Royalty College

The scorching heat jolted me awake. I had been watching TV and didn’t even realize when I drifted off. I’d forgotten to turn on the air conditioning, and now sweat clung to my skin. I had no choice but to get up.

I turned on the air conditioning and strolled to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. My boring phone beeped, but I paid no attention. It was probably just a T*****r or I*******m notification—definitely not someone texting me. I hadn’t had anyone to text for days. I was too tired even to reply to the unread messages I had. My phone had become boring.

I took some bread, made a sandwich, and went back to the living room to fix my video game. At least that would keep me company until 4 p.m., when I’d have to leave for boxing practice.

I picked up my phone to play some music when I noticed an email. "Royalty College." My heart skipped a beat. I put down my phone and whispered a quick prayer, then picked it up again. Slowly, I opened the email and began to read:

"Dear Collins Neville,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been offered admission to Royalty College for the 202..."

I didn’t finish reading. I jumped up in joy and screamed so loud that it nearly brought the house down—but instead, it brought my jobless uncle running.

“Too much staying at home has made you run mad, hasn’t it?” he asked.

“Well, I won’t be staying at home for long,” I replied.

“Don’t tell me…” he said, a glint of hope in his eyes, waiting for me to say exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Yessss!” I screamed again. “I got in! I got in! I’ve been fucking accepted! Two years of hard work and staying in this boring, oversized house have finally paid off!”

“This calls for a celebration,” my uncle declared, rushing to the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of wine—the most exquisite one, reserved for my father. He placed a corkscrew on it, about to open it, when I stopped him.

“That’s Dad’s.”

Pop!

Too late. The bottle had already been opened.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind after hearing this wonderful news,” my uncle said with a grin.

I held out my glass, and he poured until it was filled to the brim. We drank and talked about how college was going to be. He told me stories about the girls he used to bag in college, laughing as he recalled his glory days. I was fully engrossed in the conversation when my alarm suddenly went off—4 p.m.

I instinctively swiped up to snooze it, ready to keep listening, but my brain quickly reminded me—I had boxing training at 4, and I was supposed to be there before then. If not, Coach would make me run laps for an hour.

“Training,” I muttered.

“Damn, you’re in for it,” my uncle said, shaking his head. “Start getting ready. Let me grab the car keys.”

You’re late,” Coach said, adjusting the gloves for one of the boxers. “That’s ten laps.”

“Start now so you finish early, and we can work on a few things,” he added.

“Coach?” I called.

He glanced at me, waiting.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I continued. “I was just… overly excited about my admission and lost track of time.”

“Oh, you got admitted?” He nodded. “Congratulations. Still not a good enough reason to be late, but I’ll reduce your punishment to five laps.”