CHAPTER 2

“Come in.”

The voice was deep and thick, the kind that carried authority without trying. I hesitated for only half a second before pushing the door open.

Of course it was the principal. The bold gold tag on the door had clearly read THE PRINCIPAL, so whoever was inside definitely wasn’t the school janitor.

Just like Joseph had said, finding the office from the math lab hadn’t been difficult. Still, my heart beat faster as I stepped inside.

I forced myself to let go of the lingering irritation from the math lab incident. Whatever that was, this was more important. I straightened my shoulders, plastered a polite smile on my face, and walked in.

And then—I froze.

Amazed didn’t even begin to cover it.

The office looked less like a workplace and more like a luxury suite in a five-star hotel. Everything about it screamed money, taste, and quiet power. The walls were painted in warm neutral tones that blended perfectly, not loud but confident. Soft light bounced off them, making the room feel bigger than it already was.

A crystal chandelier hung directly above a large desk positioned neatly at the center of the room. It wasn’t flashy, but it sparkled just enough to remind you that this place was expensive. Beneath my feet was a thick carpet that felt soft and plush, the kind you’d expect to sink into.

To one side of the room were shelves—floor to ceiling—filled with books and files, all arranged so neatly it almost looked staged. Everything had its place. Beside the shelves stood a tall, dark structure that looked suspiciously like a safe.

A safe.

Of course there was a safe.

On the opposite side of the room sat a printer, quiet and sleek, and right beside it was a wooden door.

That door immediately caught my attention.

Why did it feel like it led to another office?

A private one.

My gaze drifted back to the desk at the center of the room. It was beautiful—polished wood, smooth edges. It looked delicate, almost fragile, yet strong enough to command the entire space.

What an irony.

A laptop sat neatly on one side, while the other side was stacked with books and files. There were many of them, yet the desk didn’t look cluttered. Somehow, everything looked intentional. Organized. Controlled.

This office didn’t just suggest luxury.

It demanded respect.

Finally, my eyes lifted to the man seated behind the desk.

He was middle-aged, dressed sharply, seated comfortably a chair that swayed slightly from side to side. A pen rested between his fingers as he watched me silently, his eyes assessing me in a way that made me feel like he could already read my entire life story.

“You done admiring my office, Ms. Brown?”

My face warmed instantly.

“I—I’m sorry, sir,” I said quickly, smiling sheepishly as I dropped my gaze to my toes.

He chuckled softly.

“Don’t be. My name is Maxwell. And as you already know, I’m the principal of the school.”

He stood and gestured toward the wooden door I had been eyeing earlier.

“Go into that office. My assistant will give you your iPad, textbooks, and other necessary materials. She’ll also issue you the school’s behavioral manual. Make sure you read it.”

His tone shifted slightly.

“As a scholarship student, you can’t afford to miss anything in that manual. It’s a guide to keeping you out of trouble—and keeping your sponsorship intact.”

My smile stiffened.

“I’ll need to have a brief meeting with both your parents on Wednesday. The school will reach out to them,” he continued smoothly. “A counselor will be assigned to you and the other scholarship student to monitor your academic and social performance.”

I blinked.

“Every assignment, class activity, project, test, mock, and exam will be monitored. Every weekend, you are expected to submit a summary of all assignments and projects for every course.”

My heart sank lower with every word.

“Tests and exams will be sent directly to the counselor by your subject teachers. You must participate in at least two extracurricular activities. And as for your social performance—everything you do within and outside the school will be monitored.”

I stiffened.

“What you post on social media. Where you go. Who you interact with. Inside and outside school grounds.”

This is insane.

“In summary,” he said calmly, “do not participate in anything that will dent your image. Because it dents the school’s image. And you know what that will cost you.”

He paused, watching me carefully.

“Now go on. My assistant will show you to your class. Assembly is in ten.”

He stared at me like he knew I had something to say.

I forced a smile, turned, and walked toward the mini office.

Of course, I paid rapt attention to everything the principal had said. I’d heard every word clearly, unfortunately. And the one thing that stood out—burned itself into my mind—was how different scholarship students were treated here.

Because tell me why there were so many rules.

So many things we were expected to follow.

So many things we were warned not to do.

So much unnecessary invasion of privacy.

I slowed my steps, my grip tightening around the strap of my bag.

What do y’all mean my socials will be monitored?

Every post? Every picture? Every comment?

So now I have to think twice before liking a tweet or posting a selfie because I might “dent the image of the school”?

This is bullshit.

I felt my jaw clench as my thoughts spiraled.

I’d rather live my life the way I want. And if that life doesn’t fit into this ridiculous box they’ve created just because I’m a scholarship student, then screw them. Seriously.

Daddy can afford to send me to a regular high school duh!.

I don’t need this place.

It’s not like we’re poor.

It’s not like my parents begged for this opportunity.

It’s not like I committed a crime by being smart enough to earn a scholarship.

So why does it feel like I’m already on probation?

Why does it feel like one wrong breath, one wrong post, one wrong step could cost me everything?

I stopped just in front of the door, anger bubbling quietly under my skin.

This school hasn’t even given me a chance yet, and already I’m being watched, monitored, measured, controlled.

“You’ve been standing at that door for quite some time now, Miss Brown. Got something to say to me?”

I turned and looked at the principal. His eyes were focused on a magazine, like he hadn’t just caught me in the middle of silently fuming.

I forced a smile.

“Not at all, sir.”

“Then go on in,” he said calmly. “You have less than five minutes to make it to the assembly hall.”

“Yes, sir.”

I knocked and walked in.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m here to—”

“It’s Mrs. Peter, dear.”

She smiled warmly. “You must be the other scholarship student.”

She handed me an iPad, textbooks, stationery, and two manuals. Lowering her voice, she tapped one of them.

“This is strictly for scholarship and Black students. It’s a must-read.”

I swallowed.

“And this?” I asked, lifting the second manual.

“That’s the general manual. All students follow those rules.”

I rolled my eyes inwardly.

“Mr. Maxwell says you’ll show me to my class.”

“Of course. Just a moment.”

She checked something on her computer, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

Mrs. Peter led me into the classroom and stopped just beside the door. She turned slightly toward me, lowering her voice.

“These kids are rude and cruel. Please do all you can to stay out of their way so they don’t cost you your scholarship. They’re never held accountable for their actions because their parents are rich.”

For the first time since I stepped into the principal’s office, a genuine smile appeared on my face.

“Thank you, Mrs. Peter.”

She gave me a small, knowing smile before turning to face the class.

“Hey, guys. Just like I introduced Joseph earlier, I’d like to introduce Ms. Brown. She’s also a scholarship student. Please be nice to them.”

The room went quiet for barely a second.

Then—

“How many more are we expecting?” a random student threw the question into the air.

Laughter erupted instantly, loud and careless, bouncing off the walls. My fingers tightened around my bag strap, but I kept my face calm.

“Dina, be nice,” Mrs. Peter said sharply, her eyes narrowing.

Before the room could fully settle, another voice cut in.

“Two scholarship students in one class?” the girl said, irritation clear in her tone. “What do y’all take us for?”

This time, the laughter wasn’t as loud, but it was sharper. More deliberate.

“That’s enough, Belle,” Mrs. Peter snapped, clearly losing patience. “You can take your displeasure to the principal’s office.”

Belle scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated way as she leaned back in her seat.

Mrs. Peter gave the class one last warning look before stepping out.

The door had barely closed when movement caught my attention.

Belle stood up.

For a second, no one said a word.

She walked toward me slowly, her eyes scanning my face like she was studying me. I couldn’t tell if I was about to be insulted again or completely ignored.

Then she smiled.

Bright. Wide. Almost too warm.

“You’re damn pretty,” she said casually. “I think I like you.”

I blinked, confused.

“We’re gonna be friends,” she added, like she’d already made the decision. “Come on, let’s get you a seat.”

Before my brain could catch up, she had grabbed my wrist and was pulling me toward the back of the class where a few chairs sat unoccupied.

I smiled weakly.

She can’t be that bad… right?

“I’m Belle, by the way,” she said, finally letting go of my hand. “And I know you’re Elora, so save yourself the introduction. You can sit here—no one uses this seat.”

“Thanks,” I said, glancing at the chair beside it. “But what about this one? I’d rather sit at the edge.”

“No, no, no, no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Don’t try that.”

“Why?”

“That’s Julian’s seat.” She leaned in slightly. “Trust me, he’s a prick, and you don’t want to be dragging seats with him.”

“Okay…” I said slowly. “I guess this will do.”

She grinned. “Good choice. Assembly’s about to start. We should get going.”

And just like that, she was dragging me out of the classroom and toward the assembly hall, leaving me more confused than I’d been all morning.