The Rich Girl Dorm Trap
When dorm picks opened, two beds were left.
My hometown girl, Chloe Parker, beat me by a step and grabbed Room 501—the honors suite.
That left me with Room 502, the rich-girl suite.
In 501, the try-hards rode her nonstop. She made grad school.
In 502, I ran errands and pulled five grand a month.
At graduation, she snapped and shoved me off the roof.
"It's all your fault. Without you, I wouldn't wake up every day buried in studying. How'd you stack hundreds of thousands in four years while all I got was a useless grad school offer?"
I opened my eyes.
Dorm selection day.
Behind me, Chloe shoved past and lunged forward.
"I'm picking first. I want 502."