Fourteen
Fourteen
It’s been four days since I moved into the frat house, and things with Thomas seem to be going weirdly well.
We’re both busy at school with classes and practice, but we manage to make time for each other.
When I’m working, he comes to the Marsy with his friends and waits for my shift to end, and then we go back to the frat, where we spend every night together.
It’s like neither of us can do without the other anymore, and that sense of belonging to one another only gets stronger each day.
I’m so happy, it feels like I’m walking on air, even now when I’m climbing the last of the steps leading to the dean’s office. That is, until the thought of what I’m about to face brings me back to earth.
I’m guessing it has something to do with the student loan I inquired about. Maybe he wants to tell me that, unless the rest of my tuition for next semester is paid, I won’t be able to attend classes. That would be terrible. What am I talking about? That would be a nightmare .
I don’t have time to formulate any other thoughts, because then the office door opens. I turn and am faced with the secretary, who invites me in with a wave of her hand. “Miss Clark, please come in; make yourself comfortable.”
Dean Campbell is on the phone, leaning back in his black leather chair and staring up at the ceiling.
With a grave expression, he gestures for me to sit down.
The secretary goes over to a pitcher of water on a table in the back of the room and fills two glasses.
Then she returns, placing them on the desk in front of us before leaving us in total silence.
I sit down hesitantly in the chair in front of the dean, separated only by an expensive-looking desk with paperwork scattered all over it.
After a few minutes, during which he continues to talk to the person on the phone about a potential reorganization of campus security, the dean gives me an apologetic look and a “be patient” nod.
I look around, tapping my fingers on my legs and turning my attention to the framed pictures hanging on the wall: degrees, various certificates, different portraits, and some family photos.
Including one of his two daughters in formal wear, immortalized on prom night, and another of him looking happy and carefree with a woman who must be his wife.
“Miss Clark.” The dean’s sharp voice makes me jump.
I sit up straight and give him all the attention I can muster.
“I apologize for the wait, but today seems to be a day full of inconveniences that I have to prioritize.” He straightens the knot of his tie and puts both hands on the desk. “So how are you doing?”
“Good, I think, thank you.” I give him a very tense smile.
I’d like to dispense with all these pleasantries and get right into it.
The dean runs a hand through his gray hair before deciding to get to the point.
“It’s been more than a week since we talked about the difficulty you’ve been having in paying your tuition.
” He gathers up some loose papers from the desk and puts them in a folder.
“If I remember correctly, I advised you to apply for a student loan. Is that right?” Oh my God, I knew this was going to be bad news.
I can’t believe it; I’m about to be kicked out.
I nod to him, trying not to show the anguish coursing through my body. But it doesn’t work, because when I finally speak, my voice is clearly shaking. “Yes. I’ve been researching, and I have an appointment with the financial aid office next Monday.”
“So you haven’t started the process yet?”
“No, but I will do it as soon as possible.” I wring my hands as panic overwhelms me more and more.
The dean throws his hands up triumphantly. “That’s great news, Miss Clark!”
“Excuse me, h-how?”
He picks up his glass of water and takes a small drink.
“Yesterday afternoon, something rather unusual happened. The university received a check from an anonymous benefactor. As requested in the accompanying letter, we’ve used this check to pay the entire remaining balance of your tuition as well as your room and board. ”
My jaw practically hits the floor.
“What?” I hiss, in a state of shock.
Dean Campbell nods and hands me a packet of papers.
“Here, this is your transaction receipt and invoice. The fee has been paid in full, which means that from this moment on, you are free to use all the related services on campus. No worry about grades either, although even if there were, it wouldn’t be an issue.
I know for a fact that you are an excellent student.
” He says it so proudly that it sounds like he’s talking about one of his daughters.
I leaf through the documents, my mouth still open in shock, as I try to listen to what the dean is saying while also focusing on the words on the pages.
I shake my head. “I–I…don’t understand. My scholarship doesn’t cover room and board.
Besides, I don’t know anyone who has enough money to pay the entire balance…
” I lift my head. “This is definitely some kind of mistake.”
“Are you Miss Vanessa Clark?”
I nod, bewildered.
“Then I can confirm it is no mistake.”
“But.…can I at least know the name of this benefactor?”
“Along with the check, we received a formal request to remain anonymous. We are required to protect the donor’s privacy, or we would be in serious trouble.”
“I still don’t understand; this feels absurd…”
“There’s nothing to understand. Someone must be very passionate about your academic training. Leave this office and celebrate; today is a good day for you, Miss Clark.”
***
I find myself outside the office door, my eyes still glued to the documents.
My brain is short-circuiting, unable to form a single meaningful thought.
What the heck just happened in there? An anonymous benefactor has paid a huge sum to ensure that I’ll be able to continue my studies.
I can’t figure out who the hell it could be.
Only three people—my mother not included—even know about the situation.
I quickly pull my phone out of my bag and text Thomas, Alex, and Tiffany the same message: My full tuition and housing has been paid by an anonymous source. Do you know anything about this?
It isn’t long before I receive their respective responses.
Tiffany: WHAT?!
Alex: An anonymous benefactor? How is that possible?! That’s what I’d like to know.
Thomas (after a few minutes): I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I reply to everyone: I just left the dean’s office. I have a receipt in my hands right now.
Tiffany: Maybe your mother?
Me: Can’t be. She doesn’t even have half the amount. And after our recent history, she’d never do it.
Tiffany: Right, that is weird. But hey, why does it matter who actually paid? The important thing was that it got paid! This is fantastic news. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find a fingerprint on a fake disemboweled corpse. I’ll text you after class, love you!
A notification sound alerts me to a new text from Thomas: I was just coming to meet you when your idiot friend intercepted me. No point in telling him to fuck off, so now we’re in front of the auditorium. Hurry up before I kill him.
Me: I’m coming. Be nice to him…please.
I toss the papers and my phone into my bag, and quickly head for the elevators. I take the corner too fast, though, because I collide with a navy-blue sweater-clad chest. When I come out of my daze, I look up to find two blue eyes staring at me in shock. Logan. Great, this day is full of surprises.
Recently, Logan has started to orbit around me again, in class, in the library, during lunch periods.
Thomas’s presence must have kept him from actually approaching, and that’s probably for the best. I can’t deny that I’m still ashamed about everything that happened to him because of me.
His bruises are healed now, and fortunately he didn’t press charges against Thomas like I was afraid he would.
But I can’t forget the things he said about Thomas and the way he tried to keep me from leaving his room that night.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to slam into you,” he apologizes, as shaken as I am.
“Don’t worry, it’s my fault. I was in a hurry, and I wasn’t paying attention.”
I look everywhere but at his eyes, and for a moment, neither of us dares to speak. Then Logan tucks his hands into his pockets and breaks the silence. “So how have you been? We haven’t had a chance to talk since that night…” He rocks on his heels, visibly uncomfortable.
“Oh, I’m fine, thanks. And you?” I manage, shifting my weight back and forth from one leg to the other.
“I’ve got no complaints. The life of the average American college student isn’t that bad.” He chuckles.
I huff through my nose. “Yeah, tell that to anyone who developed stress acne when they couldn’t keep up with the coursework.”
He gives me a big grin. “They’re probably taking the wrong courses, don’t you think?”
I smile back at him, more relaxed. Part of me appreciates that he can still talk to me like this, like nothing happened after so much did indeed happen.
On the other hand, I’m astonished. My boyfriend beat the crap out of him, and I never spoke to him again, not even to apologize.
He probably should feel some resentment toward me; it would be justified.
I shrug. “I don’t know; every course is the right course for me.” I put my bag back on my shoulder, and nudged by curiosity, I add: “What brings you here?”
“Meeting with the school counselor.” He points at the door next to the dean’s office.
“Is everything okay?”
He puffs out his cheeks and blows out a heavy sigh. “I need to rework my class schedule,” he answers shortly. With some uncertainty, he turns to the coffee machine a few paces away from us. “Can…can I get you a coffee?”
“Actually, people are already waiting for me…” I say, a little awkwardly.
“Maybe some other time?” he asks hopefully.