"Are you dating someone?!" Jayleen shoved the dorm door wide enough to swing my entire weekend plans out onto the hallway carpet and aimed her phone at my face like it was evidence at a trial. I snatched the phone. A campus forum post filled the screen: a grainy photo of me laughing at a corner table, the man across from me cropped in but clearly tall, hair messy the way med students' hair goes when they skip sleep. The caption read: "Juliana Romano with Medical Dynasty Heir? Picture says it all." "That's not me," I said. "That's totally you," Jayleen said. "That's your hoodie. That's your pear-sticker on the laptop. Who is he?" "Do not call me by my business logo," I said. My voice was flat. "I don't even remember that photo." Danielle pushed through with Freyja trailing, phone poised. Danielle looked like she'd been loading arguments all day and finally found a place to unload them. "I saw this ten minutes ago," Danielle said. "Comments are already—" Her fingers flicked and a list of comments scrolled past. "—calling you 'opportunistic,' 'sliding into med money,' 'trademark move.'" "Great," I said. "So I'm a walking stereotype now." "Look at this one." Jayleen tapped the screen. The post's top comment had a thousand upvotes: "If it’s true, she’s aiming high. If it isn’t, she’s baiting." "That's a lie," I said before thinking. Heat rose, then cooled