Roxy POV
My fingers trembled against the plastic edge of the library’s desktop monitor.
On the screen, a single line of bold text burned straight through my vision.
MANDATORY ADMINISTRATIVE AND FACILITY FEE: $5,000.
DUE IMMEDIATELY.
I blinked, hoping the numbers would shift.
They didn’t.
The red digits stared back at me, cold and final.
A notice below the sum stated that failure to clear the balance within forty-eight hours would result in the immediate revocation of my academic scholarship and academic block from Kingston Academy.
“Five thousand,” I whispered.
The words felt heavy, like stones dropping in my throat.
My hand flew to my mouth to catch a sudden gasp.
My heart banged wildly against my ribcage.
Five thousand dollars.
It might as well have been five million.
Images of home flashed behind my eyes.
My mother’s pale face as she sorted through a mountain of overdue medical bills on our scratched kitchen table.
My father’s exhausted sighs every time the phone rang, knowing it was another credit card collector.
They had sacrificed every single thing, skipping meals and working double shifts, just to pay for my bus fare and books.
I was supposed to be their way out.
If I got kicked out now, everything we suffered for became a joke.
My fingers reflexively gripped the frayed straps of my worn-out backpack, squeezing until my knuckles went white.
This wasn’t a mistake.
This was a purge.
Kingston Academy didn’t want people like me walking their pristine floors.
They wanted an playground for the ultra-wealthy, and raising fees overnight was the easiest way to weed out the charity cases.
“No,” I muttered, my jaw tightening until it ached.
“I am not packing my bags.”
I snatched my bag, rammed my chair back, and stormed out of the library.
The autumn air hit my face, but I barely felt the chill.
I marched across the manicured lawns of the campus, my cheap boots squeaking loudly against the pristine brick walkways.
Wealthy students draped in expensive designer coats laughed in small groups, oblivious to the world burning around them.
I pushed past them, my eyes locked on the grand, stone pillars of the financial aid building.
I threw the glass doors open, the scent of expensive lavender air freshener hitting my nose.
It smelled like fake perfection.
Behind a polished desk sat Mildred.
She wore a pearl necklace that looked heavy enough to choke her, and her sharp, perfectly manicured nails clicked against her keyboard.
She didn’t look up when I approached.
She just let out a slow, deliberate sigh.
“I received an email about an administrative fee,” I said, my voice tight.
I forced my hands into my pockets so she wouldn’t see them shaking.
“There has to be a mistake. My scholarship covers full tuition.”
Mildred finally paused her typing.
She adjusted her reading glasses and looked up, her gaze sliding down my faded denim jacket and landing on my scuffed boots.
Her lip curled in a subtle, practiced sneer.
“There are no mistakes in our system, Miss…” She paused, pretending to scan her memory.
“Brooks, is it?”
“Yes, Roxy Brooks,” I said, leaning over the desk.
I could smell her suffocating rose perfume.
“You can’t just add a five-thousand-dollar fee out of nowhere and give people two days to pay it. That is completely impossible for anyone on financial aid.”
“Kingston Academy is a premium institution,” Mildred said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.
She leaned back in her leather chair, crossing her arms.
“The board decided that all students must contribute to the upkeep of our elite facilities. If your family cannot afford the standard of luxury here, perhaps you should consider a school closer to your… demographic.”
The words felt like a slap.
Anger, hot and volatile, surged from my chest into my throat.
I bit the inside of my lip, tasting blood, desperately forcing myself not to scream.
“My demographic earned the highest GPA in the freshman class,” I shot back, my voice vibrating with raw fury.
“I work hard every single day. I don’t just buy my way through life.”
Mildred’s eyes narrowed into slits.
The fake sweetness vanished, replaced by an icy, elitist glare.
“Your grades do not pay our bills, Miss Brooks. And your attitude certainly won’t clear your account. You have forty-eight hours. Pay the fee, or clear out your dorm room. There are hundreds of wealthy applicants waiting to take your spot.”
My lungs felt tight, empty of air.
The room spun slightly.
I looked at her, realizing she didn’t care.
To her, I was just a roach ruining her view.
My family’s future was slipping through my fingers, and I was powerless to stop it.
I stared at her, my throat burning with tears I refused to shed.
I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
Mildred scoffed at my silence, shaking her head.
“You scholarship kids are all the same. You think the world owes you a free ride.”
She reached out, grabbed a sleek, silver laptop on the corner of her desk, and aggressively typed in a password.
She spun the screen around, sliding it toward me across the polished wood.
“You want to stay so badly?” Mildred asked, a cruel, mocking smile stretching across her face.
“Coach Owen from the athletic department left a desperate request on the employment portal five minutes ago. The athletic board approved a special, high-priority tutoring budget. It pays exactly five grand.”
I looked down at the screen.
My eyes tracked the words.
Urgent Student-Athlete Academic Intervention.
The payment line read exactly $5,000, payable upon the completion of the mid-term examinations.
My heart leaped in my chest.
A lifeline.
“I’ll take it,” I said immediately, reaching for the mouse.
“I’ll sign up right now.”
Mildred barked out a sharp, mocking laugh, snatching the laptop back before my fingers could touch it.
She looked at me like I was a lamb walking straight into a slaughterhouse.
“Don’t be so eager, girl,” Mildred sneered, her eyes flashing with malicious amusement.
“You won’t survive a single day with him. Four tutors have already quit this month. Two left the room crying, and one threatened a lawsuit.”
She turned the screen toward herself, her finger hovering over the authorization key.
“He is the wild captain of the hockey team. Violent, arrogant, and untouchable,” Mildred whispered, leaning in closer.
“His father practically owns this school. If he fails his next test, he gets suspended, and the team loses the championship. But he hates tutors. He breaks them for fun.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening into fists inside my pockets.
A spoilt, rich jock.
The exact type of person I despised most.
But five thousand dollars was my ticket to survival.
It was my mother’s peace of mind.
It was my father’s rest.
“I don’t care who he is,” I said, my voice steady, my eyes locking onto hers with fierce look.
“Authorize the contract, Mildred.”
Mildred smirked, her long nail clicking the mouse with a sharp, decisive snap.
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, sliding a printed slip of paper across the desk.
“Go down to the private ice rink right now. Coach Owen is waiting. Good luck, Scholar. You’re going to need it.”
I snatched the paper from her desk, turned around, and walked out without another word.
As I pushed through the glass doors, I looked down at the student signature line printed at the bottom of the assignment page.
The name was written in bold, aggressive ink.
Jaxon Montgomery.