Lily
If anyone had asked me before today, I would have said, “I’m so glad I moved across the country to attend Thorn Falls.”
Firstly, it forced some distance between my ex and me. God knows he wasn’t taking the hint that I wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship past high school.
Not that there was anything wrong with Jon per se, but I ended up dating him because he asked and I didn’t see any reason to say no at the time.
Dating was what other people did, so why not?
I never really had butterflies in my stomach, or any of the romantic shit other people talk about.
A well-made Marvel figurine titillated me more than Chad.
Jon was accepted to the University of Michigan last year, and when I suggested we should break up because he’d be in college while I still had my senior year of high school, he grew controlling, demanding his friends keep an eye on me, calling me constantly, even trying to get my own parents on his side.
I also got accepted there, but I had zero intention of heading to the same college as him if I could help it.
Besides, Rothford’s a million times more prestigious than all my other choices, and the terms of their full ride scholarships seemed easy enough.
Rate amongst the first thirty percent in my year?
Piece of cake. I’d always been valedictorian without really trying, simply because I took enough AP classes, had little to no absences, and prioritized work over partying.
I genuinely believed it’d be the same here. I might even have had a bit more fun than I usually did, being so close to an epic big city with nerdy gatherings every other week.
My stomach feels like there’s a pit of vipers coiling inside it as I read the email.
Forty-seven. I am ranked forty-seven, out of one hundred and twenty-two freshman students.
Even before I read the rest of the email, I know that that’s not nearly good enough.
My brain hasn’t atrophied enough for me not to realize that I’m just above middle of the pack. I do the math quickly. Top 46.7%.
I haven’t scored high enough to qualify for the scholarship that pays for my tuition, my food, my dorm room, even my parking space.
Dear Ms. Trueman,
You will find attached your grades and your current rank amongst the freshmen in Rothford Unversity.
As per the term of your scholarship, you no longer qualify for the merits award totaling $170000 per annum. Should you wish to remain for the second term, please contact the faculty to process the payment by the first of January.
Wishing you a lovely holiday,
Ms. Ruth Anne Guilford
Secretary
I’m not even crying, too shocked to manage tears, or any thought other than oh god oh god oh god. This can’t be happening to me. Not now.
I look at the breakdown on the second page.
It’s simply impossible for me to come up with eighty-five grand in two weeks.
Even if I just focus on paying tuition, handling food and lodging elsewhere.
And how would I pay for a flat? I don’t work.
I just…study. Except I didn’t do nearly enough of that last semester, did I?
I went to LA six times, spend at least three nights a week out with my friends and—
I’ve done this to myself.
The tears start.
“Trueman?”
I haven’t really computed the fact that I’m in public until the sound of my name pulls me out of my bubble. I’m in the library building, at the café on the ground floor, pathetically crying like the idiot I am.
I can’t believe I’ve squandered my one chance here.
“Hey, what’s wrong, Lily?”
I blink several times as my vision is obscured by the broad-shouldered, tall man sitting in front of me, watching me with a concerned frown.
Cross.
I’ve seen him around the last few months.
He likes the same southie bar my friends and I go to once a week, though he usually stays at a distance.
Now I have my ice skate, I also bump into him at the rink.
He walked me home a time or two since the first night, always in silence, from a few steps away.
We live in the same space but we don’t actually interact. He’s a shark, I’m a nerd.
But now he’s talking to me.
I assume it’s temporary insanity that causes me to tell him. “I failed. I—I’m getting kicked out.”
“What?” He unceremoniously takes hold of my computer and slides it in front of him. “You didn’t fail. Rothford’s very competitive, so rating in the top half is pretty good,” he starts. Then his eyes widen as he reads the second page. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. I can’t pay. Not all of us are trust fund brats.”
I feel nasty even as the words escape my lips. Cross has been nothing but kind to me the couple of times we’ve interacted. He’s kind today. It’s not his fault I didn’t take college as seriously as I should have this semester.
“Sorry, you didn’t deserve that. God.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. Trying for a smile, I say, “I bet you ranked higher than me, huh?”
He doesn’t say anything, but the way he narrows his eyes tell me everything. “Not because I’m a trust fund brat, though.”
“Mm,” I say noncommittally.
The nasty bitch who has taken residence in my head thinks professors are probably more indulgent with him simply because he’s one of them. The legacies.
And if all legacies are graded that way, how are we supposed to compete?
But although the thought crosses my mind, I know that I didn’t study as hard as I could have—as hard as I used to in high school when I was angling for a scholarship.
I figured, I worked my ass off for four years and I got one, so surely I can enjoy myself a little?
Stupid.
“I was valedictorian at Riverside Academy, and I’m first in our year here, too, Trueman. Don’t let the pile of muscles fool you.” Cross grins. “I actually have a brain.”
I gape at him. He ranked first? Like, how? I can’t even blame his family name or trust fund, because I know there are a bunch of freshmen with much deeper pockets, like Markus Goltz, so if it had been a matter of money, surely they would have taken the crown.
“What are you studying?” I asked.
Maybe it’s something so easy he’s bound to rate high.
“I’m not certain what I want to do with my life, so I’m taking a double major. Pre-law and Economics. Depending on what I prefer, I’ll do law school or an MBA.” He seems amused at my visible bafflement. “Probably both, one after the other.”
Fuck. I stare at him wordlessly. “But you play hockey.”
I’ve only watched one of his games, and that was enough to know he played badly, like he can barely be arsed, but regardless of performance, usually those who join team sports in college tend to be less academically inclined.
Cross shrugs, staring at me with an expression I can’t place. Part curiosity, part uncertainty, like he’s not sure what to make of me.
I squirm a little, unwilling to ask him what his deal is. I have bigger problems right now. Like, my entire future.
“Do you want me to fix it?” he finally asks.
“What?” I ask dumbly, not sure what he means.
We were talking of his stupid ranking, his degree, my stupidity. What would he fix exactly?
He taps the keyboard of my computer. “Your scholarship. You want me to get it sorted for you?”
I gape at him.
I’m glad of his intrusion because his presence is a good distraction from the spiral brought on by the general ruination of all my future plans, but it would have never occurred to me that he could do anything about my situation.
“Get it back?” I repeat.
Cross grins, his deep gold eyes fixed on me.
“I could,” he says slowly. “Mom’s the dean.
I know the kids of most of the board of Rothford.
If my friends and I step in, we could get them to make an exception for our good friend Lily.
Let them know you were so busy saving puppies, or kittens, or whales, but you know you made a mistake and will pull your grade up next semester. ”
That’s…too good to be true. Too easy. The letter says I’ve lost my scholarship. There’s no way he can just fix it. Is there?
The way he presented his question makes my insides tighten in trepidation. He didn’t say he would fix it. He said he could.
That means there's a price for it.
My jaw’s tight when I ask, “Would you do that?”
His grin broadens into a full smirk as he leans over the table.
Suddenly, I wonder why I ever thought he was nice, or gentlemanly, or safe.
One look at that wolfish grin, those intense golden eyes fix on me, and I know he’s none of those things.
I think I know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth, but Cross manages to surprise me. “Tell me what it’s worth to you.”
This is worse than I imagined. I thought he’d made a lewd demand. Putting it in my lap makes it more insidious. Not coercion, or blackmail. A deal. Compromising my morals for my future.
I swallow. “What do you want?”
Cross leans back on his seat, still smiling. “I want you to tell me what you’d do for a second chance, Lily Trueman.”
The answer’s as horrifying as it is simple. “Anything.”
I probably shouldn’t admit my vulnerability to the wolf in front of me, but at the same time, what have I got to lose?