Done Hiding as Your Backup Plaything I'm Shining Golden as a Queen - Chapter 41: Chapter 41
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After grabbing our transcripts, everyone exchanged those awkward "keep in touch" promises before scattering like dandelion seeds in the wind.
Mom called just as I was heading out. "Liana, you finished yet?"
I was following my homeroom teacher toward the auditorium, my stomach doing little nervous flips about the interview.
"Not yet. I've got something I need to do."
"Your aunt and I found this amazing sale at Nordstrom. I'll have Rosalia come get you, okay?"
I hesitated, not wanting Rosalia to burst in during my moment, but I also didn't want to explain. "I'm in the auditorium."
The interview was surprisingly quick—just twenty minutes of me trying not to sound like a complete robot while talking about my "study techniques" and "academic journey." All those practiced answers I'd rehearsed in the bus yesterday tumbled out smoothly enough.
Just as the reporter was wrapping up, Rosalia appeared in the doorway.
She scanned the room with that slightly confused look people get when they walk into a movie halfway through. "Liana? What's going on in here?"
The WCCO reporter was packing up her notebook when she spotted Rosalia. Her eyes lit up with that journalist's instinct for a new angle. "Is this your friend?"
"No," I shook my head. "This is my sister."
The reporter smiled warmly. "You're both absolutely gorgeous—those genes in your family!"
I said, "Thanks," feeling that weird mix of pride and embarrassment that comes with compliments.
Rosalia stepped closer, her eyes focusing on the WCCO lanyard hanging around the reporter's neck.
"Wait, you're with Channel 4?"
The reporter nodded.
Rosalia's expression shifted from confusion to suspicion.
Something was clearly clicking in her brain. "Why are you guys here at our school?"
Another crew member was dismantling the camera setup.
My homeroom teacher bustled in with three water bottles, looking way more excited about this whole thing than I was.
I watched Rosalia's face silently, my heart rate picking up despite my outward calm.
The reporter answered casually, "Interviewing the Minnesota state champion SAT scorer in humanities."
In that moment, Rosalia's face did something I'd never seen before—it completely emptied of expression, like someone had wiped a whiteboard clean.
She stood there frozen, her eyes unfocused as though she was recalibrating her entire reality.
Her gaze swept over me, lingered for a millisecond, then drifted back to the reporter.
She whispered, almost to herself, "What did you just say?"
The reporter glanced at me with slight confusion, then repeated, "We're interviewing Minnesota's highest SAT scorer in humanities."
Rosalia scanned the room again, more deliberately this time, taking inventory of everyone present. Her eyes landed on me, the only student in the room. Her face went from blank to ghost-white as she bit her lip and asked, "So... where is this top scorer?"
The reporter looked genuinely baffled.
I could practically read her thoughts: How could my own sister not know about the biggest academic achievement of my life?
For a split second, I considered downplaying it. Making some joke to let Rosalia save face. That's what I'd always done—minimize myself to keep the peace.
But something was different now. Maybe it was seeing my score. Maybe it was the applause from my classmates earlier. Or maybe I was just tired of being invisible.
I stood up calmly, feeling strangely light, and answered simply, "It's me."
Mom called just as I was heading out. "Liana, you finished yet?"
I was following my homeroom teacher toward the auditorium, my stomach doing little nervous flips about the interview.
"Not yet. I've got something I need to do."
"Your aunt and I found this amazing sale at Nordstrom. I'll have Rosalia come get you, okay?"
I hesitated, not wanting Rosalia to burst in during my moment, but I also didn't want to explain. "I'm in the auditorium."
The interview was surprisingly quick—just twenty minutes of me trying not to sound like a complete robot while talking about my "study techniques" and "academic journey." All those practiced answers I'd rehearsed in the bus yesterday tumbled out smoothly enough.
Just as the reporter was wrapping up, Rosalia appeared in the doorway.
She scanned the room with that slightly confused look people get when they walk into a movie halfway through. "Liana? What's going on in here?"
The WCCO reporter was packing up her notebook when she spotted Rosalia. Her eyes lit up with that journalist's instinct for a new angle. "Is this your friend?"
"No," I shook my head. "This is my sister."
The reporter smiled warmly. "You're both absolutely gorgeous—those genes in your family!"
I said, "Thanks," feeling that weird mix of pride and embarrassment that comes with compliments.
Rosalia stepped closer, her eyes focusing on the WCCO lanyard hanging around the reporter's neck.
"Wait, you're with Channel 4?"
The reporter nodded.
Rosalia's expression shifted from confusion to suspicion.
Something was clearly clicking in her brain. "Why are you guys here at our school?"
Another crew member was dismantling the camera setup.
My homeroom teacher bustled in with three water bottles, looking way more excited about this whole thing than I was.
I watched Rosalia's face silently, my heart rate picking up despite my outward calm.
The reporter answered casually, "Interviewing the Minnesota state champion SAT scorer in humanities."
In that moment, Rosalia's face did something I'd never seen before—it completely emptied of expression, like someone had wiped a whiteboard clean.
She stood there frozen, her eyes unfocused as though she was recalibrating her entire reality.
Her gaze swept over me, lingered for a millisecond, then drifted back to the reporter.
She whispered, almost to herself, "What did you just say?"
The reporter glanced at me with slight confusion, then repeated, "We're interviewing Minnesota's highest SAT scorer in humanities."
Rosalia scanned the room again, more deliberately this time, taking inventory of everyone present. Her eyes landed on me, the only student in the room. Her face went from blank to ghost-white as she bit her lip and asked, "So... where is this top scorer?"
The reporter looked genuinely baffled.
I could practically read her thoughts: How could my own sister not know about the biggest academic achievement of my life?
For a split second, I considered downplaying it. Making some joke to let Rosalia save face. That's what I'd always done—minimize myself to keep the peace.
But something was different now. Maybe it was seeing my score. Maybe it was the applause from my classmates earlier. Or maybe I was just tired of being invisible.
I stood up calmly, feeling strangely light, and answered simply, "It's me."
End of Done Hiding as Your Backup Plaything I'm Shining Golden as a Queen Chapter 41. Continue reading Chapter 42 or return to Done Hiding as Your Backup Plaything I'm Shining Golden as a Queen book page.