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Chapter 3

Dean O'Conners office was immaculate, everything in its proper place. His office was bigger than my parents apartment in Washington. In the corner was a couch with the most plush pillows I've ever seen. The floor to ceiling windows lit up the office, displaying a perfect view of the courtyard, bustling with students below.

Dean O'Conner sat in his oversized leather chair, behind him were his scholarly accolades adorning the wall displaying degrees from prestigious universities that hung in elegant wooden frames. His thick cherry wood desk took up a large portion of the office, in front of it stood two smaller leather chairs.

I walked in and made my way across the office, my sneakers squeaking with every step against the marble floors. I flung my backpack onto leather chair and flopped into the other seat, crossing my arms anticipating the same lecture that Dean O'Conner always gives me about my behavioral issues.

O'Conner was the only faculty here that I somewhat liked, considering all the time we've spent together from me getting in trouble. He's always helped me out and made sure my record stayed clean and even helped me avoid expulsion a few times.

"Rebel, you promised me that you would at least try to stay out of trouble." Dean O'Conner said, his hands were placed in a power position. His palms open, but his fingers touching each other while his elbows rested on the cherry wood desk.

"Really? I don't recall." I said as I scratched my chin with my fingers.

"You don't recall cursing out your physics professor? Or hacking into your dorm building and setting off the fire alarm so you could 'have some god damn peace and quiet?'" He said making quotations with his hands as he recalled the events from the week.

"If anything you should be thanking me. Mr. Edwards is a pompous ass and students shouldn't be throwing parties in the dorms anyway." I said shrugging.

"Rebel," He said sighing while rubbing his temples. "You are the brightest student at this University. 4.0, revolutionary ideas, IQ score of 252, but this is the final straw. I can't keep helping you out if you're going to continue acting this way. Miss Jamison sits on the Board of Administrators here, and has filed to revoke one of your scholarships." He said seriously.

"She can't do that, she isn't even the head of the Engineering department!" I said raising my voice causing an echo to bounce off the walls of the office.

"She can and she did. I'm sorry Rebel, but I have to agree with her on this one. Your behavior is out of line and this has gone on long enough." He said sternly as he leaned forward again.

"Luckily, you'll still have your other scholarships, but you're going to have to figure out a way to pay for your room and board as well as half of your tuition within the next week or you'll be forced to leave campus. I'm sorry Miss Simmons, but there's nothing I can do." He spoke in a disheartened tone. His face showed pity for me, I hated it. I was so close to finishing my Masters Degree, just one and a half damn semesters away.

I made mental calculations of my expenses: my tuition was $60,072 per year, books and supplies are around $1,530, and room and board cost me $25,998 a year totaling at $87,600 not including groceries or other cost of living expenses.

"So you're telling me I have to come up with $56,034 by next week or I'm living on the streets?" I questioned calmly. The dorms were my only option, I couldn't afford an apartment in Pasadena... I didn't even have a job.

"Yes. By the 30th." He uttered. His face showed nothing but concern... a fake concern. The kind of false concern that looks like he is about to run to the restroom at any second. I can tell from his body language that it was forced, and he really didn't give two shits about what happens to me.

"Stop pretending to feel bad about this. I know the only reason why you kept helping me was because of my perfect score on my entrance exam. Looks pretty good for your investors to have an 18 year old with a higher IQ than Einstein huh?" I scoffed, grabbed my backpack and left the room, leaving a speechless O'Conner behind his desk.

His investors were what kept the lights on in this decorated shithole. He'd do anything to keep them obliviously happy. His silence was confirmation of my assumptions. He didn't give a shit about me, no one did.

I walked towards the young receptionist who was filing her nails, ignoring the ear piercing ring of the multi-line phone system on the corner of her desk. She looked up at me with a scowl on her face.

"Dean O'Conner told me to let you know that he needs you to make copies of the new student pamphlets." I lied smoothly.

"And why should I take orders from a delinquent? If he needs it done, he can let me know himself." She said as she continued to file her nails.

"No problem, I'll be sure to let him know that. I'll also let him know about your affair with Mr. Edwards as well. If I do recall correctly, O'Conner is a pretty good friend of his wife, right?" I said, looking off into the distance and making my best thinking face.

After I cursed out Mr. Edwards this week, the receptionist has been going out of way to be more of a bitch than she already was. She knew in detail about my verbal assault towards the professor, making me think that they were closer than what she led on.

Her face paled as she dropped her nail file. "Who told you?" She barked.

"You just confirmed it for me." I smirked. "Now, run along. You have shit to do." I said as I shooed her.

She roughly grabbed a stack of paperwork and exited the building. The copier was a few buildings down about 1300 feet. She grabbed a stack of about 100 or so pages, the copier would take about 4 minutes, so that gives me about a 14-17 minute window depending on how fast she walked in those obnoxious heels.

I went behind her desk and grabbed her phone. I dialed Dr. Chets number, and sat in her brown plush chair. As the phone rang, I turned on her computer. Her computer was locked, surprise surprise. I guessed Edwards and it unlocked on the first try.

Desperate bitch.

"Hello this is Dr. Chet? How can I help you?" His Indian accent spoke through the phone.

"Hey Doc. It's Rebel Simmons. What's the update on my mom?" I said as I dug through my backpack for the external hard drive I "borrowed" from the tech lab. I plugged it into the computer and started to download the University's data.

"Rebel... your mother has gotten worse. The tumors have spread to her lungs. We have to preform surgery as soon as possible to stop it from spreading further." He spoke urgently.

"Well you're the professional here, do whatever it takes." I barked. I use to be good at handling my emotions, however, those days are long gone. The only emotions I'm able to express is anger, everything else seems non-existent.

"I'm afraid we can't. That's why I was calling you. Your payments are overdue, and we can't keep treating her. We'd need some form of payment before we can preform the surgery. We need a payment by the end of the month or else we have to discharge her." He spoke calmly.

"Well how much is it?!" I said, trying to keep my voice under control and stop myself from cursing out this useless doctor.

"Because she doesn't have insurance, it'll be $180,000 for the past 6 months and with the upcoming surgery it'll be an additional $57,435, plus $15,322 for late fees." He said robotically as he read from the forms.

"So $252,757 by the end of the month?" I calculated quickly. I glanced at the calendar on the desk: November 21st, I'd have nine days to come up with the money.

"Yes ma'am. I apologize about this, especially because of Thanksgiving tomorrow, but we just cannot keep her here without a payment." He spoke sincerely.

"I'll figure it out." I said as I hung up. A ding from the computer informed me that my download was complete. I looked at the clock, 12 minutes have passed. She'd be walking back quicker due to the cold weather outside, so I had roughly a minute to cover my evidence. I quickly reset her computer back to her defaults, tucked my external hard drive away and walked out of the office and turned the corner, making eye contact with the flustered receptionist as she made her way back into her office.