As the only day student in my class, I had spent three years picking up breakfast for my classmates, and until the Monday Zach Mercer transferred into our senior class, nobody had ever asked what that cost me.

Chapter 3

The recommendation exam lasted five hours.

For three years, every major test had felt as though I were trying to think underwater. I would read a problem, understand it, then lose the thread halfway through because my eyes were burning from lack of sleep.

That morning, the numbers stayed where I put them.

Calculus formulas came back cleanly.

The science section felt familiar.

I read each Spanish passage once instead of three times.

For the first time in years, my mind was not fighting my body.

Around me, chairs scraped every few minutes as sick students hurried toward the restrooms.

Meline left halfway through the science section.

Rachel cried quietly during mathematics because her hands were shaking too badly to write.

Chloe finished with her forehead almost touching the desk.

I felt sorry for them.

That surprised me.

I had imagined I would feel vindicated if everyone learned the truth.

Instead, I mostly felt tired of the whole thing.

Vindication could tell them I had been right.

It could not return the mornings I had lost.

When the final bell rang, I put down my pen.

Ethan caught my sleeve as I passed his desk.

“Connor.”

I stopped.

His face was pale and damp with sweat.

“I’m sorry.”

I waited.

“We were awful to you,” he said. “Zach showed us a couple numbers, and we just… believed what was easiest to believe.”

I pulled my sleeve gently from his fingers.

“You made a choice.”

“A stupid one.”

“Maybe.”

Rachel turned around.

Her eyes were swollen.

“Could we start over?”

“What do you mean?”

“If everybody apologizes. If we pay more. You could help us order from the safe places again.”

There it was.

Even after everything, part of her apology still contained a request.

She must have seen something change in my face.

“I don’t mean for free,” she added quickly. “We’ll pay an errand fee. A good one.”

I thought about the old notebook at home.

Rachel Turner: two extra eggs.

Balance short again.

I thought of black ice, rain, four o’clock alarms.

“No.”

Her mouth fell open.

“No?”

“I forgive you, Rachel. But I’m not going back.”

She began crying harder.

“I just want things back the way they were.”

“I don’t.”

The words came out softly.

That made them stronger.

“I’m not the class courier. I’m your classmate.”

I walked away before anybody could bargain.

Three days later, the exam rankings were posted in the central courtyard.

Dawn found me near the lockers.

“You need to see this.”

She practically dragged me outside.

Students crowded around the board, then shifted aside when I approached.

My eyes went to the top.

1. Julian Vance — 682.

2. Elena Roth — 679.

3. Connor Campbell — 674.

I read my name twice.

Third in the entire senior class.

High enough for an early recommendation to the state university’s honors engineering program.

High enough for a scholarship covering my first two years of tuition.

For several seconds I could hear nothing around me.

My mother worked in the billing office of a dental clinic. My father had died when I was twelve. College had always been possible, but never financially simple.

Two years of tuition.

I closed my eyes.

Mom was going to cry.

Probably in the grocery store.

Probably while telling strangers.

Then I looked farther down the list.

Most of my classmates had fallen badly.

Chloe was 142nd.

Ethan, 218th.

Meline, 265th.

Rachel was below 300.

The recommendation exam allowed no retake except in narrowly defined emergencies. Those who missed the cutoff would have to compete during general admissions.

Nobody celebrated that.

Not even me.

Consequences did not need applause to be real.

Mr. Harrison came through the crowd and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Three months ago,” he said, “I thought you were giving up.”

“I almost did.”

“I know more now.”

His expression tightened.

“After the food investigation, we reviewed messages and student statements. I had no idea you had been spending hours every day running errands for half this class.”

“It started small.”

“Most bad arrangements do.”

I smiled faintly.

He handed me an envelope.

“My recommendation.”

“Already?”

“Already signed.”

I looked down at it.

He said, “There’s a difference between being generous and allowing people to build their comfort on top of your sacrifice. Learn that difference while you’re young.”

“I think I finally did.”

Across the courtyard, Rachel, Chloe and Meline stood beneath an oak tree.

Chloe met my eyes.

For once, she didn’t ask me for anything.

She only walked over.

“I owe you an apology,” she said.

I waited.

“I was class president when this started. I asked you the first time, and after that I kept letting more people pile on because it was convenient.”

“Yes.”

She flinched slightly.

“I should have noticed.”

“Yes.”

“I should have stopped it.”

I looked at her.

“You should have.”

She nodded, eyes filling.

“Congratulations on your score, Connor.”

“Thank you.”

That was all.

And somehow that apology meant more than the others.

No excuse.

No request.

No attempt to make herself feel better.

Just the truth.