Destroying My Pick Me Teacher

Ive been the center of the universe since the day I drew my first breath.

When I was one, my father bought me a literal chateau in France, telling me I would always be his little princess. By the time I turned three, my mother had launched a luxury childrens wear line named after me, plastering my birthday portraits on billboards from New York to Paris. Even my older brother, the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech conglomerate, doted on me to the point of absurdityhe was the kind of man whod let me ride on his back in the middle of a high-stakes gala if I asked.

Growing up in that kind of gilded cocoon gave me a profound sense of "deservingness." I didnt just think the world should move for me; I expected it to.

But everything shifted when I met Ms. Halloway, my new homeroom teacher. She was the quintessential "pick-me" woman, the kind who performed her femininity solely for the male gaze while harboring a deep-seated resentment for other womenespecially girls like me.

On her very first day, she tried to force me into the standard, scratchy polyester school uniform. When I refused, she had the audacity to claim I was intentionally trying to "distract" the boys by not wearing the regulation blazer.

I pouted, my bottom lip trembling with genuine confusion. "I cant wear this trash, Ms. Halloway. My skin is strictly a 100% Grade 6A mulberry silk environment. Anything else gives me a rash."

She then instituted a rule that all girls had to use cheap, plastic butterfly clips to keep their hair back, claiming that "vanity in girls is a poison to a boys academic focus."

I didnt use the plastic clip. She marched over, pointing a trembling finger at my face. "You little brat. Are you waiting for one of the boys to clip your hair for you? Do you have no shame?"

I blinked, my eyes wide with shock. "A fifty-cent plastic clip would ruin my hairs cuticle. Ive had weekly deep-conditioning treatments since I was in diapers. I only use Jennifer Behr or Herms."

She looked like she was about to explode. She raised her hand to strike me, but I performed a delicate, practiced "baby-step" retreat, dodging her easily.

"Does your mother know youre nearly eighteen and still acting like a toddler?" she hissed. "Do you realize how pathological you sound?"

I covered my mouth, genuinely surprised. "Ms. Halloway, do you... not have a mother? Mine says Ill be her baby for the rest of her life. She says I deserve nothing but the absolute best."

Ms. Halloways face contorted, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"Youre delusional! Youre just a spoiled piece of trash whose parents clearly failed her!"

Her features twisted so violently it was actually painful to look at. It was an assault on my aesthetic sensibilities.

"Oh," I said, a realization dawning on me. "So you do have a mother? Then why didn't she buy you any high-end skincare? Your pores are so... visible. Didn't she ever get you La Mer or caviar-infused serums?"

I proudly pushed up my sleeve, revealing my forearmpale, translucent, and smooth as polished marble. "My skin is different from yours. Yours is so... textured."

Whack.

She snatched a wooden ruler off the podium and struck my wrist. Hard.

As a red welt bloomed on my skin, a satisfied, cruel smirk touched her lips.

I felt a surge of genuine hurt. I was only trying to give her beauty advice, and she resorted to physical violence.

"Still playing the 'baby' card?" she spat. "Did you fall on your head as a child? Is that why your IQ is in the basement?"

I sniffed, asking the question I knew she was dying for me to ask. "Well, Ms. Halloway, what was your IQ score?"

As a teacher at one of the most prestigious prep schools in the country, Ms. Halloway took immense pride in her credentials. She assumed I was a "legacy hire"someone whose family had donated a library to get me in. To her, a girl who cared about silk was inherently a dimwit.

"Me?" she asked, puffing out her chest. "I scored a 130. A certified genius. Unlike a certain 'baby' who can't seem to score higher than a two percent on her practice SATs."

She leaned in closer. "Girls like you are a blight. Eventually, Im going to make sure every girl is weeded out of this honors track, starting with getting you expelled."

Wait.

Had I entered a parallel universe? The top twenty students in our grade were all girls. And... 130? Was that supposed to be high?

"Ms. Halloway," I asked innocently, "if your IQ is only 130, and mine is 190... does that mean your 'genius' is actually just... average?"

I was just telling the truth.

But Ms. Halloway went off like a literal bomb. She snapped. She started grabbing whatever was on her desk and hurling it at me.

A cheap plastic ballpoint pen!

A cracked, outdated smartphone!

Even her tacky "designer-inspired" gold-plated bracelet!

"Watch out!" I squealed, ducking. If any of those low-quality materials touched me, Id break out in hives.

I wasn't fast enough. The bracelet grazed my arm, and almost instantly, tiny red bumps began to appear. It itched like crazy.

She began screaming for the Head of Students, Mr. Miller, who happened to be patrolling the hallway.

"Mr. Miller! We have to expel Tinsley Beaumont immediately! Shes mentally unstable! Shes failing every diagnostic test, yet shes claiming she has a 190 IQ! Shes a distraction to the boys!"

Mr. Miller looked at Ms. Halloway, then at me, then back at her. He was silent for a long beat.

"Ms. Halloway... have you even looked at the student files I sent you?"

She stammered, "I... well, I reviewed the boys' files. Tinsley is clearly a lost cause. A school with our reputation can't have its GPA dragged down by a girl who thinks she's a doll."

Mr. Miller sighed, shaking his head. "I think the only person suffering from a lapse in judgment here is you, Ms. Halloway."

He pointed to my file. "Tinsley Beaumont isn't just a student. Shes already been accepted into Stanford on a full-ride Early Action. She placed first in the National Merit Scholarship rankings for the entire state. Where exactly do you plan on 'expelling' a girl whos already reached the finish line?"

Ms. Halloways jaw dropped. "Thats impossible! Shes... shes vapid! She doesn't even speak like an adult!"

I blinked my lashes, looking as guileless as possible. "Oh, that. Its just that the boys in our class have such fragile egos. If they saw my real scores, theyd cry, and theyre already so unattractive when they're upset. I don't like looking at ugly things, so I just... precisely aim for a two percent score to keep the peace."

Because of the allergic reaction on my arm, I asked Ms. Halloway for an excuse from the afternoons Field Day.

Naturally, she refused. She grabbed a lock of my hair, pulling it tight. "Stop being so delicate. If you aren't competing, youre going to be on the sidelines cheering for the boys. If you don't, Ill punish every girl in this class. I'll make them spend the weekend scrubbing the boys' locker rooms."

Ugh. The boys' locker room? I could practically smell the axe body spray and unwashed socks from here. I felt like I was going to throw up.

I didnt want to bother my parents or Callum with something so petty, so I just nodded and headed to the field.

Before I left, I slathered on five layers of SPF 50 and grabbed my custom-made parasol. But the moment I stepped onto the track, Ms. Halloway snatched the umbrella from my hand.

"The boys are out here in the sun, and they aren't complaining," she sneered. "What makes you so special?"

She tried to stomp on the parasol to break it. But the handle was crafted from high-density aerospace-grade titanium. Instead of breaking the umbrella, her cheap heel snapped, and she went sprawling face-first into the dirt.

A group of boys immediately rushed over. They weren't actually worried about her; they just wanted an excuse to skip the relay.

"Ms. Halloway! Are you okay?"

"Let us help you to the shade! We can't possibly compete knowing you're hurt!"

Ms. Halloway looked at me with a triumphant, muddy smile. "See? This is why boys are superior. They have empathy. They have instinct. A girl like youeven with a high IQwill be chewed up and spat out by the real world because you have no 'people skills'."

I wanted to point out that my family owned half of the citys skyline and that Callum had already set up a trust fund that would allow me to spend ten million dollars a year for the next three centuries without running out. What "world" was she talking about?

Her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen, and for a second, her expression was a complicated mix of shock and smugness.

The boys around her started whistling. "Is that him, Ms. Halloway? Did the mystery billionaire finally accept your friend request?"

"I knew it!" one of the guys cheered. "You're way too hot to be a teacher. You're going to marry into a dynasty and leave us, aren't you?"

The flattery went straight to her head. She looked at me with pure venom. "Tinsley, youre so clueless about how the world works. A womans real power is her ability to capture a man of status. And very soon, Im going to have... him... right where I want him."

She whispered the name under her breath, and it was so breathy and high-pitched I couldn't quite catch it.

"Why do you have to work so hard to capture a man?" I asked, tilted my head. "Don't they usually just... try to capture you?"

I gestured toward the group of boys. Ms. Halloway finally noticed that while one boy had brought her a lukewarm bottle of tap water, three others were hovering behind me, offering me chilled imported sparkling water and a designer boba tea theyd had delivered to the school gate.

"Tinsley! That is just the boys being gentlemen!" she shrieked. "Don't be so narcissistic to think they're interested in you. Now, go stand in the sun for the next eight hours. If you move, youll write 'I am a shallow brat' ten thousand times."

I sighed. So, the boys offering to do my homework and asking for my number wasn't them "trying to capture me"? It was just... "gentlemanly"?

I calmly took the boba tea and poured the entire sticky, icy contents over Ms. Halloways head.

"Oops. I just rememberedI only drink organic, grass-fed milk alternatives from New Zealand. This was far too low-market for me. Since you seem so thirsty for attention, you can have it!"

I think the sheer audacity of it sent her into shock. Ms. Halloway actually fainted.

I thought that would be the end of it, but she woke up looking for blood.

The next morning during homeroom, she called me to the front to lead the pledge. As soon as I opened my mouth, I saw her recording me on her phone.

She posted the video directly to the schools Parent-Teacher group chat. She tagged my parents.

Is this how you raised your daughter? She spends all day using this 'baby' persona to manipulate and seduce the boys in my class. When are you going to take responsibility for her behavior?

Other parents, fueled by the competitive toxicity of elite prep schools, began chiming in.

My son told me about her! Why is she allowed to wear those pink lace uniforms when everyone else wears navy?

Its disgusting. Shes almost an adult and shes acting like a toddler. Its a distraction to the serious students.

Ms. Halloway smirked as she watched the notifications roll in. Then, she grabbed my custom Swarovski-encrusted water bottle from my desk and hurled it against the wall.

It shattered into a million pieces, a shard of crystal grazing my cheek.

I burst into tears. Real, messy tears. "Ms. Halloway! My mother had that bottle custom-made for my birthday! Why would you break it?"

"Because you're a freak!" she yelled. "Who carries a bottle that looks like a sippy cup at eighteen? You're just doing it for the male gaze! You're sabotaging their futures!"

She ground her heel into the ruins of the bottle, her eyes bright with a manic kind of joy.

But a second later, the group chat went silent.

My parents were too busy in Dubai to look at their phones, but the account was managed by my grandfather. And my grandfather didn't just love mehe worshipped me.

A notification popped up. My grandfather had just sent a digital gift card for 0-00,000 to every single parent in the chat.

Our Tinsley has always been a delicate soul. If she likes her water in a crystal bottle, its because her palate is too refined for plastic...

When it came to me, my entire family shared a collective "Baby Brain." My grandfather, a retired titan of the shipping industry, began spamming the chat with photos of me as a baby, listing my "adorable" qualities.

Ms. Halloway had expected my parents to be shamed into withdrawing me. She had expected a mob.

But 0-00,000 is a lot of money, even for wealthy people.

Before Ms. Halloway could even type her next insult, the parent who had started the group chat kicked her out. They renamed the group: Tinsley Beaumont Official Fan Club.

Honestly, shes so young at heart. Ms. Halloway, youre being a bit of a bully, aren't you? one parent wrote.

The bottle was beautiful! You have no taste! another added.

Having lost the parents, Ms. Halloway turned to the faculty.

During a school-wide "Open House" that was being live-streamed to donors, she forced me to sit in the front row. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Keep playing the doll, Tinsley. Lets see how the board of directors feels when you humiliate the school on camera. If you mess this up, Im giving your Stanford recommendation to the boy whos second in class."

I knew she had filed a formal complaint, claiming Id cheated on my exams. She wanted my "spot" given to her favorite male student.

During the lecture, she purposely called on me for the most difficult questions, trying to "expose" me. The other teachers held their breaththe questions were at a post-grad doctoral level.

But I wasn't just "playing" a genius. I was one.

I stood up, smoothed my skirt, and answered every single question with surgical precision. Then I pouted, touching my cheek. "Is that all? These questions are kind of making me sleepy. Are they supposed to be hard?"

I turned to Ms. Halloway. "Was that the 'intensity' you were worried about? Because it felt a little... basic."

In front of the entire school and thousands of online viewers, Ms. Halloways reputation disintegrated.

After the class, she lost it. She kicked my desk over and screamed at me in front of the boys. "Wait until the finals! I'll make sure the girls fail. I'll make sure the boys take back their rightful place at the top! And then you can kiss your 'Stanford' dream goodbye!"

On the day of the final exams, Ms. Halloway did something "nice." She ordered lunch for the whole class.

The boys got steak and lobster. The girls were given a "health-conscious" salad of wild mushrooms.

"Ms. Halloway, this is amazing!" the boys cheered. "We're gonna kill it on the test for you!"

I didn't touch my plate.

"Aren't you eating, Tinsley?" she sneered. "Mushrooms are great for brain health. Or are you too busy dieting to keep your 'baby' figure?"

I looked at her, bored. "Where is my personalized 'Princess' bowl? I can't eat out of plastic, Ms. Halloway. It's beneath me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" She reached out, trying to shove a forkful of mushrooms into my mouth.

Suddenly, three girls in the back row let out a strangled cry, clutching their stomachs.

I knew it. She wasn't just a "pick-me." She was a criminal. She had tried to poison the competition so only the boys would be healthy enough to take the exam.

I grabbed the plate of mushrooms and shoved it right back into Ms. Halloways face.

The girls were rushed to the hospital. And while Ms. Halloway was being questioned by EMTs, I sat down and finished my final in twenty minutes. I scored a perfect 1600 on the mock SAT and a 100% on every subject final.

The boys she had bet on were so demoralized by my speed that they ended up having a collective breakdown on the school rooftop, doing "stress-relief" pushups until they collapsed.

After that, I hired a private chef to cater lunch for every girl in my grade. We had wagyu and truffle every day.

We filed a joint report about the "mushroom incident," but somehow, Ms. Halloway wasn't fired.

One of the boys who liked me slipped me a note:

[Ms. Halloway is dating the new Chairman of the Board. Hes incredibly wealthy, and she told the Principal theyre practically engaged. No one can touch her.]

Incredibly wealthy?

Wealthier than the Beaumonts?

I watched her walk through the halls, glaring at us while we ate our lobster tails. She tried to call my parents again, but they wouldn't even take her call.

Finally, she cornered me. "Next week is the Senior Gala. You are required to bring your parents. If they don't show up, Ill have the Chairman blacklist your family from every club in this city."

As far as I knew, shed only managed to get the Chairmans number. They weren't even dating yet.

But I agreed. Because Callum had told me he was coming home next week to give me a "surprise." He could handle her.

The night of the Gala arrived. As the top-ranked student, I had to give a speech. But as I stepped onto the stage, a middle-aged woman Id never seen before rushed up and slapped me across the face.

The giant screen behind me flipped from my graduation photo to a series of grainy, private photos of a girl who looked vaguely like me in a compromising position.

"This is Tinsley Beaumont!" the woman shrieked into the microphone. "Shes a homewrecker! She seduced my husband and destroyed my family! Her mother is nothing but a high-class escort who taught her how to play 'baby' to get money from married men!"

The room erupted. Parents began pulling their children away from me as if I were contagious.

Below the stage, Ms. Halloway mouthed: Youre finished.

The woman signaled, and a group of rough-looking men stormed the stage. They started grabbing at my clothes, pulling my hair, trying to humiliate me.

"Strip this little slut! Let's see what the prestigious Beaumonts are really hiding!"

Then, a cold, melodic voice cut through the chaos from the back of the hall.

"Princess?"

Ms. Halloway and I both froze.

I saw my brother, Callum, standing in the doorway. And when he saw the hand-shaped bruise on my cheek and the men touching me, his eyes turned a shade of red I had never seen before.