Chapter Twenty-Two Sam #2
My fingers shake. Once is weird. Twice is a pattern. Three times is a brick through a glass window.
Why would the chancellor sign off on my acceptance?
I turn back to my file, flipping fast. The syllabi, course schedule, personal records, everything starting to blur, just blobs of black ink on the page.
There’s no award letter.
No scholarship breakdown.
But then I find something else instead. A single-page document, tucked behind a transfer credit audit. The heading makes my stomach pitch.
COST OF ATTENDANCE SUMMARY | SPRING SOPHOMORE YEAR – SENIOR YEAR
Tuition (5 semesters): $137,000
Room & Board: $49,750
Student Fees: $9,000
Books & Supplies: $4,800
Total Charges: $200,500
Amount Paid: $200,500
Payment Method: Internal Transfer—Office of the Chancellor
Balance: $0.00
I blink twice, trying and failing to wrap my mind around this. But no matter how long I stare at the page, the numbers don’t change. There’s no mention of a scholarship. No foundation, no donor, no award title—nothing. Just cold numbers and a mystery payment.
“Internal Transfer—Office of the Chancellor”?
I grip the paper tighter, shaking my head. This wasn’t a scholarship. It wasn’t based on merit, need, or on anything that I earned. It was paid for.
My heart hammers so hard, I’m afraid someone will hear it thumping. My vision tilts, the file wobbling in my hands as the world narrows into a single thought. I wasn’t accepted at all. I was placed in this school. But why?
“Sam,” Alex whispers, his voice rough and full of urgency. “Hurry up.”
I jerk like I’ve been yanked, my hands fumbling as I shove papers back into the folder. They crumple at the edges and nothing wants to slide in right. It’s as if my fingers no longer belong to me, doing the opposite of what my brain wants them to.
I shove the two students’ records back in place, then reopen my own. Quickly I snap photos of the letters and the cost summary. The flash is off and the angles are sure to be shit, but that doesn’t matter, I just need the proof.
Finally, I tuck the manila folder back in its place, taking extra care that I didn’t mess up the alphabetical order. And just as I’m about to close the drawer, my eyes catch something—a name.
COLLINS, MIRANDA.
My body locks up, every limb wired tight. A noise scratches at my throat, but nothing comes out.
“Mom?” The word comes out broken, that single syllable crushing me.
Everything goes blank, and my knees wobble. I grip the drawer to keep myself from crashing to the floor. Her name stares back at me, and my whole world shatters. And suddenly I’m that little girl that found her face down on her bed with an empty pill bottle in her hand.
I hesitate to pull her folder out but manage to get it together long enough to do so. The pages have turned a dull yellow, the print slightly faded. My eyes narrow in on the graduation date—nineteen years ago. She would have been about twenty-one at the time.
“She was a student here? Why didn’t she ever tell me?” I whisper. This is all too much, too suffocating.
“Sam,” Alex hisses again, snapping me out of it. “We need to go now.”
I force the file back in place but then think better of it. I need to know more. So I snatch up the contents but leave the empty folder behind. That way, if someone were to look, they wouldn’t know at first glance that her actual file is missing.
Lifting my shirt, I tuck the pages into my waistband and hurriedly cover them.
The drawer slams shut behind me as I rush out of the office.
Suddenly, I remember the door was locked and make quick work of reengaging it.
The moment I make it to the front, a light flashes through the glass and I step back, pressing my back into the nearest wall like I want to melt into it.
Alex brings a finger to his lips and tucks himself into the dark corner by the entrance. The shadow of a man reflects on the floor, and I hold a hand over my mouth to still my breaths.
My heart thumps against my ribs as he walks nearer before pausing. It feels like forever before he turns and leaves. I finally exhale shakily.
Alex holds up a hand, silently telling me to stay put. He inches toward the door, his back to the wall as he checks the lobby. After a beat, he grabs the knob and slowly peeks his head out. Without looking back, he waves me forward and I race to him, staying close.
He locks the door from the inside, and we bolt, jetting for the exit, only to hear the footsteps of the security office coming down the left hallway. Alex grabs my hand, tugging me behind a pillar, shielding me between his back and the wall. I grab hold of his shirt, squeezing for dear life.
The man moves past us, and Alex, who’s still holding my hand, guides me away. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”
How is he so calm? We nearly got caught.
We walk to the exit, and when he pushes the door, it creaks loudly. We freeze.
“Hey! Who’s there?”
Alex yanks me through the threshold. His arm wraps around my waist, spinning me toward the door so fast the files crush between my spine and the door as he uses my body to close it. Then he’s on me, and I barely gasp before his mouth crashes onto mine.
There’s no warning. Just heat, teeth, and an unexpected possession.
The moan escapes me, and his tongue drags against mine like he’s searching for something.
Like he’s trying to shove himself inside me.
I don’t have time to think, and my body reacts all on its own.
My head tilts, and lips part. I lean into him, his hands anchoring my hips, his body pressing me harder into the glass.
Then his mouth is on my neck, teeth and tongue taking turns devouring my flesh. He sucks and my knees almost buckle, but it’s the sharp nip of teeth that does me in. Alex groans against my throat, almost as if he can feel that I’m melting against him.
It’s not until the tap on the window that I remember where we are. The security officer forces the door open, and Alex moves me from in front of it. The guard flashes his light between us to get a good look at our faces.
“What are you two doing out here?” His voice comes out annoyed.
Still close to my jaw, still sounding like lust and defiance, Alex says, “Sorry, man. We got a little carried away.”
I can barely breathe. My lips feel swollen, and my heart is going haywire.
The security officer makes a noise somewhere between irritation and disinterest. “Well, do it somewhere else.” The man grunts, closing the door and locking it.
Alex steps back like nothing happened, then holds his phone light up to my neck. I swear the flicker of a smirk forms, but it falters as quickly as it appeared.
“You can take off my sweater.” He leans in again, his voice right at my ear. “But try covering up that mark.”
And just like that, he walks off. I don’t move right away, my mind busy trying to decipher everything that’s happened tonight. My body’s still shaking, both from nearly getting caught and—whether I want to admit it or not—that kiss.