Chapter 4: Turning the Tables

The criticism didn’t stop. More and more people joined in:

[Why use our money for your travel?]

[Yesterday you said we’d get $25 each, now we have to pay more?]

[@Jamie Lee, return the money!]

The chat was now a wall of “return the money” messages, the demand echoing over and over. It was a digital chant, relentless and unignorable.

Seeing row after row of “return the money” messages, I was wide awake. I threw off my blanket and started typing furiously:

[Don’t worry, everyone. I haven’t received that $75 either. When the president gives it to me, we can talk about returning it.]

But no one listened. The demands continued.

At that moment, my class officer roommate thoughtfully muted the group and deleted the messages accusing me of embezzlement. She comforted me:

Nicole put her hand on my shoulder, her voice soft: “Tomorrow I’ll ask the president to explain. Try to sleep. It’ll blow over.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, still scrolling. But Nicole just rolled over, letting the quiet take over the room.

But the next morning, the president casually replied:

[Every expense is accurately recorded. There can’t be a mistake.]

The message was short, almost dismissive. No apology, no clarification. My jaw tightened as I read it. That was all he had to say?

That only made things worse.

Now everyone was convinced I’d taken their $75.

Even if they stopped demanding repayment, they’d always believe I’d pocketed the money.

The thought gnawed at me. In a small school like ours, rumors traveled fast—one slip and your name was toast. I pictured people whispering about me in the dining hall, side-eyeing me in the student union. My reputation, ruined over $75? No way.

I was already annoyed that my dream of eating endless pizza with the class fund was shattered. Now this? I might as well figure out where the money really went.

So I stirred the pot in the group chat:

[Yesterday, it was calculated that everyone could get $25. 25 times 50 is $1,250. Today the president wants us to pay another $15 each—15 times 50 is $750.]

[Overnight, there’s a $2,000 difference in the class fund.]

[My item is only $75. Isn’t anyone curious where the other $1,900 went?]

I added a couple of calculator emojis for effect, knowing people couldn’t resist a good scandal when the math was that messy.

My phone buzzed with likes and fire emojis. People were finally waking up to the real math.

After posting, I immediately turned off my phone.

I tossed my phone under a pile of dirty laundry, heart racing. If they wanted a villain, maybe it was time to give them one.