That night, I splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my head.
When I came out, Michael was standing there with a thick envelope in his hand, as if he'd been waiting for me.
He stepped closer and took my hand before I could pull away.
Gently, he pressed a bandage over the raw spot on my palm, where I'd scraped it hauling luggage that afternoon.
"How'd you get so careless?"
"Why act so tough? If it was too heavy, you could've just called me."
He held my hand, and there it was again, that familiar tenderness, that ache for me.
For a second, I almost believed everything at the hotel and the dorm had just been my imagination.
He took the moment to slip the cash-filled envelope into my hand.
"Housing and living expenses. I've covered it for now. Don't wear yourself out."
The old warmth, the old care, pried open the emotions I'd held clamped down all day.
The hurt, the anger, the exhaustion.
Everything I'd forced down came flooding up all at once.
The tears slid out with no warning, and I bit down hard on my lip, but I couldn't stop them from streaming down my face.
Michael froze. He hesitated, then raised his hand to wipe my tears.
I turned my head away, but my shoulders shook so hard I couldn't stop them.
He sighed, a little helpless, and patted my back softly.
"Okay, okay, stop crying."
"I know you feel wronged. The dorm thing was my fault, I didn't run it by you first."
I only cried harder.
He paused, and his voice went even gentler.
"Audrey, hear me out. I know your mom used your student loan to buy things for Debbie. That's exactly why I brought you the money. I just need you to sign one thing."
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it open in front of me.
Consent Form for Voluntary Withdrawal from the Freshman Top Scholarship Competition.
My crying stopped dead.
"Debbie's grades aren't great, you know that."
There was a pleading note in Michael's voice.
"If she can't get this scholarship slot to build up her resume, she won't even make it into student council. This really matters to her."
"Tomorrow you go to the advisor's office, say you're withdrawing on your own, and let her have the slot. Okay?"
"Just be good, be reasonable. I'll take care of you from now on. You don't need to fight for any of this."
One by one, I loosened my fingers from around the envelope.
I lifted my head, looked at his face, and laughed, my voice gone hoarse.
"Okay."
Michael finally let out a breath, patted my head, satisfied, and turned to head downstairs.
He knew that slot was the only ticket into our school's national key research laboratory.
He wasn't asking me to give up money.
He was putting a price on it, trying to use a few thousand dollars in cash to buy out my entire future.
Just to gild Debbie's resume.
As orientation training was wrapping up, Debbie came bouncing into our dorm, a program sheet in her hand.
"Sis, for the welcome show rehearsal, what are you going to wear?"
I was at the desk revising a report, and the question caught me off guard.
"I never got a rehearsal notice."
Debbie covered her mouth, feigning surprise.
"Huh? No way! Michael didn't tell you?"
She waved the program sheet in her hand.
"He handed it all over to the teacher yesterday. The dance you spent a week choreographing through the night, plus the music you'd edited. All of it."
She paused, then added:
"Except the lead creator and lead dancer, that's my name on there."
My blood turned to ice.
Right in front of me, Debbie sent Michael a voice message.
"Michael, how could you not tell my sister about switching the lead dancer? She's going to be upset!"
He replied in seconds, a doting warmth in his voice.
"My bad, my bad. Forgot to mention it to your sister. I figured I'd let her rest more, so I kept her out of the whole exhausting rehearsal thing."
"Besides, isn't our Debbie the one who wanted to shine at the welcome show? Taking a ready-made dance saves time and effort."
