The bus brakes hissed to a stop. It was an uncomfortable ride, but for thirty-eight dollars and a ten-hour journey, Maya expected nothing less.
She let go of her backpack strap, her fingers stiff and marked from where she'd been gripping the nylon for the last forty miles. She'd watched the rusted highway signs of home fade into the vibrant greenery of another world. Everything here was clean, quiet, and outrageously expensive.
From the smudged window, St. Benedict University looked just like the brochure she'd practically memorised. She'd spent months staring at those same buildings on her cracked laptop screen, but seeing them in person made her stomach tighten.
The sun hit the brick just right, turning it a warm, expensive red that screamed old money. Ivy draped the walls in professional tangles. And the lawns? They just kept going, it was an endless, curated sprawl leading towards the treeline. She stared, half wanting to roll her eyes at the whole over-the-top show, but damn, this place was unreal, and it managed to leave an envious weight in her chest.
Knowing what the buildings looked like was one thing, standing in their shadow was another. The comfort she'd felt while staring at the photos in her bedroom was officially gone.
The bus door wheezed open, letting in the scent of pine and fresh-cut grass. She breathed it in, of course it smelled like this.
This was a place where people knew who they were and where they fit. No one here had ever walked into a room wondering if they belonged or if someone would notice they didn't. Their last names opened doors before they even had to knock. Their parents had gone here, probably their grandparents too, and they'd spend four years collecting the same stories and connections, never once having to think about what came after or how they'd pay for it.
Maya stood, shouldering her backpack in one smooth motion even though the weight made her right shoulder ache. Nineteen years old, and she'd gotten very good at carrying things that were too heavy.
She stepped into the aisle, waiting as a blonde girl in Lululemon leggings and a cashmere hoodie—cashmere in September?—retrieved a suspiciously light leather weekender from the overhead compartment.
The girl's nails were French-tipped. Her hair fell in those beachy waves that took forty-five minutes and products Maya couldn't afford.
The girl glanced back, her gaze skating over Maya with that particular brand of nothing wealthy people had down to an art. Not hostile, just a blank stare.
She was used to it.
The steps were steep. Her sneakers hit the pavement hard, and she felt it in her knees. The Nikes were two years old, outlet mall clearance, and the right sole had started peeling away from the toe last month. She kept meaning to fix it, just hadn't gotten around to it, hadn't gotten around to a lot of things she was supposed to have figured out by now.
But she was here now.
St. Benedict University, where the acceptance rate was eight percent and the average family income was in the top two per cent. Where her full-ride scholarship had been described by her guidance counselor, Mrs Kingston, as "a literal miracle, Maya, you understand that, right?"
She understood.
Behind her, the bus driver was hauling suitcases from the luggage compartment. Maya watched as the cashmere girl claimed a set of matching hard-shell luggage—four pieces, all identical—in a shade of pink that probably had a pretentious name like "blush quartz" or "ballet slipper."
Then it was Maya's turn.
Her duffel bag hit the pavement with a heavy thud that drew exactly zero attention from anyone except her. She'd packed everything she owned that mattered: clothes, toiletries, the stack of used textbooks she'd bought from the campus bookstore's website back in August. Her four-year-old laptop with the cracked screen was held together with packing tape.
The bag was canvas, army surplus, bought at Goodwill for eight dollars. It weighed about forty pounds.
She bent down, gripped the handles, and lifted it. Her shoulders burned.
The cashmere girl was already gone, disappeared into the crowd of parents unloading high-end SUVs at the curb. Maya straightened, adjusted her grip, and started walking. The strap of her backpack dug into her collarbone. The duffel bag pulled her right, throwing off her balance.
Maya wove through the students spread across the lawn. They were lounging on blankets with Hydro Flasks and laptops, oblivious to the girl hauling forty pounds of canvas past them. Others were tossing a football. A guy in a Patagonia vest shouted something about a pregame tonight. Near the administration building, two girls in matching rush shirts stood in front of the ivy, one filming while the other smiled at the camera, Ray-Bans pushed up on her head.
Maya kept walking.
The air smelled different here, cleaner. Back in Maple Hollow, it smelled like turned earth and diesel from the grain elevator, that sweetness of corn in late summer. Here, it smelled like fresh-cut grass and mulch. Maya shifted the duffel to her other hand, flexing her fingers.
She passed a bulletin board plastered with flyers. Kappa Alpha Theta Rush! Debate Team Tryouts! Student Investment Club—Build Your Portfolio!
In Maple Hollow High, the extracurriculars had been Future Farmers of America, Academic Decathlon, and three sports teams that shared equipment. Here, the sheer variety was dizzying. All these things she'd only read about, right there on a bulletin board.
Except none of that mattered. She was here to work.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She shifted the duffel to one hand—her arm immediately started shaking—and pulled it out.
Mom: You there yet baby? Call me when you can. Love you so much.
Maya stared at the screen, a lump forming in her throat making it hard to swallow.
She typed back: Just got here. I'm good. Love you too.
Her thumb hovered over the send button. She thought about saying more, that she didn't belong here, that she already felt out of place. But what would that do except make her mom worry? Her mom had worked double shifts all summer for the things the scholarship didn't cover. Spent the week after the acceptance letter calculating costs, figuring out if they could swing the meal plan or if Maya would be living on ramen.
Maya hit send.
The scholarship covered tuition, room, and board. Books were extra. So was everything else.
Maya pocketed the phone and kept walking. According to the map she'dmemorisedd, Spruce Hall was twelve minutes from the bus stop. She'd been walking for seven, and her shoulder already felt like bone grinding on bone.
A dad in a polo shirt carried a mini-fridge past her like it weighed nothing. Nearby, a mom in oversized sunglasses directed two younger kids hauling boxes labeled WINTER CLOTHES and DORM DECOR.These people had never worried about the power getting shut off. Had never done homework by candlelight. Had never worn the same three shirts all week because that's all there was.
She didn't hate them. That wasn't the point. But she didn't have to like them either.
By the time she reached Spruce Hall, her hands were numb and her lower back had begun to throb. The building was pristine red brick, four stories with white stone columns framing the entrance like a miniature mansion. A fountain sat in the circular drive out front, water cascading over marble tiers. Perfectly trimmed hedges lined the walkway, and there was a bronze plaque by the doors thanking some donor family for their "generous contribution." The doors themselves were dark wood with brass fixtures that gleamed.
Inside, the lobby was surreal.
The Freshman Welcome Centre had been set up in the first-floor common area. Long tables stretched across polished marble floors, each one staffed by cheerful upperclassmen in matching SBU T-shirts, their smiles bright as they handed out orientation packets.
Banners hung from the ceiling: WELCOME HOME, CLASS OF 2028! YOU BELONG HERE! THUNDERHAWKS FOREVER! There were branded tote bags stacked at every station, glossy orientation packets, even a coffee bar in the corner with an actual barista making lattes.
Fresh flowers sat in crystal vases on every table. The speakers played upbeat pop without any static or buzz.
Maya stood in the doorway with her duffel. Nobody looked at her.
The girl at the check-in table was helping a guy in Sperry boat shoes and pastel shorts, laughing at something he'd said like it was the funniest thing she'd heard all day. Behind him, a couple was debating which dining hall had the best sushi—sushi, in a landlocked college town.
To Maya's left, a girl with a designer tote bag was on the phone: "No, Mom, I told you I needed the platinum card, not the gold one. The gold one has a lower limit."
Maya set down her duffel and got in line.
It took forever. The girl ahead of her spent five minutes talking about her roommate situation while the volunteer nodded like she actually cared.
Maya shifted her weight. Her shoulder throbbed.
Finally, it was her turn. The volunteer looked up—brunette, name tag covered in exclamation points: HI I'M ASHLEY! JUNIOR! COMMUNICATIONS MAJOR! Her smile was bright but her eyes looked tired, like she'd been sitting there since dawn.
"Welcome to SBU!" Ashley chirped, voice bright and relentless. "Name?"
"Maya Alvarez."
Ashley's fingers flew across the iPad, French-tipped nails clicking against the screen. "Ooh, okay, Maya! You're in Spruce Hall, third floor, room 312, you're in the Peer-Link wing, so you'll have an upperclassman roommate to help you navigate your first year, it's such a cute dorm. Here's your student ID, your room key card, and your orientation packet. The schedule's on page five, but honestly, the most important stuff is the mixer tonight at seven and the campus tour tomorrow at nine. Any questions?"
Maya took the materials
"No," Maya said. "Thank you."
She stepped aside, already feeling the next person in line press forward. Behind her, Ashley was already starting again: "Welcome to SBU!"
Maya shoved the folder into her backpack, clipped the ID to her lanyard, and picked up her duffel again. The elevator was across the lobby, all polished brass and mirrors inside. A facilities worker in a crisp uniform stood nearby with a cleaning cart.
Maya headed for the stairs instead. Three flights up with forty pounds wasn't appealing, but waiting for the elevator with her beat-up duffel while other students rolled designer luggage inside felt worse.
The stairwell was wide, clean, with actual artwork on the landings—framed photographs of campus through the decades. By the second landing, her thighs were burning. By the third, she'd switched the duffel to her other hand twice
and was seriously contemplating whether she could just live on the second floor instead. But room 312 was on the third floor, which meant the third floor was where she'd go.
She passed two girls coming down, both carrying nearly nothing. One of them—blonde, willowy, wearing an Alo Yoga set—gave her a sympathetic smile that somehow felt worse than being ignored.
Maya didn't stop. She kept climbing.
By the time she reached the third-floor landing, her entire body was shaking and her breath was coming in hard gasps she tried to muffle. She set down the duffel, pressed her palm against the cool wall, and gave herself thirty seconds to recover. Her back was damp with sweat. Her shoulder throbbed.
The hallway stretched in front of her, cream-colored walls with crown molding, doors marked with brass numbers. Soft overhead lighting lit the corridor.
Room 312 was at the end.
Maya picked up the duffel one more time and walked.
The door to room 312 was already halfway open.
Maya paused in the hallway, one hand on the doorframe. Nine months. Two semesters. Her whole first year.
The room was bigger than her bedroom back home. Two tall windows let in natural light, looking out over the lawn. Cream walls. Dark wood furniture—two full-size beds with headboards, two wide desks with hutches, two tall wardrobes. Hardwood floors with area rugs. Crown molding.
One side was already claimed.
The bed had a tufted headboard, white sheets, and a sage green duvet. Matching throw pillows arranged in a row. Above the desk, a corkboard held photos in gold frames—friends at a beach house, family portraits, a golden retriever on a boat. The desk had a rose gold lamp, a succulent in a concrete pot, textbooks stacked and labelled, and a Nespresso machine with capsules lined up beside it.
The desk was organized—textbooks arranged by size, a caddy of pens and highlighters, a laptop plastered with stickers. POWERED BY CAFFEINE. SCIENCE IS REAL. NEVERTHELESS, SHE PERSISTED.
Maya's side of the room was empty.
She stepped inside and set down her duffel. She was reaching for the door when a voice said, "Oh! Hey!"
The girl appeared in the doorway, slightly breathless. Elena, according to the name tag, still stuck to her shirt. She was carrying a reusable water bottle covered in more stickers.
She was short,five-two, maybe—with dark curly hair pulled into a messy bun and round glasses. Bookish, approachable.
Her T-shirt said POWERED BY COFFEE AND COGNITIVE SCIENCE in block letters.
She smiled, and it was the first smile Maya had seen all day that felt genuine to her.
"You must be Maya!" Elena set down her water bottle on her desk, barely missing her laptop and stuck out her hand. "I'm Elena. I'm the Peer Mentor for this floor, so I'm officially your guide, welcome to Spruce Hall."
"Thanks." Maya shook her hand.
"You need help with that?" Elena gestured to the duffel bag.
"No." The word came out too fast, almost defensive. Maya forced herself to soften it. "I've got it. But thanks."
Elena didn't push. She nodded and leaned against her desk, picking up the llama succulent and examining it while Maya unzipped the duffel and started pulling out clothes.
"So, first year?"
"Yeah."
"Cool. I'm a junior." Elena set down the succulent, took a sip from her water bottle. "Fair warning: orientation week is basically seven days of forced fun and way too much free pizza. The campus tour tomorrow is okay, but skip the 'get to know your RA' mixer unless you really, really love icebreakers."
Maya paused in folding a shirt. "Noted."
Elena clicked her pen absently. "Oh, and if you need ice, there's a machine at the end of the hall. I keep forgetting to fill my water bottle before bed."
Maya glanced over. Elena's water bottle was one of those insulated ones with a brand name stamped on the side.
"Good to know."
"The bathrooms are down there too,"
Elena added, gesturing vaguely. "I usually shower around seven if you want to avoid the morning rush. Not that there really is one."
Maya hung up a shirt in the wardrobe. Silence settled between them for a moment, before Elena began clicking her pen, then her eyes drifted to the corkboard above her desk.
"That's from spring break," Elena said, pointing at one of the photos—her and friends on a beach, turquoise water behind them. "We went to Turks and Caicos. My parents have a timeshare there, so we go every year. It's kind of a tradition at this point."
Maya nodded, not sure what to say to that.
"My friends think I'm crazy for coming back early to move in, but I like getting settled before everything gets chaotic, you know?" Elena laughed. "Plus my mom was driving me insane asking if I'd packed enough sunscreen."
"Oh, and honestly? Don't stress about doing every single orientation thing. Like, the mixers and stuff are fun but also kind of exhausting. I skipped half of them my freshman year and it was fine. Just do whatever feels right."
Maya wasn't sure she believed that, but she nodded anyway.
She unpacked methodically. Clothes first, folded by type. T-shirts, jeans, the single dress she owned—black, from Target, purchased for graduation. She hung it in the wardrobe. It took up maybe a foot of space.
Toiletries next. The caddy from Target, bright pink because that was what had been on clearance.
The textbooks went on the desk, arranged by subject: calculus, introductory sociology, freshman composition, general chemistry. All used, purchased in August from students selling them cheap.
Calculus was going to be brutal—she'd barely passed trig. But sociology was her major.
Her laptop went in the corner. ,crack across the screen covered with a sticker, but she still worked.
Phone charger, a desk lamp which she got from Walmart. Three pens and a yellow legal pad.
And a single framed photo of her family.
She picked it up carefully. Her mom, her dad, her younger brother, all of them bundled in winter coats two Christmases ago. Their house in the background. Everyone smiling.
She set it on the desk. Then moved it to face the wall. Then turned it back around. She needed to see them. She couldn't bear to see them. She left it facing out.
That was it, that was everything.
When she sat on the bare mattress, the plastic covering crinkled under her weight. She looked at her side of the room. It looked sparse, and temporary.
She pulled out her phone. Her mom had texted again: Remember to eat dinner, and call me before bed. Love you.
Maya stared at the message. Her thumb hovered over the call button. She wanted to hear her mom's voice, but if she called now, her mom would hear it all—the exhaustion, how small Maya felt, how out of place. Her mom would worry, and she already had enough on her plate.
Maya typed back: Will call later. Promise. Love you too.
She stood up. She couldn't just sit here staring at the empty side of the room. She needed to move, do something. Finding the bathroom and figuring out the floor layout was just an excuse, to walk off the anxiety.
The hallway was loud. Someone's door was open with Olivia Rodrigo blasting, and down the hall, a group of girls shrieked with laughter over something on someone's phone.
Maya walked to the end of the hall and found the bathroom. It was large, with six shower stalls behind glass doors and a long counter lined with sinks and mirrors. The tile floor gleamed under warm lighting.
She made a mental note about shower shoes and headed back to her room.
On her way back, she passed groups of girls already exchanging Instagram handles, debating which dining hall to try first, comparing class schedules. Easy, instant friendship.
Part of her felt superior,she was here to work, not waste time on surface-level friendships. But another part felt envious. They looked comfortable, certain they belonged here.
She thought about Kennedy. Her best friend from high school, who was starting at Maple Hollow Community College this week while working part-time at Pick-N-Save.
They'd texted this morning—kennedy sending a photo of herself in the store's vest, caption: living the dream lol
Maya had sent back a thumbs up. She should have sent more.
She remembered sophomore year. The cafeteria, lunch rush. Madison Porter making some comment about Maya's jeans being from Goodwill—loud enough for the whole table to hear. Kennedy had stood up, all five-foot-nothing of her, and told Madison to fuck off so loud that Mrs. Henderson came over. They'd both gotten detention.
Worth it, Kennedy had said, grinning.
At graduation, Kennedy cried so hard her mascara ran. Made Maya promise to text every day. Maya had promised.
Maya pulled out her phone. Typed: Miss you.
Kennedy's response came immediately: Miss you more. How's the fancy college?
Maya looked around the hallway. It's fine, she typed, then it's weird.
You got this, Kennedy wrote back. You're the smartest person I know.
Maya stared at the message.
She walked back to her room. Elena was at her desk, headphones on, typing fast, she didn't look up, and Maya was grateful for that.
Maya closed the door quietly and sat on her bed. The plastic mattress cover crinkled. Behind her, Elena kept on typing.
She pulled out her phone and called home.
The phone rang twice, then her mom answered.
"Mija! You made it! Tell me everything—is the room nice? Did you meet your roommate?"
"Yeah, Mom, I'm here. The room is good. My roommate's nice, her name's Elena. She's a junior."
"Oh, that's wonderful. A junior, so she can help you figure things out." Her mom sounded genuinely happy. In the background, Maya heard dishes clanging, water running. Then a loud metallic crash.
"What was that?"
"Oh, nothing, your brother knocked over a pot. Marco, cuidado!" A pause. "Sorry, mija. It's chaos here as usual."
Maya smiled despite herself. "Is Dad there?"
"He's in the garage, working on the car. He wanted me to tell you he loves you and to call him this weekend." Her mom's voice softened. "Maya, I just—I'm so proud of you. You know that, right? St. Benedict University. My own daughter."
Maya's throat tightened. "I know, Mom."
"This is your chance, mija. Everything we worked for. You focus on your classes and yourself, don't worry about anything here, okay? We're fine. You just have to do your best."
"I will."
"I love you so much."
"I love you too, Mom."
She hung up and sat there, phone in her lap, staring at the blank wall. Behind her, Elena's typing continued, steady and oblivious. The sound was oddly comforting.
The weight of it settled on her shoulders, she felt that familiar, suffocating feeling. The scholarship, the expectations, the knowledge that if she failed, she wouldn't just be letting herself down.
Her mom's double shifts at the diner meant coming home with her feet so swollen that she could barely get her shoes off. Her dad is taking construction gigs on weekends, even in winter when his back hurts. The months where dinner was beans and rice, over and over.
This wasn't just Maya's dream. It was theirs too.
She stood and walked to the window. Her legs tingled from sitting. The campus stretched below, students moving across the lawns in groups, laughing. None of them was thinking about money. None of them was counting meals.
Maya pressed her forehead against the glass and allowed herself five seconds of feeling small. Her eyes stung.
Elena looked up from her desk, her eyes catching Maya's used textbooks on the desk. She didn't comment on them either.
"Listen, Elena began, getting up from her desk, "I'm heading to a coffee thing with some lab mates, but help yourself to the Nespresso if you need a hit of caffeine. The pods are the bronze ones. Don't touch the silver ones, they're decaf."
She grabbed her tote bag and headed out.
Then she straightened and turned back to the room and made a decision.
She pulled out her orientation packet and flipped to page five, then began reading the schedule.
Classes start in three days. Three days to get her textbooks from the bookstore, figure out the meal plan, and map out the fastest routes between buildings. She needed to figure out which tier she could afford—unlimited, fourteen meals, or ten meals. Do the math on how many she could skip.
Three days to get her shit together.
She grabbed a pen from her bag and started making notes in the margins of the packet. Building names, room numbers, and times. By the time she looked up again, the sun had set completely. The room was dim except for Elena's desk lamp.
Outside, someone's music drifted past in the hallway and slowly faded.
Maya turned on her own desk lamp and kept working.
She sat at her desk and pulled out a yellow pad. Clicked her pen. Started making a list.
Textbooks. Meal plan—figure out the cheapest option. Class schedule. Library hours. Office
hours for professors. Campus job applications.
She underlined textbooks twice, the pen digging into the paper. Then she looked at the list, at all the things she needed to do,
She knew what came next.
Work.