Chapter 1: Vicky

“Wait!”

I rush out of Huron Building. But it‘s too late. The school bus has pulled away right in front of me.

“Damn it! This is the last one!” I yelled, trying to chase the bus. The driver didn’t seem to notice me, though, leaving me running futilely in the trail of motor vehicle exhaust. Today is really not my day, I guess.

As I eventually have to give it up to catch my breath, my thoughts race to figure out a way to make home. It’s close to winter break now. The university shuttle bus stops after 6 pm. Given that I will be running out of my monthly stipend to call an Uber, and I am still saving up for a car, it seems that there are no other options than walking back home in this freezing -15 °C/ 5 °F weather.

“How Great!” I murmur to myself. “This is exactly what I signed up for when accepting the PhD offer. No money, no quality of life, no nothing except for the pure love for research.”

As if things are not bad enough, with my phone vibrating, another E-Alert pops up on top of many other police safety warnings.

“Someone just got robbed and battered at Mason Hall. Again? The suspect with a gun still at large? What the heck!” I put down my phone, a little bit unease about stepping into the night scape. Mason Hall is the only way for me to make home, but obviously it is NOT SAFE to walk in the this little Gotham after dusk.

So what do I do next?

I don’t know if it’s just me being paranoid, but after getting the text, the shadows of sugar maples along the sidewalk started to look suspicious, as if there were someone hiding behind. Should I try my luck in this dark wilderness? Sometimes being a broke grad student means you have to choose between less-than-ideal situations, like whether or not to buy the discounted, about-to-expire yogurt to fulfill the requirement of daily protein intake, or go to a noon lecture whose topic does not sound interesting at all but its poster says “Free Food,” or walk home in a cold weather at night which might jeopardize one’s personal safety. Actually, sometimes being poor means you don’t really have a choice.

“Come on, Vicky! You are a strong, independent woman. You can do this!”I try to give myself a prep talk, but the freezing wind and shuttering maples send a chill down my spine.

“Miss Irwin, you are still here?” A flamboyant lamborghini pulls over, its window rolled down, showing a pair of blue, husky-like eyes and a perfect sleek jawline. He eyes me with a seemingly genuine concern: “It’s getting dark now. Do you need a ride?”

I look at this knight in shining armor——he has the typical face and body of a campus playboy, with sculpted muscles and contrasting long eyelashes, which is really my type—— but I try not to act like I am attracted to him. After all, he is the only reason why I was late for today’s bus.

“Thank you, Kent. But no, no need, I am perfectly capable of finding my own way h……A-Chu-!” Before I could finish my sentence, the freaking wind whizzes inside my collar, and my shutter and sneeze betrays the strong image that I manage to project.

Kent Huron seems amused; he tries not to smile but his lips nevertheless curve into a surprisingly attracting shape. He climbs out of the car to open the door on the other side for me, and gestures inside: “Alright, strong woman, come on in. Let’s get warm and go get some food, and then you can get mad at me properly. “

I don’t respond, but he continues.

“I was thinking, maybe we could get some buffalo wings with some hot warm soup at the Mia's. What do you like? I am sorry for stalling your office hour today, and since the Uni ain’t paying grad students overtime, dinner will be my treat. ”

“You are my student. I don’t think——”

“Please——Miss Irwin, let me make this up to you. Plus, it’s not safe for a girl to walk outside at this time. As a decent man, I would not allow this.”

With this note, I hears a clear gunshot and the ensuing police siren. Without any further argument, I silently slip in the front seat.

I mean, after all, who can say no to free buffalo wings?

I normally would not be this late. In fact, my office hour ends at 5: 30 pm. The only reason I ended up missing the last school bus today was because Kent Huron kept badgering me in and after my office hour for more scores in the seminar I TAed this semester.

[1 hour ago, the Huron Building]

“Miss Irwin, you can’t fail me!”

“Technically, I can, Kent. I am your grad instructor. For every time you fail to show up in my discussion session, I deduct five points from your attendance score. Your grades will be doomed if you missed the class for more than 8 times. Simple rule, easy math.”

“That’s not fair! I have a medical condition, I have, emmm, AGHD.”

“You mean ADHD? No, you don’t. Before disease-guilt me, you should at least try to get your excuse straight.”

“Yeah, ADHD, whatever. Listen, Miss Irwin, you don’t get it: I MUST have an impeccable GPA. My life is perfect, always have been and always will be. The Hurons won’t tolerate any imperfectness in their lives!”

“Then maybe you should put in more of an effort to this class instead of randomly showing up after the final to ask for more scores! I read your final paper, Kent. Obviously you are a smart student who has plenty of interesting ideas. I gave you an A plus for the paper. All I am asking is to direct the intelligence you showed in your final paper into our daily study, like fixing your attendance and contributing to our weekly discussion.”

“I am sorry, I still don’t get it——if you do like my paper, and my score won’t get in the ways of others, why can’t you help me? Attendance and shit that you care so much about now won’t mean anything once we get a job. ”

“Because, Kent, it’s not fair to others who put in their efforts in attending the class and in discussion sessions. Academic life may be only a small part of your life, or many people’s lives, but at least other students showed that they care, and most importantly, I care.”

“I see. You really wanna be fair, don’t you? You wanna issue punishments and rewards, to achieve the social justice that was never achieved outside. That’s…ambitiously adorable, almost sexy I would say. But I have to remind you, Miss Irwin, life is far from fair. I think you know that better than I do.”

“What does that suppose to mean?”

“Miss Irwin, you look intelligent and hot, even if you dress like a nun, I can tell you are hot.” His eyes flickered from my curve to my dark hair and fox eyes. “But with due respect, Irwin is a very local name, and you don’t look like an Irwin. You are neither mixed nor married, so I am guessing that means you were abandoned by your biological parents right after birth and eventually got adopted by some broke Irwins?”

West Lancing is a small college town with a highly homogenous population. It is easy for him to figure this out. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me admitting that he is right.

“My background is literally none of your business!”

“I am sorry, Miss Irwin. I don’t mean to probe into your personal life, or pull off any ‘where are you originally from’ bullshit. I just want to prove my point: there is no such thing as justice in this world. You can be a hell of an amazing person, but look at what cards life has dealt you. Cold-hearted parents? Broke adopted family? And look at me! With all the shit I have done, it doesn’t stop me born with a sliver spoon up my arse.”

“I didn’t know about your family, Mr. Huron, but unfortunately you do sound like a spoiled brat. Now get out of my office! My office hour was over a while ago and your silver spoon arse is classing this place up.”

Kent Huron gave me a look I can’t fathom before leaving: “You don’t know of my family? As a scholarship student in this university, you should look it up.”

[Now]

I am not interested in some old money family gossip, but now, in Kent’s cozy fancy car, with a cup of warm bubble tea in my hand, it might make sense to keep the conversations going since Kent now acts normal and polite.

“So Kent, what is it that I should know about your family?”

He cocks an eyebrow: “If I tell you, will you promise to fix my attendance scores?”

“No, I think I made myself pretty clear earlier in the day. ”

He smiles: “Yeah, surely you did. You are the most strong-willed woman I have ever seen.”

“So with that being said, you are not going to tell me about your family now, aren’t you?”

“Well, I mean, I am a humble person, I don’t have the intention to brag about my family…”

“Stop! We both know you are as humble as your car.” I laugh. “Just spill it.”

“Alright.” He smirks. “Maybe you have noticed that your office is in Huron Building. H-U-R-O-N, as in my last name, Mr. Huron.”

“I thought it was just a coincidence. Wait! Are you the son of —— ”

“Susan Huron and Thomas Huron.”

He said it calmly, but I cannot retain my cool composure.

“The Huron couple are the biggest alumni donators to the University. OMG!” I suffocate a scream in my throat. “I really want to thank them in person. “

“Why?” My reaction confuses him. “I thought you despised all of us as spoiled brats. ”

“No! Not your parents! You know that Humanities Department I am affiliated with? Rumors have it that the year before I came here, the University was planning to tear down the entire department because humanities weren’t as profitable as like say, computer science. But your parents intervened. They believed in the value of liberal arts education, and donated 10 million dollars to keep the department running and recruiting new students. I am able to be here only because the department gives me a tuition scholarship and a monthly stipend, and all that money comes from the annual interests of your parents donation. I know that amount of money might not be a big deal for your family, but it really makes a difference to my life. Although I am not good at expressing gratitude, I really want to thank them in person, to say that maybe it was a small favor for them, but it was a very big favor for many of us.”

“Wow.” He didn’t expect me to say all these. “Although there are a small fraction of things untrue about my parents in your account, but I can help you relay the message to my parents.”

“Thanks! That will be great!” I am so happy that I cannot help grinning, even forgetting to ask about what part of my account is untrue.

“So after knowing all this——you still cannot unfail me even if you are grateful to my parents?“ He asks jokingly.

“No. I stand by my words.” I insist. “Are you going to be badmouthing about me in front of your parents because of this?”

“No, Madam.” He playfully throws one of his hands in the air. “You got a principle, you stick to it. I respect that, Miss Irwin.”

I laugh: “You’d better mean it.”

“I do mean it. I respect people who knows their things and has a purpose in life.” He seems very genuine. “It sounds like you are really passionate about the things you do now?”

“Yes, a humanities PhD makes me really happy. I mean, it could be painful at times, but eventually it makes me really happy.”

He turns to me for a second, sees my eyes lit up with joy, giving me another look that I cannot fathom.

“Good.”

He falls into silence for the next minute, as if pondering on something. After having made a decision, his jawline hardens. He suddenly pulls over to the side, and turns to me again. It’s the same Kent Huron, but this time it feels different. It feels as if his mask of likability is taken off, revealing the real Kent Huron, a much colder one.

“Miss Irwin, ” his tone without emotion, “Don’t fail me. Or else I would tell the Huron donation committee to revoke your scholarship.”

“What?” I am too shocked to say anything.

“I am not kidding. I need my perfect GPA and my perfect life, and it is not worthy of ruining your academic dream for some ‘spoiled brat’ like me.”

“No!” My head shakes like insane. “Your parents made a DONATION to the University, you cannot use it for BRIBERY or BLACKMAIL.”

“Technically I can. It’s our money, we spend it anyway we want. We can use it to help advancing someone’s academic life, or we can just buy your career out. After all, rich kids get away with anything.” He says this in an equally calm manner as saying “I spent 2 dollars to get a yogurt.”

“No.”

“Still no?” He finds my stubbornness amusing. “Miss Irwin, it seems that you are under the impression that you have a choice in this matter. You don’t. You are getting things totally wrong. For example, you are hallucinated to think that my parents care about liberal arts education enough to make a 10 million donation. They didn’t care, they didn’t come all the way to keep an underfunded department alive. In fact, they did the provost a small favor by donating 100 million to the University, and since one professor at the humanities department is a old family friend, they did an extra little favor to donate 10 million to this petite department of yours. It’s just a byproduct of our family tax-deducting strategy, and you are among many that parasites the annual interests of the byproduct. You don’t matter, your shitty department don’t matter, you are hallucinated to think you have a say in this. Now fix my fucking scores before I teach you not to mess with the wrong family.”

“No.”

“I am going to ask you nicely one last time: are you——”

“No.”

He sighs, his hand caressing my face gentle: “Then I am afraid I have to punish you. Why do you have to make it ugly?”

Before I can say anything, he suddenly leans over, pinning me down my seat, and plants a fierce kiss on my lips.