2025-05-28 04:49:27" Do you think he has the money?"
" Eli is always a loafer and will forever be. Do you even see his shoes?" [ Some of the kids laughed. ] " I bet he does not have the money to pay. He is only stalling. Trying to buy more time." " And what if he is not?" " Have you seen the guy? He can barely afford lunch. What does that tells you?" " I had Jordan's father just bought the most biggest house in the city. Did you get an invite for the house warming party?" A girl in a short skimpy dresss asked looking at her friend. " No." " Huh? That means you are of lower class. I should watch the kind of friends move with." She said laughing " Ten thousand grand on Eli that he is bluffing." Tracy Stewart said laughing. Most of the students all began to drop their money all betting against me. But then a girl came forwards. She was known to be on her own. She was like the queen in the school and many feared her for some unreasons I know nothing about. " One thousand grand on him." She said and looked at me. The courtyard buzzed with anticipation. Phones hovered in the air, some live-streaming, others recording—each student desperate not to miss what they assumed would be Eli Turner’s final humiliation. Jordan leaned forward, his swollen lip curling into a sneer. “Well?” he taunted, voice loud enough to echo. “Show us the magic money, poor boy. Or are we finally done pretending?” I stared at my phone screen, my thumb trembling slightly as I refreshed the app again. Still $50,000. Not enough. My throat tightened. Sweat slid down my spine. My chest rose and fell like I’d just run a marathon. I could feel their eyes on me—students, teachers, my grandmother. Even Dean Collings was watching me with narrowed eyes, arms crossed like he was waiting for me to break. And I might have—if not for what happened next. A sharp ping vibrated through my phone. At first, I thought I imagined it. But then I saw it. A notification. Deposit received: $100,000 My jaw slackened. I blinked, stared again. But it was real. A second ping followed. Memo: “Welcome to the real game. - M.D.” I sucked in a sharp breath. The man from the black car. The one who helped me up earlier today. I had assumed he was just a kind stranger—or a curious passerby. But no. He had known. Somehow, he knew I would need this. Behind me, someone snorted. “Told you he was bluffing.” Jordan laughed, louder now. “You see? This is what happens when you let rats dream. They get too bold.” I didn’t speak. Not yet. I simply lifted my phone and turned the screen toward Dean Collings. He squinted, leaned forward, and then his eyes widened. “Good heavens.” “Is it fake?” one teacher whispered. Dean shook his head slowly. “No. This is... real. That’s an active account.” Jordan’s laughter faltered. I stepped forward, my voice calm but loud enough for the crowd to hear. “That should cover tuition, right?” Dean cleared his throat. “It’s more than enough.” “Good,” I said. “Then I’m no longer on scholarship. From now on, I pay full.” Gasps rang out. Jordan’s face was frozen. Confused. Scared. I didn’t stop. “Also, I’d like to pay for the Crestwood Elite Hall—the premium seating section at school events. I hear it’s... exclusive.” Now the teachers were really whispering. The Elite Hall was reserved for donors, alumni families, and rich kids whose parents had buildings named after them. Dean hesitated. “That’s... a significant upgrade.” I nodded. “Add an extra twenty grand as a donation to the library. Make sure they get new chairs. The current ones suck.” Laughter broke out in the crowd. My grandmother covered her mouth. Her eyes sparkled, but she stayed silent. Jordan stepped forward, voice shaking. “This is a joke. Someone’s bankrolling him—probably charity or some old man who feels sorry for him.” “Does it matter?” I asked. “The school accepted the payment. I’m in. You’re out of arguments.” Jordan’s fists clenched. “You think money makes you special?” “No,” I replied, stepping closer. “But it buys me a seat next to you—at your table. And that’s what scares you the most.” The students lost it. Phones spun to me. To Jordan. To Dean Collings, who adjusted his glasses like he couldn’t believe what was unfolding. I wasn’t finished. “Remember this moment, Jordan,” I said, staring into his eyes. “The moment you learned that poverty isn’t permanent—but insecurity? That sticks. You needed your father’s name to get here. I needed nothing but rage.” Dean Collings raised a hand. “That’s enough, Turner.” But he didn’t sound angry anymore. If anything, there was something... impressed in his tone. I turned to him. “I’ve paid my dues. I’ll be in class tomorrow.” He nodded, almost reluctantly. “Very well. Welcome back to Crestwood... as a full-paying student.” I turned toward my grandmother. The crowd parted, silent now. She was already standing, back straight, pride etched into every line of her face. I walked to her slowly, and she pulled me into a hug, whispering just loud enough for me to hear. “Your mother would’ve been proud of you today.” “I’m not done yet,” I whispered back. We turned to leave. But Jordan couldn’t help himself. “You think this changes anything?” he shouted behind us. “You’ll always be trash, Turner. You just got a fancier bag!” I stopped, turned slowly. “Then let’s see how that trash smells in the Elite Hall. I’ll save you a seat next to me—right in front, where everyone can see who really owns this school now.” The final blow. He flinched. And I walked away with my grandmother, the student body parting like waves. Phones still rolled. But the story they told had changed. I was no longer the kid on scholarship. I was the storm.
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CHAPTER NINE
I could barely sleep. I lket wondering who sent the money and his they knew that I needed it. I shove my phone that kept making a funny sound in my face.. Ever since I left the grand hall of Crestwood. It has been tons of messages and friend request. Most of the students wanted to know who I really am. Who my parents were? Amd most importantly why I had been hiding the fact that I was rich. But the truth was that, I wasn't. I was just some street rat whose blood was collected to be tested if I was the real deal. My mind flashed back as I remembered what he said. Was I the lost long kid afterall? Or did he just took pity on me and sent me the money? No one sends that amount of money except if only...I couldn't think strait. I looked at my phone and saw the student forum had been blowned up with losts of pictures and video about what happened that day. But why did Cindy bet on me? Did she know something that I didn't? Cindy was one of the richest kids in
CHAPTER EIGHT
" Do you think he has the money?" " Eli is always a loafer and will forever be. Do you even see his shoes?" [ Some of the kids laughed. ] " I bet he does not have the money to pay. He is only stalling. Trying to buy more time." " And what if he is not?" " Have you seen the guy? He can barely afford lunch. What does that tells you?" " I had Jordan's father just bought the most biggest house in the city. Did you get an invite for the house warming party?" A girl in a short skimpy dresss asked looking at her friend. " No." " Huh? That means you are of lower class. I should watch the kind of friends move with." She said laughing " Ten thousand grand on Eli that he is bluffing." Tracy Stewart said laughing. Most of the students all began to drop their money all betting against me. But then a girl came forwards. She was known to be on her own. She was like the queen in the school and many feared her for some unreasons I know nothing about. " One thousand g
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain had stopped by the time I reached Crestwood’s front courtyard, but the damage had already been done. Students were gathered in clusters, whispering, filming, laughing—phones pointed like weapons at the center of it all. In the middle, my grandmother stood, her coat soaked, curls frizzed from the drizzle, her back ramrod straight as she faced down Jordan and two of his usual shadows. Jordan was smiling like he was on stage. “Come on, old lady. Just say it. Kneel and beg, and maybe I’ll forgive your little grandson’s temper tantrum.” The crowd chuckled. “Show some humility,” one of his cronies added. My blood boiled. I shoved past a pair of junior girls, storming into the circle like a bull. “Grandma!” I shouted, voice cracking with urgency. “Get up! You don’t have to talk to them.” I said in anger shoving my way through the clustering crowd that were hovering over my grandmother who was on her knees. She turned toward me, her expression equal parts relief and fury. “E
CHAPTER SIX
The car door remained open, silent as the rain peppered the pavement. I stared at the black leather interior, unsure if I was hallucinating. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. Maybe Jordan had punched me straight into a fever dream. But the car was real. And someone was waiting. I hesitated. I could still turn around, go home, lick my wounds, try to explain to my grandma why I’d been suspended and didn’t fight harder to stay in school. But my legs didn’t listen. They moved on their own. I slid into the backseat, soaked hoodie dripping onto the plush carpeted floor. The door closed automatically behind me with a soft hiss. Inside, the air smelled like expensive cologne and leather polish. The divider between the driver and the back was up, blacked out. But I wasn’t alone. A man sat across from me in the wide backseat, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than everything I owned. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a hard face, graying temples, and
CHAPTER FIVE
It went through. No error. No decline. Just a beep. “Approved,” she mumbled, stunned. People started cheering. Some clapped me on the back. Even Jordan looked confused from across the room. I didn’t say a word. I just walked away. That night, I got another message. > [Well done, Mr. Turner. You’ve shown initiative. Your next task arrives tomorrow.] I stared at the screen with disbelief. Who am I? The euphoria of the cafeteria victory faded faster than I expected. By the next morning, I was nobody again. The whispers returned, laced with bitterness instead of awe. “Bet it was a one-time thing.” “Probably stole it.” “Didn’t you hear? That was his grandma’s pension money.” I tried to ignore them, but it was like walking through a swarm of flies. Persistent. Annoying. Biting. And, of course, Jordan was waiting. He caught up with me outside the locker room after gym, where I’d stayed behind to change. Everyone else was gone, and I was just tightening
CHAPTER FOUR
My gaze was fixed on the screen. Just those two words: Yes / No. Simple. Plain. But they felt like a loaded gun pointed straight at me. My thumb hovered, shaking. Every logical part of my brain screamed Don't. This was insane. Creepy. Probably illegal. I should delete the message, block the number, call the bank, call the cops, do something normal. But then again, normal never got me anywhere. Not when normal meant watching my grandmother cough through the night because we couldn’t afford the good medicine. Not when normal meant skipping meals so she could eat. Not when normal meant walking to school with my shoes coming apart and pretending it didn’t bother me when Jordan and his gang laughed at me in front of everyone. $50,000 wasn’t normal. And maybe… neither was I. I took a shaky breath, the air thick in my throat. Then, I tapped Yes. Nothing happened. No confetti, no dramatic music. Just the message disappearing, like it had never been there. I stared at the
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