Chapter 3

‎Roselle's POV

‎

‎“I am sorry, but this file is incomplete.”

‎

‎The words hit me hard under my ribs. A cold drop of fear fell straight through my center. The woman behind the desk wore a name tag that said Pam. She had the face of someone who had said this exact sentence to a hundred panicking freshmen before me. That did not make it hurt less.

‎

‎“Incomplete how?” My voice came out steady. I had a lot of practice hiding panic.

‎

‎“Your verification form is here. But the income documentation from your father’s employer never came through.” Pam clicked her mouse without any rush. It made my stomach colder. To her, this was just a normal Tuesday. To me, this was the only thing standing between my family and me actually staying in this school.

‎

‎My father’s employer?, He didn’t have one anymore. Not since he fell off the ladder. Not since a three-story drop turned into one bad decision. He came home from the hospital with his arm in a brace. When the brace finally came off, his arm could never do half of what it used to do.

‎

‎I remembered him standing in our living room doorway on his first day back. He wore his hospital clothes. He didn't say a word. He just stood there like a man trying to remember the shape of a house he used to know by heart. My mother cried in the kitchen where she thought none of us could hear her.

‎

‎But I heard her.

‎

‎“He is not currently employed,” I said. “It is a disability claim. I submitted that paperwork separately. It should be under a different form.”

‎

‎“It might be filed under the wrong category. That happens sometimes.” Pam said it like a clerical mistake was a small thing. She did not realize the wrong category meant the difference between me sleeping in a dorm room or sitting back at my kitchen table, wondering what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life.

‎

‎“So what happens now?”

‎

‎“We need the corrected documents resubmitted by the end of  Thursday. If you miss that, your award gets flagged for review. Reviews can take anywhere from two to six weeks.”

‎

‎She said it nicely. But kindness does not pay rent. And rent was the smallest problem this scholarship was holding up.

‎

‎I thanked her. I have no idea why I thanked her. I learned a long time ago that panicking in front of strangers only gives you a bad reputation. So I smiled instead. I told her I would fix it. I walked out of that office with a tight knot in my stomach.

‎

‎The hallway outside was loud. It was move-in day. Families carried mini-fridges and hugged in doorways. I stood there just trying to breathe. I tried to remember which way my dorm room was.

‎

‎Then a voice cut cleanly through the noise.

‎

‎“Okay. You look exactly like I feel right now.”

‎

‎I turned around. A girl stood a few feet away. She held a heavy box labeled fragile on every side. She looked like she was having a very long day and decided humor was the only way to survive it.

‎

‎“Is it that obvious?” I asked.

‎

‎“Extremely.” She shifted the box onto her hip. She stuck out one hand without dropping the box. It took real balance. “I am Chloe. I think we are roommates. Unless the housing office hates me specifically. In that case, I have no idea whose room this is.”

‎

‎“Roselle.” I shook her hand. Something in my chest loosened just a little bit. It was the first time I could breathe since I walked into the financial aid office. “No offense, but I really hope the housing office does not hate you. I could use a roommate who is not plotting my downfall.”

‎

‎“No promises on day one.” Chloe grinned. She turned to lead the way. She decided we were friends before I even confirmed it. “Come on. I already scoped out which side of the room gets better light. But I am willing to negotiate.”

‎

‎I actually laughed. The tight knot in my stomach loosened another inch. I followed her down the hall. For one short walk, I almost forgot about Pam and my unfinished file.

‎

‎Almost.

‎

‎Two hours later, I stood back at that same desk. I got my father’s corrected paperwork faxed over. My phone battery was at eleven percent.

‎

‎Pam looked up at me. Her face shifted from bored to something closer to an apology.

‎

‎“I should mention,” Pam said. “The deadline for all of this is Thursday. For a very specific reason, our office closes early that day.”

‎

‎“Why?” I asked.

‎

‎“It is the athletics department’s big showcase day. Massive scouts are coming in. Half of our administrative staff got pulled to help manage the crowds. Campus is going to be an absolute madhouse.”

‎

‎I nodded slowly. I didn't care about a hockey game. I just needed my scholarship.

‎

‎“Make sure everything is perfect by Thursday,” Pam warned. “Because once that showcase starts, nobody is going to be around to help you.”