Scammed by Chatbot University

I looked at the mob closing in on me and took a deep breath.

If I pushed back now, I was sure what had happened in my last life would happen again.

This time around, I did not just want to watch them crash and burn. I needed to keep myself safe while it happened.

Besides, none of them knew that students on national scholarships had their records handled outside of the regular application system.

As the gold medalist in this year’s National Physics Olympiad, I had been personally selected by Pemberton's dean for guaranteed admission. My file had been pulled into Pemberton's system long ago.

Even if I put Cloverfield Community College in the portal, my records were already sitting safe and sound in Pemberton's admissions office.

I put on my best frightened look, bit my lip, and let a flicker of ‘surrender’ cross my face.

"Fine, I'll change it. But I can't bring myself to do it. Gavin, you do it for me."

I gave him my username and password.

Gavin let out a smug, triumphant scoff, as though he had just won the war. He immediately logged into my account and deleted every top-tier university I had listed as the entire class watched. He hammered in the diploma mill's name with obvious glee and slammed the ‘submit’ button.

"Done!" He held up the phone for the whole class to see.

The classroom exploded into thunderous cheers. Phoebe flicked her hair with a satisfied toss and typed my name into the chatbot.

"There, Maren. Babble has already replied. Your Pemberton spot is locked in. Make sure you thank me properly when the semester starts."

I looked at the staggering stupidity on Phoebe's face and smiled with a nod.

"Of course. When the semester starts, I will definitely 'thank' you properly."

I walked out of the classroom with my bag slung over my shoulder. Behind me, I could hear them making plans to go out and celebrate all night.

I looked up at the blinding sun and felt lighter than I had in a long time.

I wanted them to go ahead and celebrate, to let it all out. The higher they flew, the harder they would break when they fell.

The long, sweltering summer passed in a haze of manic excitement for the rest of the class. The group chat blew up every single day, hundreds of unread messages piling up without end.

Phoebe ruled the chat like she had crowned herself queen.

Phoebe: [Has everyone bought their Pemberton spirit shirts yet? I’ve already got mine! We're all wearing them when we show up to Pemberton on our first day!]

Gavin: [Got mine! Whatever Phoebe wears, I wear! I can't wait to see the look on the Pemberton security guards' faces when 43 of us show up at once!]

Keira: [I'm so excited! Oh, by the way, did everyone get the acceptance letter from that vocational college? I'm dying of laughter. They actually mailed it to me!]

Sure enough, by mid-August, the physical acceptance letters from the vocational college had landed in their mailboxes one after another.

The group chat panicked for about half a minute. Then, Phoebe sent a screenshot from Babble.

In the screenshot, Babble was spouting its usual nonsense with perfect confidence.

Babble: [Dear user, receiving the vocational college acceptance letter is a standard part of the operation’s protocol. Please do not be alarmed. Your internal Pemberton student file has been fully registered. Simply present your ID at the Pemberton freshman check-in desk on September 1st.]

With Babble's stamp of approval, the class threw caution to the wind entirely. They ripped up their vocational college acceptance letters, burned them, and even filmed themselves doing it for social media.

Meanwhile, I had quietly signed my own acceptance letter at the beginning of August. It was an exclusive guaranteed-admission letter, personally signed by Pemberton's dean.

I locked it away in my desk drawer and waited in silence for the first day of the semester to arrive.