker of hope in their eyes, and they kept glancing at Teresa.

Teresa waved it all away and took charge:

"Split it? I already said it's on me, I'm paying. You all just enjoy yourselves."

Myrtle said:

"Oh, we couldn't. You pay every time."

Teresa laughed:

"If you feel that bad about it, then just don't pretend you don't know me the day I run into trouble and come to you for help."

Myrtle waved both hands:

"Never. I can't speak for everyone else, but the second you need something, Teresa, I'm the first one stepping up."

The others nodded and pledged along:

"Don't you worry, Teresa. You just say the word, and if it's within my power, I'll be there without a second thought!"

Carried along by the mood, everyone rose with their glasses raised, swearing themselves to Teresa.

Only I stayed put in my seat, the odd one out.

And I didn't love being the odd one out, standing there so out of step with the rest.

But they were all just talk.

Or writing checks that would never clear.

Which, of course, didn't matter.

Because when Teresa actually came to me for helpand she'd done it more times than I could count!

3: 3

Just as I'd expected, my moment of hesitation.

Once again, it made me the thorn in everyone's eye.

Myrtle Chavez was the first to lay into me.

"I have to say, Ada, don't push it too far!"

"Out of everyone here, you're the only one who can't get along with the group!"

The looks the others turned on me weren't kind either.

Teresa smiled and said,

"Forget it, forget it. Ada's my best friend. I don't hold it against her."

"That's not okay!" Myrtle seemed set on me now, and she called out, "Teresa, stay out of this. You may not hold it against her, but the rest of us can't just let it slide!"

She pointed at me and raised her voice.

"Ada, get up. Now."

With everyone's blaming eyes on me, I had no choice but to stand.

Myrtle looked thoroughly pleased with herself. "Pick up your glass, fill it with whiskey, down it in one go, and apologize to the class president!"

I waved my hands quickly.

"I can't drink whiskey. I don't know how."

"I don't care whether you can or not!"

Myrtle didn't waste a breath on it. She marched over to the guys' table, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, filled my glass to the brim, and shoved it into my hand.

"Drink!"

The others took up the chant.

"Drink!"

I had no choice but to grit my teeth through it.

The whiskey scorched all the way down my throat.

But I had to get it down.

Only then did the mood ease.

Myrtle still couldn't resist needling me. "I'll let it go this time. Next time you pull this, the penalty's a whole bottle!"

I said nothing and glanced down at my phone.

The waiter brought the bill.

Teresa took one look. Eighty-eight hundred for the two tables.

Her brow creased slightly, and she smiled around at everyone.

"Everybody sit tight a minute. I'm going to go settle up."

"Ada, stop looking at your phone. Come out with me for a second. There's something I want to tell you."

So I followed her out.

Teresa led me to the register.

Before she could open her mouth, I asked,

"Teresa, this isn't going to be the card-limit thing again, is it? You need me to cover it?"

Teresa gave an awkward laugh.

"Of course not."

"I, I just had something urgent come up during the day, and I spent all my cash. Cover it for me first, and I'll pay you back tomorrow for sure."

I let out a long sigh.

"Fine. I'll trust you one more time."

As the party was breaking up, Timothy Gilbert came over to me and asked,

"Ada, what does the class president keep pulling you outside to do every time she settles the bill?"

I looked at Timothy and gave a faint smile.

Timothy frowned.

"Don't tell me she makes you pay every single time?"

I said quietly,

"She said she'd pay me back tomorrow."

Understanding settled over Timothy's face, and he gave me a long look.

"Then make sure you go get your money from her tomorrow."

"Right, you've been drinking. Let me drive you home?"

I thought about it for a moment and didn't refuse.

The next day, I waited until eight in the evening.

Teresa's end stayed just as quiet as always.

Every other time, I'd been too embarrassed to call and press her, but this was already the umpteenth time.

I dialed her number.

"Teresa, how come you still haven't paid me back? Didn't you say you'd have it back to me today?"

Teresa still seemed to be asleep, her voice thick and groggy.

"What's the rush over a little money like that? It's not like I'm not going to pay you back. You're acting like some collections agency. Isn't that a bit much?"

I asked again,

"Then what about my car? Surely you can at least give that back?"

Disgust crept into Teresa's voice.

"Ada, you're being ridiculous now! It's just some crummy car, isn't it? You're acting like I'm never giving it back!"

"The car's downstairs at my place. Come get it yourself. I still need to sleep, so quit bothering me!"

She snapped at me for a while, then hung up.

I stared at my phone, at a total loss.

As if I were some unforgivable criminal.

When I got to the door of Teresa's building and was just about to knock, I saw the car keys tossed carelessly on the ground by her door.

Like a piece of trash somebody had thrown out without a second thought.

4: 4

I swallowed the ache in my chest, and the moment I bent to pick up the keys, I made up my mind.

I was done with Teresa Simmons for good.

I didn't knock on her door. I just turned and walked away.

Back at the car, the tank was on empty, exactly as I'd expected.

I'd barely put it in gear when a text came through: Your vehicle, plate xxx, ran a red light on Clearbrook Road at 5:00 p.m. Please handle the violation promptly.

Five o'clock. That was right after I'd called Teresa.

Too angry to let it go, I screenshotted it and sent it to her:

"What is this?"

She fired back almost at once:

"You know exactly what this is!"

She'd done it on purpose.

Was that supposed to be a warning to me?

I lent her my car, I lent her my money, and somehow I was the one who needed to sit down and reflect on my mistakes.

Fine. She was right. I really did need to do some reflecting.

The next day, I called Teresa again:

"Teresa, can you pay me back today?"

She screamed into the phone, out of patience:

"Ada, what's your problem?"

"It's just eight thousand dollars."

"Do you have to hound me every single day?"

I said:

"You're the one who said you'd pay it back right away. And it's not eight thousand, it's eighty-eight hundred, plus everything you borrowed the times before that. You owe me thirty-six thousand two hundred forty-three dollars total."

Teresa shouted, "We're classmates, we even roomed together, and you're going to be like this? I'm busy. I don't have time to waste on you."

She chewed me out like she was the wronged one, laid all the blame on me, and hung up.

A month later, Teresa organized another outing in the group chat.

Teresa: "Hey everyone, a fancy new restaurant just opened on Newland Avenue. We haven't gotten together in ages, so let's meet up and try the food while we're at it."

The alumni group chat came alive instantly:

"Yes, please! One word from our class president and I'll be the first one there."

"Gorgeous Teresa is the best, always thinking of us old classmates."

"Right? Teresa's not just our class president, she's our guardian angel, our den mother. I'd call her Mom if she wanted."

"Sounds more like you want a wife. Haha."

Myrtle Chavez: "Not like a certain someone, dull as a plank, thick as a brick. Let's not bring her along this time."

And just like that, the conversation swung straight to me.

I typed back: "Works for me. I won't come. You all enjoy."

Less than a minute later, Teresa called:

"Ada, what's wrong? Why aren't you coming?"

I asked:

"What do you think?"

She paused a moment, then said:

"That trash Myrtle Chavez really is a piece of work. Don't be upset. I'll set her straight next time. Just make sure you come tonight."

"Oh, right, lend me the car. I'll come by for the keys in a bit. You get it, don't you?"

She hung up before I could answer.

She wasn't borrowing anymore. She was giving orders.

I gave a cold little smile. No way was I lending the car, and no way was I going to any party she put together.

But right then Timothy Gilbert called me on voice chat:

"Did Teresa pay you back?"

I answered:

"No."

Timothy said:

"I think I've got the picture. That car of hers is yours too, isn't it?"

"Mm." I admitted it with a nod.

Timothy asked:

"So are you still going to this party or not?"

I said:

"I don't want to."

Timothy was quiet for a moment.

"If I were you, I'd go. And I'd give Teresa something she'll never forget. Otherwise she'll have you under her thumb for the rest of your life."

That said, Timothy left it there.

I sat with it for a long time, until the doorbell rang outside.

I'd worked it out. Timothy was right. I was taking back everything that was mine, and I wasn't holding anything back this time.

I opened the door and tossed her the keys:

"There's no gas in it. If you want to drive it, remember to fill the tank, or you won't make it to the restaurant."

Teresa complained, unsatisfied:

"Ada, why didn't you fill it up? Are you setting me up on purpose? We're classmates, how can you play me like this?"

I said calmly:

"The car's mine. I fill it if I want to, I don't if I don't. Who knew you'd want to borrow it? You don't have to."

I held out my hand:

"Give me the keys back. Just don't borrow it."

Teresa snatched the keys tight in her grip:

"I'm joking. It's just a full tank, no big deal at all."

I took out my phone and pointed it at her:

"Here, say it clearly on camera that the car's in your hands today. That way if there's an accident or points get docked, there's proof."

Teresa stared at me, brows knotted tight, her eyes all but spitting fire.

I asked:

"Not borrowing the car after all?"

She said it through gritted teeth, spelled it out, then left without a backward glance.

That evening.

Same as always, everyone waited outside the hotel for Teresa, the last to arrive.

When she pulled up in the Mercedes and got out, the whole crowd swarmed her.

Myrtle sucked up to her:

"Teresa, you and this Mercedes are just perfect. Great car, great person, money without the airs, not like some people whose character is an absolute mess!"

I didn't shrink back the way I always had. I put my hand out to Teresa, straight up:

"Give me back the car keys."

Every eye turned to Teresa and me.

Teresa forced herself calm, grabbed my hand, and laughed:

"Ada, let's go inside and eat. If you want to borrow the car, we can talk about it privately after dinner."

I didn't give her an inch:

"You didn't actually think that after borrowing my car and playing rich lady a few times, the car was yours, did you?"

Teresa hadn't expected me to expose her on the spot, in front of this many people, without sparing her any face at all. She hissed through her teeth:

"Ada, you..."

I cut her off before she could go on, dropping a truth she couldn't argue with:

"You're not going to make me pull out the vehicle registration to prove the car's mine, are you?"

Every eye turned to Teresa.

Her face went white and stiff in an instant.