My new roommate, Tiffany, took one look at my custom-ordered sunscreen and sneered that it looked like something cheap off Wish.com, nine ninety-nine with free shipping. Then she immediately started bragging about her own “limited edition” designer bag. Funny thing is, staring at that familiar purse, I couldn't help but think… didn't I toss that exact one in the trash last week? One My name is Chloe Stratton. Daughter of the CEO of Stratton Corp. I’m one of those trust-fund kids trying desperately to fly under the radar. Nobody at college knows who I really am. Today was move-in day. Freshman orientation chaos. I’d politely declined my parents’ and my boyfriend’s offer to hire a moving crew, determined to blend in. Handle everything myself. Haul my own stuff up three flights of stairs. Half an hour later, dripping sweat and gasping for air, I finally got the last box into my dorm room and collapsed onto the floor. "Hey! You! Give me a hand with my luggage. Can't you see I need help?" A girl dressed head-to-toe in designer labels stood over me, pointing imperiously. I bit back my irritation. "Are you talking to me?" She shoved a massive suitcase towards me, her tone sharp. "Who else? Take this up to 303." 303? That was… my room number. Was she my roommate? My annoyance cooled slightly. Okay, fine. Helping a roommate was better than starting a fight before classes even began. I grabbed the handle and hauled it upstairs. When I got to the room, the girl was already perched delicately on her chair, watching an older woman unpack her things. Seeing me stagger in, she complained loudly, "What took you so long? I paid you, didn't I? Is this how you work?" "Uh, I think there's been a misunderstanding," I said, catching my breath. "I live here too. I'm your roommate." She wrinkled her nose, looking me up and down with distaste. "You live here?" Seriously? Could this girl be any more judgmental? So I was sweaty and my t-shirt was a little grubby from moving boxes. Big deal. I dropped her suitcase with a thud. "Yeah. Problem?" I turned to start unpacking my own stuff. She stomped her foot and muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, "Ugh, this school lets anyone in." Okay, that did it. I spun around, ready to let her have it, but she immediately redirected her anger towards the older woman. "Didn't I tell you to find someone else to help carry my bags? Where are they?" The woman clenched her fists, her voice carrying a faint, out-of-place accent. "I can manage just fine by myself, dearie. No need to spend extra money…" Dearie? Was this her mom? They didn’t look alike at all. The girl shot me a sideways glance, cutting the woman off. "Fine, whatever. You're done here, you can go now!" After the woman left, the girl announced loudly towards my side of the room, as if explaining herself to the air, "Ugh, dealing with people like that is such a hassle. Never hiring help from the sticks again." …Right. Trying way too hard to cover something up. Two That evening, all four roommates were finally settled in. Time for the awkward get-to-know-you introductions. The bossy girl, naturally, went last, clearly wanting the final word. "I'm Tiffany," she announced, like she was presenting royalty. "My family's in business. Oh, and I got you guys little welcome gifts! It's a super high-end brand, really exclusive stuff." She handed each of us a small bottle of sunscreen. I glanced at it. Never heard of the brand. Looked sketchy. One of the other roommates immediately started gushing, "Wow, Tiffany, thank you! This must have cost a fortune! You shouldn't have!" I mumbled a quick "Thanks." Tiffany's eyes flickered to the plain, unlabeled bottle on my desk. She put on a fake concerned voice. "Chloe, you really shouldn't use cheap sunscreen, you know? Especially stuff like that, without even a brand name. It's not like, from Wish or something, nine ninety-nine with free shipping, is it?" Cheap? My skin is super sensitive. This stuff was custom-formulated for me by a specialist dermatologist overseas. That’s why there was no label. "Oh," I said, deciding she wasn't worth the explanation. I pushed the bottle she gave me aside. That seemed to fuel her. "Seriously, Chloe, you should listen! Skincare is just as important as having the right bag. Speaking of bags, oh my god, you guys have to see my new limited edition purse! It’ll blow your minds!" So transparent. She just wanted an excuse to show off. Made me think of my own closet full of designer bags, most barely used. I’d actually cleared out a bunch with minor scratches just the other day. Tiffany pulled out the bag like it was the crown jewels. "This is super limited edition. Practically none in the whole world! You can look, but absolutely no touching." "Wow, Tiffany, you must be loaded! Buying limited editions just like that!" the other roommate fawned. Tiffany beamed, pushing the bag practically into my face. "Chloe, take a look. You'll probably never see a bag like this again in your life." Weird. Why did it look so familiar? The nagging feeling grew stronger. Without thinking, I blurted out, "Huh. That looks a lot like one I threw out last week. It wasn't really limited edition, though. Just, you know, a few thousand bucks." Tiffany’s face instantly changed. "What are you talking about? Chloe, are you just jealous or something?" Still denying it? "There's a tiny scratch on the little outer pocket," I pointed. "And a small tear on the inside lining." She snatched the bag back, clutching it protectively. "I told you not to touch! It's my bag, I know what's on it! It must have gotten bumped during the move today!" The roommate who'd been praising Tiffany suddenly looked awkward. Tiffany stamped her foot again, glaring at me. "Chloe Stratton, you just watch yourself!" Fine by me. She started it. Bring it on. Three Later that week, the university held a freshman mixer event. Tiffany eagerly signed up to perform. She sang some Top 40 hit and got a decent round of applause. "Tiffany, you sing so well! Have you had lessons?" someone asked. Tiffany nonchalantly flipped her hair. "Oh no, I just mess around sometimes. Actually, Chloe is way better!" I nearly choked on my water. She’d been glancing my way the whole time, and this was why. Great. Now everyone was staring at me. My other roommate whispered, "Didn't you say you didn't have any talents? Why is she doing this?" I smirked. "Isn't it obvious? She wants me to make a fool of myself so she looks better." "So what are you going to do?" I stretched my legs and stood up. "I said I didn't have any talents because I wanted to keep a low profile. But apparently, someone's forcing my hand." Ignoring Tiffany's smug look, I walked to the center of the circle and gave a little bow. "Okay, don't laugh." The music started – a piece I knew well. I let the rhythm take over and started dancing. Slowly, the crowd's attention shifted. Soon, there were cheers and shouts. Tiffany looked like she couldn't believe her eyes, gripping her water bottle so hard her knuckles were white. A wave of satisfaction washed over me, and I started singing along with the track. More applause erupted. "Damn, she's amazing!" "Total queen! Sings, dances, and she's gorgeous? She's gotta be our new campus crush!" "Whoa, those moves… you don't get that fluid without years of practice. We've got a pro hiding among us!" They weren’t wrong. Thirteen years of dance. Plus voice lessons, piano, violin, even painting. My mom used to joke we had too much money and time on our hands. But mostly, I did it because I loved it. It was my stress relief. Whenever I felt down, picking up one of my hobbies always helped clear my head. When I finished, the applause was deafening. Even people from other groups had gathered around to watch. Tiffany was left standing awkwardly to the side. She pushed her way through the crowd, putting on a pitiful expression. "Chloe, you were incredible. I guess my singing wasn't that great after all." Her damsel-in-distress act immediately caught the attention of a couple of guys. "Hey, you were pretty good too," one offered. Tiffany's eyes lit up, clearly hoping for more praise. "But yeah," the guy continued cluelessly, "compared to Chloe, you've got a ways to go. Don't worry, maybe after practicing for like, ten years, you'll catch up!" Tiffany's lip trembled. She glared at him. "You are such an idiot!" she snapped, stalking off. The guy scratched his head, bewildered. "What's her problem? Was I wrong? It's the truth! God, some people are so sensitive!" Four My performance kind of blew up. Pictures of me were all over the campus gossip forums overnight. Now I felt like I couldn't leave my room except to grab food. "Hey, Chloe, is this your boyfriend? The back of his head looks super hot!" My roommate showed me her phone. It was a picture someone had snapped on move-in day of Ethan carrying my bags. Even just from behind, you could tell he had that effortless rich-guy vibe – perfect posture, expensive casual clothes. "Yeah, that's Ethan," I admitted, suddenly missing him. Having a boyfriend that good-looking and not being able to kiss him every day felt like a waste. "You guys look great together!" Tiffany snorted from her side of the room, dripping sarcasm. "Guys who look good from the back are usually ugly from the front. Plus, he looks old. And driving a Cayenne? Chloe, honey, are you sure you're not being… you know… sponsored?" She smirked. "Suddenly makes sense how you'd recognize that bag I have. Old rich guys love spoiling their little playthings." "Sweetheart, did you hear that?" I was already dialing Ethan's number, holding the phone out so Tiffany’s voice carried clearly. "My roommate thinks you're an old man." Ethan's indignant, slightly wounded voice came through the speaker. "What? Old? I'm only four years older than you! Who's the blind idiot calling me old? Baby, that hurts my feelings..." I watched Tiffany's face flush, enjoying her discomfort. She glared at me, then doubled down. "Well, he is old! An old man with a broke girlfriend – you two are a perfect match!"
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