The girls behind her nodded approvingly, their expressions reflecting the casual cruelty of people who had never known want or uncertainty. Gerald could hear whispered conversations starting among the gathered students, gossip spreading like wildfire across the courtyard.
"But that's not all," Blondie continued, clearly enjoying her moment of power. "The student union is hosting a major event next week—a donor appreciation gala in the main auditorium. Since you clearly have time to shop for expensive gifts instead of studying, you can spend tomorrow cleaning and arranging that auditorium. Skip your classes if you have to. Consider it community service."
Marcus stepped forward, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something harder. "You can't force him to miss classes for your event. That's not how this works."
Blondie finally turned her attention to Gerald's friends, her gaze sweeping over them with undisguised disdain. "I can and I will. Unless, of course, Gerald wants to explain to the administration how he really afforded that bag. I'm sure they'd be very interested to hear about any financial irregularities in their student aid programs."
The threat hung in the air like smoke, acrid and choking. Gerald realized with crystal clarity that Blondie had constructed a perfect trap—deny her demands and face investigation into finances he couldn't explain, or submit to her punishment and reinforce his position at the bottom of the university's social hierarchy.
"Fine," Gerald said quietly. "I'll clean your auditorium."
Blondie's smile became triumphant. "Excellent. The supplies are in the maintenance closet on the third floor. I expect everything to be spotless by five PM." She paused, her head tilting slightly. "Oh, and Gerald? Next time you want to play above your station, remember that some of us are watching."
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement like gunshots. Her followers trailed behind her, their laughter carrying on the morning breeze. Other students began to disperse as well, the show over, but Gerald could feel their curious gazes lingering on him.
"That bitch," Clinton said through gritted teeth. "Who does she think she is?"
"She's the class president," James pointed out grimly. "She's connected to every wealthy family in the state. She can make our lives hell if she wants to."
Marcus shook his head in disgust. "This whole place is corrupt. Rich kids get away with everything while we get punished for existing."
Gerald stood in silence, processing what had just happened. The rational part of his mind knew he could end this with a single phone call—to Jessica, to Mayor Zack, to any number of people who could make Blondie Stevens and her casual cruelty disappear like smoke. But doing so would reveal his secret, would fundamentally change who he was in the eyes of his friends and classmates.
"You don't have to do this," Clinton said firmly. "Come to class with us. Let her explain to the administration why the auditorium isn't clean for her precious gala."
Gerald almost smiled at his friend's loyalty, at the willingness to fight a battle they couldn't possibly win. "She'll just make things worse if I don't show up. You guys know how this works."
"It's not fair," James said simply.
"Fair's got nothing to do with it," Gerald replied. "It never has."
They walked toward their first class in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Gerald could feel the weight of his secret pressing down on him, the knowledge that he possessed power beyond Blondie's wildest imagination. With a word, he could buy the university. With a phone call, he could have her expelled. With the card in his pocket, he could purchase everything she owned and still have change left over.
But using that power would mean becoming someone else entirely. It would mean abandoning the boy who had grown up poor, who understood struggle, who had learned empathy through hardship. It would mean joining the world of people like Blondie Stevens, where casual cruelty was a form of entertainment and other people's pain was just another game to be played.
"You know what?" Clinton said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the walkway. "Forget this. I'm not going to class."
Gerald turned around. "Clinton—"
"No, listen. You're my best friend, Gerald. We've been through everything together—late nights studying for exams we couldn't afford to fail, sharing ramen noodles when our meal plans ran out, covering for each other when the pressure got too much." Clinton's voice was steady, resolved. "If you're cleaning that auditorium, then we're all cleaning that auditorium."
Marcus nodded immediately. "Clinton's right. We're not letting you face this alone."
"Same here," James added. "Rich girl wants to play games? Fine. But she's playing with all of us, not just you."
Gerald felt something shift in his chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the morning sun. These were his people, his real friends. They didn't know about the money in his account or the power he could wield with a phone call. They only knew that he was in trouble and needed help.
"We'll probably get in trouble for skipping classes," Gerald warned.
Clinton shrugged. "We're already in trouble just for being poor at a rich kids' school. What's a little more?"
They changed direction, heading toward the main academic building where the auditorium waited. Gerald's phone buzzed with a text notification, but he ignored it. Whatever demands the outside world might make on him, whatever revelations about his true identity lay waiting in his future, right now he was exactly where he belonged—walking alongside friends who would stand with him regardless of the consequences.
The auditorium was going to be spotless by five PM. And it was going to be cleaned by four friends who understood that sometimes the most powerful thing you could do was simply refuse to face the world alone.