Senior year, my parents cut off all my living expenses, trying to force me to drop out of high school. With nowhere else to go, I walked through the gilded gates of Sterling Crest Academy, a boarding school teeming with the children of the one percent. My grades were my golden ticket; the school had waived my tuition. But I still needed to eat. After two weeks of gnawing hunger, dressed in my most threadbare clothes, I finally worked up the nerve. I turned to the classroom of trust-fund kids who treated school like a social club. "Does… does anyone need homework done? It's… it's just five bucks a page." The boisterous chatter of princes and princesses, busy comparing their summer yachts and winter chalets, died down. Every eye in the room swiveled to me, a mix of shock and morbid curiosity on their faces. A moment of stunned silence, and then, an eruption. "Five bucks? Who do you think you're insulting? I'll give you five hundred. Do mine first!" "Five thousand! I'm first in line!" "Fifty thousand! In cash!" "Forget bidding. A hundred grand. I dare any of you to try and take my spot!" 1 The day I was kicked out of my home, I had just started my senior year. My father’s face was a mask of fury, his finger jabbing at my nose. "Other girls your age are already bringing value to their families, getting married! But you? All you do is bleed me dry. You're a worthless money pit." My mother chimed in, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. "Aria, if you don't find a husband, how is your brother Kyle supposed to have a future? Where will the money for his life come from?" I clutched a stack of academic awards, my voice raw as I argued with them, but it was useless. I fled the house, his voice chasing me down the street. "Let's see how long you last before you come crawling back! How are you going to even think about college without my money?" With my transcript in hand, I went from one high school to another. The answer was always the same. "Your grades are impressive, Aria, but who's to say they won't slip in your final year?" "The best we can offer is to waive your tuition." It wasn't enough. Clutching my last shred of hope, I found myself standing before Sterling Crest Academy. This was a playground for the rich and famous, a sea of trust-fund babies. Their days were a blur of petty fights and ostentatious displays of wealth. No one cared about academics. For them, college entrance exams were just a formality before they were all shipped off to study abroad. When I stood in the admissions office, my worn-out clothes a stark contrast to the polished mahogany, the Dean of Students gave me a once-over, her gaze dripping with disdain. "Are you certain you want to be here? Aren't you afraid you'll be eaten alive?" I shook my head, my jaw set. "As long as you can waive my tuition… and maybe offer a small scholarship…" My voice dropped to a whisper. "Just a little… maybe a hundred, no, fifty dollars a month would be enough. I promise I'll work harder than anyone. I'll bring honor to this school when I get into the Ivy League." The dean nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She agreed. I clutched the ten thousand dollars they advanced me from a special "hardship fund," a torrent of thank-you tumbling from my lips as I backed out of her office. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, I heard her scoff to someone in the room. "Fifty bucks a month? Who does she think she's kidding?" 2 I made it. I was standing in a Sterling Crest classroom. The usual cacophony of the rich and bored paused as they took me in, their eyes wide with a mix of confusion and amusement. "What is she wearing? Are those… holes? Is that Louis Vuitton's new war-torn Baghdad collection?" "Don't be ridiculous. It's obviously Chanel's dystopian couture." "The fabric is incredible, though. It's so worn, but it hasn't completely disintegrated. Can't be designer. Only cheap knock-offs are built to last like that." "Oh, you'd know all about cheap, wouldn't you?" "Are you calling me cheap? You're dead! I'm telling my father to pull all his investments from your family's company tomorrow!" Two of the boys were now wrestling on the floor between desks. I calmly navigated around them, my face a mask of neutrality, and found my assigned seat in the corner, right next to the trash can. I tuned out the whispers and jeers. After the things I'd heard from my own parents, the taunts of these spoiled brats were like background noise. I had a place to study. I had a shot at a real future. That's all that mattered. To my surprise, no one actively bullied me. During a break, a girl with bright, curious eyes and a genuinely sweet smile bounced over to my desk. Her name was Willow Fairchild. "Aria," she said, her head tilted. "Why are your clothes so… vintage? Didn't you like any of the new season's collections?" "Is it possible," I said dryly, "that I simply can't afford them?" "Why not? Did your parents cut off your allowance? You can just draw from your trust fund, can't you?" I sighed. A trust fund. What was that? Willow propped her chin on her hand. "So, how'd you get here this morning?" "I walked. Woke up before dawn." "Why didn't you just have your driver bring you?" "I don't have a car. Or a driver." "Oh. Well, why not take your motorcycle?" "Don't have one of those either." "Oh! I get it," she said, her eyes lighting up. "You only fly. Your helicopter must be in for repairs this morning, right?" I hid my face behind my textbook. Forget it. We were speaking different languages. 3 Two weeks into the semester, I was a ghost, a shadow in the corner of the classroom, devouring textbooks and practice exams. The teachers started to notice me, to appreciate me. I was the only student who actually listened, the only one who would raise a hand to answer a question, saving them from the awkward silence of a room full of disinterest. But my focus was starting to fray. I was hungry. So hungry my stomach felt like a hollow, aching pit. I felt like I could gnaw on the corner of my desk. My tuition was covered, but I still needed a place to live. The dean had flatly refused my request to stay in the dorms, claiming my "socio-economic background" would make the other students uncomfortable. So, I had to rent a room off-campus. And in New York City, that was a nightmare. After haggling until my throat was raw, a landlord finally agreed to let me pay six months' rent upfront for a tiny attic room in a crumbling building miles away in the outer boroughs. My ten-thousand-dollar scholarship advance evaporated, leaving me with just five hundred dollars. After paying for utilities and a metro card, I had nothing left. My grades weren't good enough yet to guarantee an Ivy League acceptance, so I didn't dare ask the dean for more money. My life was a frantic balancing act, and despite studying every waking moment, my last exam score was only good enough for a decent state school, not Harvard or Yale. I wasn't some protagonist from a fantasy novel who could ace every test while juggling a dramatic love life. I was just Aria, and I was starving. It had been over eight hours since my last meal—a half-eaten steak and a mostly intact tuna sandwich I’d salvaged from the cafeteria trash can yesterday. It was delicious, but it wasn't nearly enough. I bit my lip, watching my classmates pack up for the day. They were chattering about a golf trip to the Hamptons, or maybe a party on someone's yacht. I squeezed my hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. Steeling myself, I stood up and spoke, my voice barely a whisper. "Excuse me… does anyone need homework done? I'm… I'm only charging five bucks a page." 4 I’d never seen any of these kids do a single piece of homework. Every assignment the teachers gave was dutifully noted by me and me alone, completed under the dim light of a salvaged desk lamp in my sweltering attic room. My question hung in the air. The boisterous chatter of princes and princesses, busy planning their evening's extravagances, died down. Every eye in the room swiveled to me, their expressions a perfect tableau of disbelief. Willow's voice, laced with genuine confusion, was the first to break the silence. "Aria, our class president… you actually do the homework?" Ever since I'd become the teachers' pet, I’d been "promoted" to class president. The title mostly meant I was responsible for all the classroom chores. My voice was as small as a mosquito's buzz. "Yes. I'm fast, and I'm good. My work is almost always a hundred percent correct. If you ever need someone… you could consider me." I swallowed hard, trying to sound business-like. "And I'm not expensive. Five dollars per worksheet. Buy four, get one free." Remembering that their families were all business magnates, I quickly added, "The price is, of course, negotiable." The shock on their faces cracked, replaced by something wild and competitive. A wave of shouts crashed over me. "Five bucks? Are you kidding me? Who do you think you're insulting? Five hundred! I want you to do mine first! I want my dad to see that his son is finally hitting the books." "Five hundred? That's pathetic. I'll pay five thousand for the top spot!" "Fifty thousand! In U.S. dollars! Money is the one thing I'm not short on!" "To hell with bidding! I'm putting a hundred grand on the table. Let's see who's got the deepest pockets tonight. First one's mine, and I dare anyone to challenge me!" 5 The classroom descended into chaos. The numbers they were throwing around were getting more and more absurd, as if my scribbled calculus solutions were lost Shakespearean folios. "No, no, please!" I waved my hands frantically. "It's just five dollars. I can't take more. If you're serious, I'll just take you in the order you asked." I tried to explain. "It's just math and science. It won't take me that long." This had to be a long-term business. A steady stream of income. I was terrified that if I took too much, one of their parents would notice and shut the whole thing down. I’d learned my lesson back in middle school when I took a six-dollar rush job and the kid's mom called my house, screaming at me for an hour. The shouting continued, but Willow, with surprising swiftness, claimed the first spot. She triumphantly transferred twenty dollars to my phone. My second-hand phone lagged for a full minute before the transaction confirmed. Staring at the balance—$20.00—a jolt of pure joy shot through me. "You can count on me, Willow," I promised, my voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I'll make sure your homework is a work of art." That day, I made one hundred dollars. Five assignments. I stayed up until one in the morning, meticulously completing each one. I never took on more than I could handle perfectly. Quality was my brand. The next day, as the final bell rang, I watched another hundred dollars appear in my account. I was about to grab the tattered—but authentic—Chanel backpack I’d fished from a dumpster and head home when a figure blocked my path. It was Seraphina Covington, the undisputed queen of the school, the richest and most volatile of them all. She examined her diamond-encrusted nails, then flicked her chin towards her two loyal followers. "Drag her to the girls' bathroom." 6 Even the bathrooms at Sterling Crest were more spacious and opulent than my entire attic apartment. But that was cold comfort as sweat beaded on my forehead. School was out. The halls were empty. No one would hear me scream. Was this it? Was she going to beat me up? But why? What had I done? Since the day I'd arrived, I had made myself as small and invisible as possible. I was a ghost, a non-entity. When they flaunted their new toys in my face, I would stare at the dizzying logos and quickly say, "Wow, that's beautiful. It must have been incredibly expensive." That always seemed to satisfy them. "Expensive?" they'd scoff. "Only a pauper like you would think so. This little thing was barely a million." The five dollars I'd earned from her last night wouldn't even buy a single thread on one of her handbags. Seraphina smiled, a slow, menacing curl of her lips. She reached out and tipped my chin up with a perfectly manicured finger. "You're our class president…" She drew the words out, each syllable a drop of ice water on my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs. I frantically replayed the last month in my head. I'd never crossed Seraphina. I praised her wealth. I did her homework on time. Her fiancé, Julian, was also in our class, and the only thing I'd ever said to him was, "Julian, Seraphina's waiting for you downstairs. Something about taking the yacht out." I couldn't think of a single thing I'd done to offend her. Her two friends gripped my arms, their fingers digging in like talons. I couldn't move. Okay, Aria, I thought, my mind racing. If it comes to it, drink some toilet water, beg for mercy. Whatever it takes to appease the queen. Just let me stay in this school. Seraphina leisurely pulled out her phone. The sharp tap-tap-tap of her nails on the screen was the only sound in the cavernous room. Her voice, crisp and clear, echoed from above me. "In a moment, you're going to talk. Make sure you know what to say… and what not to say." 7 My heart pounding in my throat, I watched as she dialed a number. A deep, authoritative man's voice answered on the other end. "Seraphina, sweetheart, what is it?" "Daddy," she cooed, her voice all sugar and honey. "You won't believe it, but I did all my homework myself last night. My fingers are still aching! If you don't believe me, ask my class president. She's the one who's on track for a full ride to Yale, you know." She held the phone out to me, her eyes flashing a silent, deadly warning. I swallowed, my mouth completely dry. "Hello, Mr. Covington. My name is Aria Thorne. I'm… I'm the class president. And, uh… Seraphina really did do her own homework." "Is that so? When did she find the time?" My brain kicked into overdrive. Seraphina had been out on her yacht all evening. There were no witnesses at sea. "Right after school, sir. She said she wanted to focus on her studies, so she stayed late in the library to finish her assignments." A satisfied smile bloomed on Seraphina's face. She nodded. "You hear that, Daddy? I really did it." "Haha! That's my girl! Finally taking your studies seriously. You know what? I'm adding an extra million to your monthly allowance as a reward!" Seraphina hung up, looking smug. "You're smarter than you look," she said, her voice back to its usual icy tone. "I'm the sole heir to the Covington Corporation. My father doesn't have any other children, no bastards hiding in the woodwork. The entire empire will be mine." She leaned in close. "From now on, you do my homework every day. And don't worry," she added with a smirk, "I'll make it worth your while. But if you even think about crossing me… you'll find out that there are fates worse than being poor." I nodded frantically, like a bobblehead doll. The hands on my arms released their grip. Seraphina sauntered out, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Only when she was gone did I dare to breathe again. I snatched my bag from the floor and bolted, my heart still hammering as I ran for home. The detour had cost me time. By the time my long journey back to my attic was over, the sky was already turning a dusky gray. All I could think about was the mountain of homework waiting for me. I hurried my steps. As I turned into the dilapidated alley leading to my building, two figures stepped out of the shadows. They had been waiting. My father's voice, cold and chilling, cut through the evening air. "You've been hiding for a month. Did you really think I wouldn't find you?"
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