Chapter 3

Roselle's POV

“I’m sorry, but this file is incomplete.”

The words hit somewhere under my ribs before my brain even finished processing them, a cold drop straight through the center of me, the kind of fear that has nothing to do with the words themselves and everything to do with what they’re standing in for. The woman behind the desk had a name tag that said Pam and a face that had clearly said this exact sentence to a hundred panicking freshmen before me, and none of that made it land any softer.

“Incomplete how?” My voice came out steadier than I felt, a skill I’d had a lot of practice with.

“Your verification form is here, but the income documentation from your father’s employer never came through.” Pam clicked through something on her screen without much urgency, which only made the drop in my stomach colder, because to her this was Tuesday and to me this was the only thing standing between my family and me actually staying in this school.

My father’s employer. Except he didn’t have one anymore, not since the ladder, not since three stories up became one bad decision, not since he came home from the hospital with his arm in a brace that would eventually come off and reveal an arm that would never again do half of what it used to. I remembered him standing in our living room doorway that first day back, still in his discharge clothes, saying nothing at all, just standing there like a man learning the shape of a house he used to know by heart. My mother had cried in the kitchen where she thought none of us could hear her. I had heard her.

“He’s not currently employed,” I said. “It’s a disability claim. I submitted the paperwork for that separately, it should be under a different form.”

“It might be filed under the wrong category, that happens sometimes.” Pam said it like it was a small thing, a clerical hiccup, and did not seem to register that the wrong category could mean the difference between me sitting in a dorm room three hours from home 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’ll need the corrected documentation resubmitted by end of day Thursday, or your award gets flagged for review, and reviews can take anywhere from two to six weeks.” She said it kindly enough, but kindness doesn’t pay rent, and rent, in my family’s case, was the least of what this scholarship was actually holding up.

I thanked her. I have no idea why I thanked her. I think some part of me had decided a long time ago that panicking out loud in front of strangers never got you anything except a reputation, so I smiled instead, said I’d get it sorted, and walked out of that office with my stomach in a knot that had nowhere to go.

The hallway outside was loud with move in day, families hauling mini fridges and hugging too long in doorways, and I stood there for a second just breathing, trying to remember which direction my dorm was actually in, when someone’s voice cut cleanly through the chaos.

“Okay, you look exactly like I feel right now.”

I turned, and there was a girl standing a few feet away, holding a box labeled fragile on every visible side, wearing an expression of someone who had clearly already had a very long day and had decided the only reasonable response left was humor.

“That obvious?”

“Extremely.” She shifted the box onto her hip and stuck out one hand without setting it down, which took some real coordination. “Chloe. I think we’re roommates, unless the housing office hates me specifically, in which case I have no idea whose room this is.”

“Roselle.” I shook her hand, and something in my chest loosened by maybe half an inch, the first easing I’d felt since I walked into that financial aid office. “And no offense, but I really hope the housing office doesn’t hate you specifically, because I could use a roommate who isn’t currently plotting my downfall.”

“No promises on day one.” Chloe grinned, already turning to lead the way like she’d decided we were friends before I’d even confirmed it, which, it turned out, was accurate. “Come on, I already scoped out which side of the room gets the better light, and I’m willing to negotiate.”

I laughed, actually laughed, the knot in my stomach loosening another half inch as I followed her down the hall, and for one small stretch of hallway I almost forgot about the woman with the name tag and the file that wasn’t finished yet.

Almost.

Because two hours later, standing back at that same desk with my father’s corrected paperwork faxed over and my phone at eleven percent, Pam looked up at me with an expression that had shifted from bureaucratic to something closer to apologetic.

“I should mention, the deadline for all of this is Thursday specifically because that’s when our office closes early. It's the athletics department’s big showcase day, scouts coming in, half the administrative staff pulled to help manage it. Campus is going to be a madhouse."