The Rich Girl Dorm Trap

When dorm picks opened, two beds were left.

My hometown girl, Chloe Parker, beat me by a step and grabbed Room 501—the honors suite.

That left me with Room 502, the rich-girl suite.

In 501, the try-hards rode her nonstop. She made grad school.

In 502, I ran errands and pulled five grand a month.

At graduation, she snapped and shoved me off the roof.

"It's all your fault. Without you, I wouldn't wake up every day buried in studying. How'd you stack hundreds of thousands in four years while all I got was a useless grad school offer?"

I opened my eyes.

Dorm selection day.

Behind me, Chloe shoved past and lunged forward.

"I'm picking first. I want 502."

The Resident Director frowned. "Chloe. First come, first served. Mia picks first."

Pain from the impact still throbbed, my vision flickering in and out. Everything in front of me blurred.

Chloe gripped the 502 form like her life depended on it. "I have to get 502. Mia wouldn't fight me for it, right?"

That look—same as when she shoved me off the roof last time. Like if I said no, she'd jump me, choke me out, toss me down the stairs, and watch me hit.

Pain slammed through me, fogging everything. I staggered back. "Fine. We're classmates. You go first."

Then I turned to the RD. "Ms. Anderson, thank you. I'm good with 501 or 502."

No objections. Ms. Anderson wrote Chloe under 502. Just like she wanted.

Then she wrote "Mia Mercer" under 501.

My whole body went slack, like a popped balloon. I almost dropped.

The weight crushing me—gone. Just like that. Even breathing felt easy.

This time, I'm never stepping into 502.

After locking in 502, Chloe looked smug. If she had a tail, it'd be straight up.

She loomed over me. "I heard 501's full of nerds—SAT top scorers from all over. Sounds impressive, sure, but in the real world? They're not even worth a rich kid's pet. I made it in one move. I'm in a higher class now. Once I'm there, what won't I have? You think I'd still be missing a grad school offer?"

I kept my face blank. "What's wrong with top scorers? They're geniuses. The way you said it, you don't want grad school? You'd rather live like a pet?"

She sneered. "Genius? If you've got money, you're a genius. If you don't, you're an idiot. You know who lives in 502? They're—"

She cut herself off, eyes flicking around. Then she waved it off. "Forget it. You wouldn't get it. When you see me later, try sucking up. Maybe I'll toss you scraps."

She slapped on a sweet smile and hurried over to her three new roommates in 502, already working them.

I glanced at those girls. They traded looks, faint smiles tugging at their lips as they watched Chloe. Quiet. Calculating. Like they were silently signaling each other.

The leftover fear from last time hit hard. I turned and ran.

Room 502 was the rich girls' suite—that part was true. But those three? Monsters.

They had mansions, luxury condos, and penthouses, but still chose the dorms.

Why?

To "hunt."

Messing with regular students was their new hobby.

And Chloe?

She was the prey.