“He’s just a lapdog. Throw him out. Don’t waste your attention on him.”
A lapdog?
The word cut deeper than a knife. Around me, I felt the mocking eyes of the crowd, full of contempt.
So that’s what they thought of me? Evelyn Carter’s obedient little pet?
But I wasn’t one.
Evelyn and I met during a student club activity in my sophomore year. I’d just finished a grueling basketball game, was starving, and stole a pack of chips from my roommate. He cursed me out and told me to call him “godfather” if I wanted to eat his food.
I didn’t even take the joke seriously, but he actually did it, humiliating himself in front of everyone.
That was when Evelyn stepped forward, sharp and fearless, telling me not to bully people just because they were broke—and not to steal food either.
She had that “big sister” vibe, always trying to play fair.
So I leaned into it, pretended to be a pitiful poor boy, pestering her every day until she finally softened. Before long, we were together, and the whole school whispered that I was her kept man.
The rumor stung. I didn’t want her to feel embarrassed, so I told her the truth—that my family wasn’t poor at all. But she just shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.