From Campus Pauper to Billionaire Campus King

At the business studies department, the students were gathered together in their lecture hall, which was abuzz with tons of voices rising and falling, with students sprawled in their seats, some scrolling on phones and others engaged in boisterous conversations. The clock on the wall crept towards the hour, which the lecturer was poised to arrive and the class was going to start, and yet the noise only intensified.

In the midst of it all, Isaiah sat hunched over a textbook on a solitary island surrounded by seas of chatter. His brown eyes followed every word on the pages diligently as he brushed his rather unkempt and grown-out hair to the side of his face. He was over 6 feet tall, which was evident by his trousers being too short. 

He had one hand on his well-defined chin and the other on the book as he vigorously and diligently flipped through the books. He was preparing himself for the lecturer’s arrival since he was taking them one of the most important courses of the semester. 

He tried to focus on the dense paragraphs, but the noise made by the other students was relentless. He couldn’t, however, afford to leave since the lecture was arriving soon.

"Hey, Fetch-Boy!"

Isaiah flinched, his head snapping up. A slender, manicured hand slapped a ten-dollar bill onto his desk. The girl’s blonde hair was gleaming as she stood over him, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Go get me a milkshake with extra vanilla cream," she commanded, her voice loud enough to carry. "Get it from the cafeteria. And be fast with it."

Isaiah looked down at the money on his desk, then looked up towards her, and then back to the clock. "Jules, I can't. Professor Lance will be here any minute." He gestured vaguely towards the front of the hall. "You know how he is. He is very strict with his rules and is always ready to enforce them. 

Jules raised an eyebrow “So what are you scared of, one measly old professor?” She said with a condescending tone.

Isaiah had a confused look on his face. “But you know he isn’t just any professor; he is also the dean of our faculty. He has the power to expel any student he deems a nuisance to his lectures from his class or the department and even from the faculty.” Isaiah said, taking a pause. As he tries his best to persuade Jules, “He also doesn’t tolerate nonsense. And…”

Jules cuts him off, “And? And what? The only reason you don’t want to go is because you know the professor isn’t a fan of Fetch-Boy.”

Isaiah clenched his hand; his expression was more of disappointment and embarrassment than of anger. Fetch-Boy is the most popular nickname out of the numerous ones the students had given to Isaiah. It was a demeaning nickname, similar to that of a dog.

Isaiah gulped, “No, it just…the professor doesn’t like…distractions."

Jules was pissed by Isaiah’s response. Her blonde hair bounced as she moved closer to Isaiah. Jules Norvel is one of the department’s beauty goddesses, and it was evident in the way the guys stared at her as she leaned in toward Isaiah. 

Jules's face hardened. "Oh, so now you're too good for it?" She leaned in, her voice dripping with disdain. "For Christ's sake, it's not like I'm asking you to buy it with your own money, brokie. I am paying for the milkshake with my money. Plus you couldn't afford it anyway, not without being a fetch boy."

A ripple of laughter spread through the nearby students. Isaiah felt his cheeks burn. He hated that nickname. Hated that she used it, especially now. He looked up at Jules, who had a huge smirk on her face. 

Isaiah thought to himself, “I don’t understand why Jules is doing this. I mean, I would get it if it were the other students, but to think I would be insulted and humiliated by my own secret girlfriend.”

"Fetch-Boy!" someone chanted, and soon, a chorus of voices joined in. "Fetch-Boy! Fetch-Boy!"

Isaiah's shoulders slumped. He couldn't take the chant, not again. He snatched the ten-dollar bill. "Fine," he mumbled, pushing back his chair.

"Hey, Fetch-Boy! While you're at it!" A hand shot out, tossing a crumpled twenty-dollar bill onto his desk. "Get me a double cheeseburger with extra lettuce!"

"Hey, add my order too!" Another voice. "Get me a coffee, black!"

Soon, a flurry of cash rained down on his desk. Orders piled up in a jumbled mess of requests. 

"Fetch-Boy, get me a salad while you are at it, okay!" 

"I would like some fries, and don’t forget the extra ketchup, Fetch-Boy." 

Isaiah tried to keep track, but his head spun. He was losing count, the names blurring into a chaotic list.

"Enough!" A clear, calm voice cut through the clamor.

Everyone turned. Jenny Reeds stood by the door; her expression was one of quiet disapproval. Her dark, jet-black hair framed a face that was both beautiful and intelligent. She was the faculty president, and her words carried weight, one that every student in the faculty respected.

"What is going on here?" Jenny asked, her gaze sweeping over the unruly crowd. "Do you want Professor Lance to walk into this mess? And how do you all expect Isaiah to remember all your ridiculous orders?" She looked directly at Isaiah with a touch of pity in her eyes. "Isaiah, you can go back to your seat. Everyone's orders can wait until after Professor Lance's lecture."

A collective loud grumble, with a few sighs. A lot of the students were disappointed that they were going to have to wait until after the lecture to get their orders. But no one dared defy Jenny.

Isaiah, however, hesitated. He glanced at Jules, who was now watching him with a dark frown on her face and her arms crossed. He couldn't bear to disappoint her and just sat down. Not after what she'd said.

"No, it's fine," Isaiah rebutted, gathering the scattered money. "I'll go. And I'll get... what I can remember."

Jenny sighed, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "Isaiah...are you sure...?" But he was already heading for the door.

He navigated the crowded hallway with the weight of the orders pressing down on him. He eventually reached the cafeteria, which was a bustling hub of student life. He managed to grab Jules's milkshake as well as a couple of coffees, and a burger requested by some of the students. He balanced the tray carefully, trying to remember who wanted what.

He paid for the orders and as he turned to leave, with a tray full of food. A loud, arrogant voice boomed behind him. "Watch it, moron!"

Isaiah spun around, too late. He collided with a broad chest. The tray tilted with milkshakes, coffee, and burgers flying across the room.

"Hey!"

A splash was loud. The air was filled with the cold and sticky smell of the spilled milkshake.

Isaiah looked down as the milkshake dripped from his shirt and splattered across an expensive-looking shoe. Harold Grant, impeccably dressed, handsome, and radiating an aura of inherited wealth, glared down at him. His friends, equally well-dressed, stood beside him with their faces a mixture of shock and disgust.

Harold grabbed Isaiah by the front of his shirt, hauling him forward. "You bastard, look at this! My ten-thousand-dollar shoes and my designer shirt! Do you have any idea how much this costs, you clumsy idiot!"

"I'm so sorry, Harold!" Isaiah stammered, trying to pull away. "It was an accident! I didn't… I didn’t see you!"

"An accident?" Harold sneered, tightening his grip. "You think an excuse like that will cover this? Twenty thousand dollars. That's how much these damages are going to cost you."

Isaiah scoffed, a desperate, humorless sound. "Twenty thousand what!? Harold, I don't have twenty thousand! Shit, I don’t even have a thousand dollars."

"Not my problem, Fetch-Boy. I want my money now, or you gonna get the beating of your life." Harold said, shoving him slightly while clenching his fist.

One of Harold's friends, a tall, lanky guy, chuckled. "Hey, Harold, I've got an idea. What if Fetch-Boy here just... licks it off? You know, cleans our shoes for us with…his tongue."

The suggestion was met with a chorus of laughter from Harold's group. "Yeah, that's perfect. Lick it, Fetch-Boy!" 

"Get on your knees!" Another one of Harold’s friends said.

Isaiah's stomach churned. This was a new low. Even for them.

"Please, Harold," Isaiah pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm really sorry. I didn’t see you guys; I was in a hurry. Professor Lance..."

"Get on with it!" another friend snapped, nudging him with his foot. "Before it dries and the stain becomes permanent!"

Then, another one of Harold's friends reached out and snatched the remaining items from Isaiah's tray and tossed them to the ground. The burger rolled and the coffees spilled. He deliberately stepped on them, grinding them into the linoleum.

The laughter intensified. Isaiah saw his chance. While they were distracted and laughing at the trampled food, he twisted free from Harold's slackened grip.

"Get him!" Harold roared.

Isaiah didn't look back. He ran. He ran out of the cafeteria, the shouts of Harold and his friends echoing behind him.