Chapter 1: The Accusation

Marcus was the kid who always scraped by—secondhand textbooks, skipping lunch, never complaining. When we heard he had a tumor, it hit like a punch to the gut. Natalie, our student life officer—the girl who could get anyone to show up for a bake sale or a midnight pancake run—jumped in to organize a GoFundMe and asked if we could use the class fund too.

I shrugged her off, folding my arms across my chest like I was just talking about running out of chips at a Super Bowl party. "It's all been spent. There's nothing left," I said, trying to sound casual.

Natalie's eyebrows drew together, the way she looked when she was about to crush a stats quiz. "Wait, we each put in five hundred bucks. That’s, what, like fifteen grand? Where’d it all go?" She sounded like someone who'd just realized their group project partner ghosted them the night before the deadline.

As Marcus's situation got worse and the bills piled up, Natalie came back—this time, her voice a little raw, hope flickering out. I still refused. I couldn’t let the class fund go for this.

She snapped, her voice cracking in front of the after-class crowd. "You’re letting him die just because you won’t help!" The usual chatter cut out, and every head turned our way.

The class exploded. People jumped out of their seats, faces flushed and angry.

"Seriously? And we voted for you? What a joke."

"Give our money back, or I’m calling the cops right now!" Someone pulled out their phone, thumb hovering over the dial.

"This is life or death! How can you be so cold-hearted?"

Things were spiraling. Our advisor, Professor Harris, dropped a bomb in the group chat: mandatory meeting, everyone. His tone made you sit up straight, even through a screen.

My heart hammered, but I kept my face blank. I’d practiced this in the mirror—don’t let them see you sweat. I pulled out the battered spiral account book, coffee rings and old concert tickets stuck between the pages, and waited for the storm.