The Student I Sponsor Loves Milestones

"Our first day of college! Isn't that worth remembering?

"Think about it. We've come here from all over the country, and somehow we all ended up here together. We should all have dinner together and celebrate this incredible day!"

Trevor Sloan's suggestion earned an enthusiastic cheer from everyone in our class.

And in the middle of that cheering, I realized I'd been reborn.

In my last life, I had more spending money than I could ever use. I put it to work sponsoring underprivileged students at my school.

Trevor had been the worst off by far.

Without my help, he would have dropped out in eighth grade. His outrageously biased parents were prepared to marry him off to a wealthy sixty-year-old woman for a cash payment of about $1,500. All so they could buy their precious daughter a gold necklace to show off.

Back then, Trevor had been skin and bones. He'd clutched the check for $15,000 I'd given him and cried so hard he could barely speak.

"M-Mr. Fairchild, I'll never forget what you've done for me! I swear I'll repay you!"

I'd shaken my head and told him to focus on his studies.

To his credit, he had. My sponsorship helped him earn a place at a prestigious university, where we'd ended up as roommates.

But the shy, grateful boy I remembered had turned into someone else entirely. He was proud, vain, and desperate to appear wealthy.

At our first class dinner, a server offered him a discounted student meal package.

Trevor decided the server was looking down on him. To prove he was somebody, he ordered ten bottles of outrageously expensive imported liquor.

Then, while everyone else panicked about the cost, he assured them I'd be treating the entire class.

I knew none of this until someone handed me a $150,000 bill.

I was speechless. When I demanded to know why he'd made that decision for me, Trevor dropped to his knees, his lower lip trembling.

"It's my fault. I just wanted to make our first dinner unforgettable, so I went ahead without asking.

"Please don't be angry, Mr. Fairchild. I'll work my whole life to pay it off. I promise I won't let this become your problem."

Our classmates rushed to defend him. They called me petty and cruel.

I didn't want to start college with a reputation for being a miser, so I reluctantly paid.

That night, someone posted a video of Trevor kneeling and begging me for mercy on the campus forum. The captions made me look like a vicious rich kid abusing his power.

Soon the whole university was whispering, excluding me, and openly treating me like dirt.

I begged Trevor to explain what had really happened.

His answer was simple: "That depends on how you behave."

He'd found my weakness. From then on, he used his precious "first-time celebrations" to turn me into his personal ATM.

His first freshman orientation session.

His first girlfriend.

His first intimate night with that girlfriend.

The excuses never ended. Neither did his greed.

In a single month, I spent almost $1.5 million on Trevor.

And he still wanted more.

The day after I refused to pay for a celebration of his first night with his girlfriend, he started a livestream and accused me of bullying him.

"Mr. Fairchild says poor students are lower-class people! He says we don't deserve to celebrate our milestones!"