Feel-Good Story Campus 단편 소설 & 소설

One month before the college entrance exam, I ask my childhood friend, Nicholas Lund, about a test question I don't know how to answer. He doesn't even let me into the house. Instead, he casually sends me a link to a cheap online tutor. "I hired you an online tutor. It's only 20 bucks for the next 30 days." I am stunned for several beats, but a moment later, he sends me another message. "Marissa, do you know that everyone is saying you're like a piece of gum attached to my shoe? Stop bothering me with all these stupid questions. How are you going to bear the responsibility for disturbing my and Hails' revision time?" When I lift my head, I happen to spot the school belle, Hailey Lane, sitting at his desk. His jacket is draped over her shoulders as she munches on some apple slices he prepared for her. Instead of kicking up a fuss, I calmly tap on the link and add the tutor's contact number. "How do I solve this question?" The other party's response is immediate. "Do it systematically. First, take a look at the conditions. Don't rush it. I'll walk you through it step by step." Ten minutes later, I stare at the ridiculously detailed explanation filling my screen and fall into a thoughtful silence. How is it that a cheap online tutor was better at explaining how to solve a problem than our entire year's top student?

At eleven o’clock at night, I was racking my brains trying to solve the last physics question when a text popped up in my phone. It was Denise Chadburn, the top student in our class. [Pancakes from the west of the city and black tea with two cubes of sugar.] That was in the opposite direction from my house and would take me over half an hour to get there and back. I didn’t want to do it, so I texted her back: [I’m sorry, I need to get to class early tomorrow and can’t go there.] Denise never texted back after that. I thought that was the end of it. Ten minutes later, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Sable, texted me. [Jordan Schmidt, Denise is preparing for the regional Olympiad and is under much pressure. She also has gastric issues. Half an hour of extra studying wouldn’t do your dismal results any good anyway. Help bring our top student some breakfast to save her time.] I stared at my phone screen, my jawline tightening. [Ms. Sable, it’s out of the way for me. It’ll take me half an hour longer on the road.] Ms. Sable sent me a voice message. “Jordan, you’ve got to be more flexible. The fact you were paired up with Denise in our one-to-one mentoring program is to your advantage. She’s smart. A piece of advice from her is more helpful to you than rote learning by yourself for half an hour. Shouldn’t you at least try being helpful to her?” I ignored her texts and left my phone screen to turn dark, reflecting the fatigue on my face.

The entire school thought I was the school belle Wanda Stewart's biggest simp. I would send her breakfast during her morning run. I would offer her a towel and water during her matches. I would buy her pancakes from three streets away in the bitter cold just because she said she was hungry in the middle of the night. The boys in school who liked her could form a line from the mathematics department to the field. The look in their eyes changed from disdain to hatred. "He hasn't managed to pursue her even after all that simping. He really can take things in his stride." "Wanda is just good-natured. That's why she hasn't called the police." When the school hunk, Connor Graham, decided to publicly confess to Wanda, I became his greatest eyesore. While Wanda was out of school for a match, Connor came to me with his gang from the student council, kicking away the breakfast I bought for myself. Hot milk spilled all over me. He arched a brow and said with zero sincerity in his voice, "I'm sorry. I thought it was yet another bunch of trash you prepared for Wanda." With that, he pulled his phone out and flashed a remark that Wanda had made about me on the screen in the classroom. [A pain in the neck.] The entire class burst out laughing. Connor looked at me, clearly pleased. "See that? She finds you annoying. A man like you, stalking a girl all day, washing her clothes and sending her food... Don't you feel so cheap doing that?" Horace Jones, who stood behind him, chuckled. Connor smacked a letter of guarantee on my chest. [I willingly give up pursuing Wanda Stewart and will never send her food or water, follow her around, or pester her again.] "You can choose not to sign it." He waved his phone, a threatening smile on his face. "I'll just post a photo of you stealing Wanda's undergarment on the school's social media page." I looked at the photo of the white tank top I was keeping on the balcony of my own house and fell into deep thought. Wait. Since when did helping my sister with her laundry count as stealing?

Three days before the SAT, someone was handing out energy drinks outside the school, claiming it sharpened one's mind and guaranteed high scores on exams. Sasha Jepsen climbed onto a chair and called out to the whole class, "Hurry downstairs and get one! They'll be gone if you wait. Drink it and your brain will work faster than anyone else's!" In my previous life, I insisted on stopping them. "This product isn't even regulated, and there's no manufacturer listed. Don't drink it! What if something is wrong with it?" I said. No one appreciated what I was trying to do. They accused me of being jealous and said I was secretly trying to take the top spot for myself. I couldn't talk them out of it, so I went to my homeroom teacher. She confiscated the entire batch and told everyone not to fall for these shady shortcuts. When the scores came out, Sasha didn't even meet the minimum score for college admission. She posted a long rant on Facebook, crying that I "stole" her energy drink and left her unable to think clearly during the SAT. The whole class turned on me. "If Willow Lawson hadn't meddled, we would've gotten into college after drinking that stuff!" All their hatred came crashing down on me, and I endured two months of their bullying before finally jumping from the 18th floor. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment Sasha was standing on a chair, calling out to everyone. I sat in the corner without even looking up. Let's see what kind of incredible scores they get after drinking this stuff.

As a low-income student who's specifically recruited by the elite college this year, I can still feel my hands trembling as I clutch the letter that tells me I get to study for free. Not only are my tuition and miscellaneous fees waived, but I also get to receive 30 thousand dollars' worth of student grant per year. I even get to have free access to the leather seats inside the library, the equipment inside the gym, as well as the aerial garden on the roof. The best surprise for me has to be the cafeteria. All low-income students get a 50% discount on their meals, but the quality of their food doesn't decrease at all. Best beef is used in the steak dinners offered by the cafeteria, whereas a seafood platter showcases the entire huge lobster. Even the most basic mac and cheese meal has different types of freshly grated cheese baked into it. As I sit in the brightly lit classroom and look at the rich students around me, who wear custom-made uniforms and have branded watches latched around their wrists, all I have is one thought. I must be on good terms with them. But my seatmate, who's also a low-income student, isn't as thrilled as me. In fact, she just looks at the people around her with disdain in her eyes. After the first lesson, a rich student arrives at our table. He might not sound polite at all, but at least he's not putting on airs. "Do any of you have time to head over to the cafeteria and buy me breakfast?" I'm about to respond to him when a shrill voice booms out next to me. "You're so annoying! What, you think you rule the campus since you're rich? Had I known that this classroom is filled with useless scions like you who just waste their lives away on nothing, I wouldn't have enrolled in this college in the first place!"

Even though it has become customary for all the heirs of wealthy families to study abroad, my father has specifically chosen a local university for me, saying that he would miss me far too much if I left the country. He also donates a new building to the school so that I would not be mistreated by anyone on campus. The semester soon begins. Not wanting my roommates at the dorm to be intimidated by the economic disparity between us, I decide to dress more simply. But when I arrive at the dorm room, I see that someone else is using the bed I chose. My bedding and belongings now lie scattered all across the floor. Just as I'm about to speak, the young woman proclaims, "I want this bed. You can use a different one. Oh, and I bought a handbag for all of my female classmates, so you can take one as compensation." "But I arrived before you and chose that bed already," I say with a smile. All she does is look me over and scoff derisively. "Who cares if you arrived first and chose it? Since I want it, it's mine now. My dad is Calvin Stuart, the chairman of Lumina Corporation! If I want something, no one in this city dares to protest!" Lumina Corporation? Isn't that the company that reached out to my father this morning to ask for an investment?

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

After the holiday, the student council president assigns me the task of mentoring a freshman named Mona Leach. I text her to discuss the task at hand, but she ignores my messages. When she finally replies to me, her words are scathing. "I'm a freshman, but that doesn't mean you can harass me just because you're my senior. I have a boyfriend." Just as I'm wondering how she even got the idea that I'm interested in her, I see her complaining in the student council group chat. She writes, "Just because he's a senior doesn't mean he can harass a freshman. I already told him I have a boyfriend, but he keeps bothering me. I barely started my freshman year, and I have to deal with such disgusting behavior. This is going to traumatize me." What's this about me harassing her? My family has billions in assets that I'll inherit sooner or later. Heiresses from other wealthy families are lining up to marry me. Why would I ever need to harass her?

As the only day student in my class, I had spent three years picking up breakfast for my classmates every morning without ever charging a single penny for the errand. That changed when a transfer student joined our class. "Oh, my God… Don't tell me you've all been paying him full price this whole time. You guys have been stuck on campus so long you probably don't know this, but the food vendors outside always give a discount if an entire class places an order. "I can't even imagine how much he's pocketed from the price difference over the past three years." When he noticed the shocked looks on everyone's faces, he smiled and added, "How about this? From now on, just let me know what you want for breakfast. My uncle runs a breakfast truck outside the school, and he knows everyone along the strip. "I'll pick it up for you at the discounted price. I'm not trying to make money. I just want to make some friends." When I heard that, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. What he didn't know was that I'd long since grown sick of waking up two hours early every morning just to buy everyone's breakfast, endure coming back reeking of food, and putting in all that effort only to end up completely unappreciated.

We were supposed to hand in our college applications. The ditzy school belle volunteered to hand in the whole class' applications and told them it could save them time. "Have fun, guys. I'll make sure all your applications are handed in." I was the class president, and I told her that the applications are important. "Their future is on the line. We can't have someone else hand in the applications on their behalf. They have to be there themselves. No exceptions." That made her cry, and she told everyone that I humiliated her. That very afternoon, she climbed up to the main building's roof and jumped off. My childhood friends lost their minds when the results were out. They stopped me from getting out of the classroom and yanked my hair as they dragged me to the rooftop. "She was only trying to help! Why'd you humiliate her?" "You killed her! You're not our class president!" "We're not letting you live! Not when she's dead!" They shoved me off the rooftop. I hit the ground hard, and blood seeped into the cracks between the tiles of the ground. When my eyes snapped open again, the first thing I saw was the school madonna asking for everyone's application. I snickered and handed her what she asked for. My childhood friends were surprised but also glad. I went into the headmaster's office and signed the papers that would secure me a spot in Harland University. There was only one of those here. This time around, I decided to stop helping those who didn't deserve it and take the highway to success. The boys would see their own future ruined as their applications were changed and sabotaged. As for me? Why, I couldn't care less.

My best friend, Natalie Grey, was the most famous pushover class president in the entire management department. When classmates didn't pay their class dues, she covered them out of her own pocket. When people sent her on errands and dumped grunt work on her, she kept her head down and did every bit of it. When someone got written up and pinned the blame on her, she quietly took the fall. I, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief and told her to keep it up. Because deep down, Natalie was a little hellion. Emotionally detached and born with a screw loose, she was the kind of person who would actually take a knife to someone in real life. When we were kids, a boy from our town picked on me. Natalie pinned him to the ground and beat him so badly it took three or four grown-ups to drag her off. He ended up in the hospital for three days. Natalie climbed a drainpipe up to his fifth-floor room and yanked out his oxygen tube. He was so scared that his family moved away the very next day. I was terrified she would one day do something she couldn't take back, so I poured everything I had into training her to be sweet and docile. Then Selena Morrison, the department's it-girl, moved into my dorm room. She made me pick up her meals and fetch her packages, but she never paid me a single cent. Every time we split a bill, she made a point of rounding her share down. With no money left for food, I lost thirty-three pounds. When I finally tried to stop picking up her meals, Selena went straight online and posted that I was jealous of her and out to get her. Suddenly, every guy in the school had it out for me. My bike, parked outside the dorm, got smashed to pieces. My food deliveries kept disappearing the moment they arrived. One day, as I stood helplessly over yet another takeout order splattered across the ground, Selena looked at me with a smile. "Come on, be a good girl. Being my servant is an honor..." There was a loud bang. Before Selena could even finish her sentence, she went flying half a mile. I snapped my head up. Natalie was walking toward me, her face dark...

After the SAT scores were released, Sean White threw a lavish graduation party. He was the most popular guy at school and had been on financial aid. That night, I got a text saying my credit card had been maxed out. I went to confront Sean. Instead, I found him standing next to my girlfriend, Janine Slater, looking like he was about to cry. "Just because I'm on financial aid, does that mean I can't hold a graduation party?" he asked. Janine rushed to comfort him, then turned on me. "Your family has plenty of money. Spending a little on Sean isn't going to hurt you," she said. Sure, my family was wealthy, but that didn't make me a charity case. Why should I pay for him? I refused to back down and called the police to get my money back. However, Janine retaliated by sabotaging my family's company, pushing it to the brink of bankruptcy. While I was on my way to meet with investors, Janine and Sean plotted together and ran me over. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of Sean's graduation party.

I saw my college roommate send a voice message into a group chat. I watched his screen as our four other roommates responded. However, there were no notifications on my phone. That was when I realized the five of them had created a group without me. In that group, they complained about me being a dumb rich kid, cursed my mom for being a homewrecker, and secretly took nude photographs of me. They were even planning to drug me and give me to a older rich woman for her entertainment. I covered all their meals, drinks, and living expenses, yet they dared to betray me? Fine. I would show them the true rage of a trust fund kid!

Sawyer Lund is my brother, and I've been his wingman since we were kids. Growing up, my absolute favorite thing to do was serving him—bringing him his drinks, getting his food, even lighting his cigarettes. I do it happily and never complain. When Sawyer gets accepted into Javon University, I waste no time skipping grades and following him there. On the first day of the semester, Sawyer walks into our dorm room with eight bodyguards. Our roommates greet him enthusiastically while I busy myself cleaning up his desk. Harvey Warren is the only roommate who mocks me pointedly for it. "You're not Sawyer's roommate," he says. "You're clearly his lackey." I just smile and stay silent. One day, Sawyer carelessly tosses his newly purchased Patek Philippe to me and says, "The colorway suits your style better. You should wear it instead." Harvey happens to walk past the door just as I accept the watch with a smile. Over the weekend, with Sawyer away on a business trip abroad, Harvey and I are the only ones left in the dorm. "Do you know what everyone in class calls you behind your back, Felix?" he says. "Sawyer's lapdog." The next day, Ruby Sutton, the campus belle who happens to be my girlfriend, tells me to meet her out on the field. She furrows her brow deeply the moment she sees me. "Do you have to be this pathetic, Felix? How could you throw away your dignity and become someone's lapdog just for a watch? Harvey's family isn't well-off, but even he lives with more dignity than you do." She pauses, then delivers another crushing blow. "Harvey takes the top spot in our major yet again in this term's finals. What do you have to show for yourself? You spend all your time acting as a glorified goon while your grades sit at rock bottom. Do you not feel ashamed, Felix?" Harvey tugs gently at her sleeve and lowers his head. "Please stop arguing with him, Ruby. You know how much I dislike this kind of thing." Ruby's expression immediately softens. I watch her rub his shoulder and smirk. Has nobody noticed that Sawyer and I have the same last name—Lund?

The day before the semester began, my childhood friend Daniel Carter asked if he could borrow my private jet. Thinking he'd finally changed his ways, I agreed without a second thought. A moment later, he transferred a single dollar, calling it rent because he couldn't stand the thought of freeloading. The quirky amount said more than words ever could. I smiled and accepted it. On the first day of school, I kept things low-key, taking a cab back to campus. But when I arrived, there it was, my private jet parked right in the middle of the quad. The jet had been decked out in bubblegum pink, and students crowded around, their eyes shining with envy. My heart leapt. For once, I thought Daniel had finally figured it out. Beaming, I braced myself for his surprise. But as I drew closer, my smile froze. Sitting barefoot in the pilot's seat, my seat, was Clara West, the campus' queen bee.

During the weekend, while I'm working part-time at a coffee shop, a sudden spell of low blood sugar causes me to pass out. The shop owner, Malcolm Heywood, hands me a coffee that's worth 5 dollars and gently reminds me not to push myself so hard. But Brooke Rulin, the class queen bee, takes a photo of me holding that coffee and posts it in the class group chat. [Wow! Look at Patty, who's on the college's financial aid list, leisurely sipping coffee at a coffee shop! Even I wouldn't dare to set foot inside a place like that. I can't believe I've seen her here every single day this past month.] Instantly, the group chat explodes. [No way! She's pretending to be poor to scam financial aid!] [How dare she? She took a spot meant for someone who actually needs the money!] [Revoke her financial aid! Make her pay every penny back!] Even my academic advisor, Tanner Rickshaw, sends me a private message. [Patty, this is atrocious behavior! You'd better explain yourself!] I stare at the coffee in my hand, completely dumbfounded. This cup of coffee is just a freebie from my boss, all because I have low blood sugar!

The day before the SAT, Lewis Sutton, the most popular boy in class, volunteered to help everyone verify their test centers and organize two charter buses for everyone. Just before departure, he suddenly stopped me. "Finley, I just realized your test center is Easthaven. Both buses are headed to Westbrook." Everyone thought it was no big deal. "Just take a cab. We can't risk missing the exam for you." When I asked Lewis for the transportation list, Cerys Moore stepped in front of me. She lowered her voice to insist, "Lewis is already exhausted from coordinating logistics for the whole class. Why are you kicking up such a big fuss over nothing? "If you're this petty now, you're going to give him a harder time in college. "I'm warning you, either don't apply to Northbridge University or Blackwell University, or intentionally skip one of your exam subjects, so you won't end up attending the same school as us. Otherwise, our engagement is over." Too fed up to argue, I simply hailed a cab and headed to my test center alone. When I arrived at the Easthaven test center in the nick of time, our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Leah Williamson, was standing outside, sweating profusely from anxiety. "Why did both buses go to Westbrook? The entire class is supposed to take the exam in Easthaven!"

At the university awards ceremony, the campus belle, Vanessa Byer, puts the bank transfers I've received from the four Sterling brothers on full display, totaling eight million dollars in just one year. The entire auditorium erupts. She hangs a sign reading "Campus Gold Digger of the Year" around my neck, then has her friends scatter fake money across the floor and throw a dog leash at me. "You love money so much, don't you? Get on your knees and crawl like a dog. Whatever you manage to pick up, I'll have the Sterlings pay you that much." I don't budge. Vanessa clips the leash to the collar around my neck and kicks me in the back of the knee. "Who are you trying to fool with that innocent act? I bet you spend plenty of time on your knees when you're earning money in the Sterling brothers' beds." She grinds her heel into my hand and waves her phone in my face with a smug smile. "I've already sent Mr. Sterling a list of every dollar you've taken. Once he gets here, we'll see if a leech like you can even walk out of this place on your own two feet." I stare at the total on the big screen and rub my forehead. Hold on. Those four brats have only given me eight million dollars between them all year. If Gary Sterling finds out, I have a feeling they'll be the ones getting an earful.

My roommate had a strange obsession with taking cold showers on the balcony. She claimed it helped detox her body and brightened her skin. I warned her, “You should be more mindful of your privacy.” However, she only laughed, accusing me of being jealous of her flawless figure. Then, disaster struck. Her shower photos were leaked online, and soon after, thugs showed up at our door, demanding to humiliate her. Instead of taking responsibility, she turned on me. “It’s her! She’s the shameless one showering on the balcony!” Betrayed and defenseless, I was dragged into the woods and left to die, my life snuffed out in humiliation and pain. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on that fateful day—the day my roommate took her first cold shower on the balcony.

On the last day before college entrance exams, Tristan Kelley, the most popular guy in class, let out an ear-splitting shout. "Everyone, skip the exam! Sage will pay out 50 million dollars!" He held up his phone, showing an insurance agreement he had signed with Sage, the AI chatbot, for everyone to see. All we had to do was miss the exam and we would receive 50 million dollars in compensation. "We're all bound for the best universities. In the worst case, we can retake the exam next year. "This is 50 million dollars. Do you think you'll ever see that kind of money in your life?" In my previous life, I called the police right away. I explained until I was blue in the face that Sage was just an AI with no ability to pay anyone anything. The police dragged every last student into the exam hall by force. However, Tristan was ridiculed and harassed online because of it. Unable to bear the weight of it all, he jumped from a building. The entire class cornered me on the rooftop and threw acid in my face. "If it weren't for you, he'd still be alive." They watched me writhe in agony, then kicked me off the edge. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment Tristan rallied everyone to skip the exam. This time, I sat quietly and watched every single one of them sign the agreement with Sage. I wanted to see exactly who they planned to collect their 50 million dollars from.