Fatal Frequency

The atmosphere in the room curdled instantly. The sympathetic looks vanished, replaced by suspicion and hostility.

Chloe's mind would not shut up.

"Ugh, if a scammer like Sylvie gets the grant, what happens to the kids who actually need it? Without this money, some of them might have to drop out. She's literally stealing education from the poor just to feed her vanity. Doesn't she feel bad?"

Mr. Carter's expression darkened with every word, and he cut me off before I could speak.

He said coldly, "Sylvie, clearly, your family isn't struggling as much as you claim. We'll be allocating this year's grant to someone else."

I did not panic. I did not flinch. I just calmly pulled a stack of paperwork from my bag.

"Sir, these are my verified documents from social services. They prove my financial status is exactly what I say it is." I held them up. "I need this grant just as much as anyone else here."

His expression wavered, and he looked unsure.

Seizing the moment, I pulled out my phone—a cracked, second-hand brick that took a solid three minutes just to load an app. I opened my payment history.

"If you don't believe the paperwork, sir, take a look at my spending for the last six months."

I held my phone up high, scrolling slowly with my other hand so everyone could see.

One-dollar shirts, five-dollar pants, three-dollar shoes, and ten-pack socks for two dollars. The only expense over a ten dollars in my entire history was for my prepaid phone bill.

Mr. Carter stared at the screen, stunned. He clearly had not expected anyone to actually be living like this. The rest of the class looked just as shocked.

"Can you even wear a shirt that costs a dollar?" one of the other applicants blurted out.

I pointed to the shirt I was wearing. It had been washed so many times that it was practically see-through, and the sleeves were pilling badly. I nodded. "Yes, you can."

The room's energy shifted again. Their anger was not directed at me anymore, and their eyes darted toward Chloe.

Chloe's face went stiff. Then, her thoughts betrayed her again.

"Wow, I didn't think Sylvie was this manipulative! She actually faked her transaction history just for this? Too bad she's an idiot. Her shoes give her away. Those are Balents, limited edition ones. They cost a whopping eight grand!"

Immediately, every eye in the room dropped to my feet. A few students whipped out their phones, snapping photos and running image searches. When the search results confirmed Chloe's claim, the outrage returned, hotter than before.

A student yelled, "Sylvie, one pair of your shoes is worth a year of my living expenses! Why are you trying to steal money from us?"

Mr. Carter looked at me with pure disgust. "Sylvie, we have no place in this class for a student with such moral bankruptcy. You don't deserve to be here."

I kept my voice steady. "Sir, I can explain—"

"What's there to explain?" Mr. Carter cut me off, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I already checked the serial number. Those shoes are legit."

He sneered, looking me up and down. "I'm a faculty member of this college, and even I can't even afford sneakers that cost eight grand. Yet, you still have the nerve to claim you're a struggling student?"

A few of the other grant applicants chimed in, sensing blood in the water.

One said, "Seriously, Sylvie. If you're loaded, stop trying to steal our financial aid. If we don't get that grant, we'll have to drop out and flip burgers."

They circled me, blocking my exit. I felt like a gladiator about to be fed to the lions.

Over by the window, Chloe smirked. She was loving every second of this.

My expression darkened. I was trying to figure out how to explain without revealing everything when a knock echoed from the door.

A hunched, elderly woman in tattered clothes stood nervously in the doorway. She was clutching a hefty trash bag bulging with recyclables.

Grandma!

Several classmates waved their hands in front of their noses, disgusted.

"Where did this lady come from? This is a college, not a dump."

"Ugh, she smells like a landfill. Where's security? Kick her out!"

I froze for a heartbeat, then shoved past the blockade of students. My face lit up as I called out, "Grandma! How did you get here?"