"Effective immediately, the Tutoring Excellence stipend has been suspended for the academic semester." Mrs. Gable said without even looking up.
I almost choked on my iced coffee.
I’d been sipping it without really tasting it, sitting across from Mrs Gable with a colour-coded folder on my lap. I’d walked into this meeting expecting a confirmed schedule... maybe a minor headache. Not this.
I set the cup carefully on the edge of the desk. "I’m sorry, what? Suspended? You’re joking."
"I don’t joke about university budgets, Miss Bennett." She finally lifted her tired-looking eyes framed by thin reading glasses. "The university reallocated the work-study budget. The Tutoring Excellence program falls under General Academic Support, which was consolidated this quarter."
"Consolidated into what?"
"Athletics Academic Compliance."
I felt those words land hard against my chest. "You pulled my stipend to fund the hockey team’s babysitters?"
"We hired three academic liaisons to support student-athletes in maintaining eligibility for the upcoming season..."
"I know what an academic liaison is," I cut in, pressing my palm flat on the edge of the desk. "I was one. For two years. That’s my job you just handed off, and the stipend is currently paying my rent."
"Miss Benett, I understand this is difficult..."
"Is there an appeal process?" I cut in again before the whole sympathy speech could start. "Or is this already locked in?"
"There’s nothing to do. The reallocation is final for this semester."
"And next semester?"
"That would depend on the May budget review."
I wanted to say something more, plead with her or ask if there was someone else who could help, but she had already dismissed me by returning to whatever she was doing behind the desk.
So I muttered a quiet thank you, picked my iced coffee and my folder, and walked out.
The hallway outside the financial aid office was empty, and that was the only reason I stopped to allow myself to breathe. I leaned against the brick wall and squeezed my cup until the plastic crinkled.
Fifteen hundred dollars.
I pulled out my phone and checked my banking app. The balance was forty-two dollars and sixteen cents; my rent was due in just nineteen days and my mom’s bakery loan repayment hit on the first.
My diner shifts only covered groceries; there was no way they would cover rent, let alone the loan. I did the math in about three seconds: the numbers just didn’t add up.
At this rate, I might be kicked out of my apartment, and the local bank would make a move on Sugar & Spice for foreclosure by next month.
My hands were already shaking as I opened my messages and typed a text to Priya.
Nora: My tutoring stipend just got cut. All of it. I’m completely screwed.
I watched the typing bubble appear, then pop.
Priya: WHAT? How? Why?
Nora: Athletics budget... final decision. I have to find a new job by Friday or I’m moving back home. I’m fine though... I’ll be.
Priya: You’re clearly not fine. You used ellipses.
Nora: What’s wrong with ellipses? It’s good grammar.
Priya: You use periods when you’re about to cry and refuse to admit it. Where are you?
Nora: Hallway outside financial aid. Don’t come, you have con law in seven minutes.
Priya: Con law can absolutely wait.
Nora: It can’t. I’m fine. Go. We’ll talk later.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket, gathered myself and started walking.
I was halfway down the main administrative corridor, running numbers in my head, calculating whether picking up two extra cafe shifts could even come close to covering the gap, when the door at the far end flew open.
I didn’t even have the time to react before a gear bag swung out, catching me right in the shoulder.
The impact knocked me sideways. My folder flew out of my grip, throwing the papers in it everywhere and my iced coffee hit the floor. The lid popped clean off; cold coffee spread slowly across the tiles and soaked the corner of my rent breakdown sheet.
I caught myself against the wall on both palms and looked up.
"Hey..." I started, but the jerk that hit me was already moving.
He was massive, standing at least six foot three with broad shoulders under a black Briar Hockey varsity jacket. A heavy gear bag over one shoulder, phone in his other hand, and he hadn’t even slowed down by a single step.
He glanced back for what couldn’t even count as a second of eye contact.
"Watch it," he said, and kept walking.
I stared at the back of his head, my jaw dropping. "Watch it?" I repeated mostly to myself, looking at my papers scattered across the hallway floor. "Why, of course. I should be watching out for doors. In a hallway. Incredible. Really useful note, thank you."
He stopped walking, adjusted the strap of his gear bag and turned around slowly.
I recognised him immediately. Everyone on campus knew Knox Sheridan, the hockey team’s star forward and the university’s unofficial spokesperson for bad decisions.
He had dark hair, well chiseled jaw, and eyes that looked down at me with the mild irritation you’d aim at a pigeon blocking the sidewalk.
"Get out of the way next time," he said in a low voice, like I was the cause of whatever problem he was having.
"I was walking on the right side of the hallway," I said, pushing myself up and brushing off my hands. "You’re the one who came storming out of a door without looking. You didn’t even apologise."
Knox let out a short, dismissive laugh.
He took a step closer, which made the height difference worse, looking down at me like I was a minor inconvenience he didn’t have time for. His eyes dropped to the wet papers scattered around my feet. "Do I look like I care about your little pieces of paper?"
"My papers?" I looked right at him because I was not about to let someone a foot taller than me use his size as a substitute for an apology. "Those papers represent my actual education. Something you’d know nothing about, considering you’re probably one failed test away from losing your spot on the ice."
Something shifted in his face. Just for a second, something flinched behind his eyes. The playboy smirk slipped, but he quickly covered it with a cold glare. "You don’t know anything about me, sweetheart."
"I know you’re rude, entitled, and you think the rules don’t apply to you because you can slide a piece of rubber into a net," I snapped.
I bent down to collect my papers. "But off the ice, you’re just a guy who can’t apologise when he runs someone over."
I knew I was probably overreacting or transferring the frustration and aggression from losing my stipend. But I couldn’t care less.
"I muttered a warning," he said, crossing his arms.
"You told me to watch where I was going after YOU hit me. That’s not a warning, Sheridan. That’s an insult." I stood back up, clutching the damp folder to my chest. "Go back to your locker room. Some of us actually have to work for our degrees."
Knox glared at me with his jaw locked tight. He looked ready to snap, but he just let out a sharp breath and turned away. "Whatever. Have fun with your homework, nerd."
He walked away, pushing through the heavy glass doors at the end of the hall.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. "What a jerk," I said, to no one.
"Sheridan! Get back here!"
I turned to see Coach Brennan jogging out of the office Knox had just left. He looked red-faced and frustrated, clutching a clipboard like a man whose bad morning was far from over.
He stopped, looked down the empty hallway, and sighed. "Damn it, Knox."
As he turned back toward his office, his eyes landed on a paper I had missed on the floor. It was lying face-up in the middle of the hallway, and I watched as Coach Brennan walked over to pick it up.
He squinted at it, his eyes moving across the page.
"Excuse me," I said, stepping forward. "That’s mine."
But instead of handing it back, he glanced at the name at the top: Nora Bennett, then scanned down to the cumulative 4.0 GPA, then lower, to the line: Recipient of the President’s Tutoring Excellence Award.
He looked up at me, then back down at the paper. His whole expression changed.
"You’re Nora Bennett?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. I held out my hand. "Can I have my transcript back, please?"
Coach Brennan didn’t hand it over. He looked at me the way someone looks at a locked door right before they realise they have the key. "You run the peer tutoring groups for the science and math department, right?"
"I did," I said. "Until about ten minutes ago when my stipend got cut."
His eyes lit up, and he looked like a drowning man who had finally spotted a life preserver.
"Follow me," he said. "I’ve got a problem, and I think you might actually be the solution to it."