Page 2 of A Deal with my Bully Roommate

"Oh, I care about the material," Harper purrs, stepping closer. "In fact, I care so much that I’d hate for you to get ahead of me. You know how it is. There’s only one top spot in this department, and I don't plan on sharing it with someone who smells like lavender detergent and desperation."

As she speaks, she tilts her cup. It’s a slow, deliberate movement. A stream of sticky, caramel-colored liquid pours over the edge, drenching the corner of my backpack and soaking into the pages of my notebook that’s peeking out.

"Oops," she says, her eyes flashing with a cruel, bright light. "My hand slipped. I guess some people just aren't meant to have nice things, Avery. Maybe you can find some 'vintage' notes at the thrift store to replace those?"

The laughter of her friends follows me as I shove past them, my face burning. I don't look back. I don't give her the satisfaction of seeing the tears prickling my eyes. I head straight for the library bathrooms, locking myself in a stall and frantically dabbing at my notes with paper towels. The ink is running, the logic of the demand curves blurring into a mess of blue and brown.

I sit on the closed toilet lid, my chest heaving. It’s high school all over again. The same humiliation, the same powerlessness. My scholarship depends on my GPA, and she knows it. She isn't just bullying me; she’s trying to sabotage my future before it even starts.

"I am going to ruin her," I whisper to the empty stall. The words feel heavy and dark in my mouth. "I am going to find a way to make her crawl."

I spend the rest of the afternoon in a corner of the library, re-copying my notes from memory and a borrowed textbook. By the time I head back to the dorm, the sun has set, and the campus is bathed in a cold, blue twilight. My anger hasn't faded; it’s settled into a hard, cold lump in my stomach.

When I reach Dorm 111, I hesitate at the door. I can hear music playing inside—something upbeat and expensive-sounding. I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and push the door open.

The room is dim, lit only by the glow of a single lamp on Harper’s desk. But Harper isn't at her desk. She’s at mine.

She’s hunched over my laptop—the ancient, clunky machine I saved up for two summers to buy. Her back is to me, her fingers moving frantically over the keys. She doesn't hear me enter. I stand frozen, watching her. My heart starts to hammer against my ribs as I realize she isn't just looking at it. She’s in my files.

I see the screen flicker. She’s in my "Thesis Draft" folder. It’s something I’m working on, hoping to get my scholarship renewed at the end of the semester. I know it’s still too early to work on it, but I like being prepared. However, that doesn’t explain why my arch-rival and bully is going through my notes.

My breath hitches. This is the paper worth forty percent of my grade in Constitutional Law. If that file disappears, I’m done.

I don’t think. I react. Pulling out my phone, I take a picture of Harper going through my files, proof of her plagiarism. When she hears the shutters click, she turns with a gasp.

“Avery!” She jumps, nearly knocking my chair over as she spins around. Her face is ghostly white in the blue light of the screen, her eyes wide and panicked. She looks like a deer caught in headlights—no, she looks like a criminal caught in the act.

"Step away from the laptop, Harper," I say, my voice low and vibrating with a rage I’ve never felt before. I take a few steps forward and notice that my thesis draft is open on the screen. Caught red-handed. “What are you trying to do with my thesis, Harper? Because it looks a lot like stealing to me.”

"Avery—I—it’s not what it looks like," she stammers, her hand instinctively reaching out to cover the keyboard.

"Isn’t it? Because as far as I can see, you’re trying to academically sabotage me," I say, walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps. I feel like I’m vibrating. "Plagiarism. I know it’s a big word, Harper, and the consequences are bigger. According to the student handbook, is grounds for getting kicked out of the course and immediate expulsion. No appeals. No 'daddy’s money' fixes. You’re gone, Harper."

"No! Wait!" She lunges for my arm as I raise my phone, determined to send the picture. Her grip is frantic, her fingers digging into my skin. "You can’t report me. Please. Avery, listen to me."

"Why should I? So, you can spill more coffee on my life?" I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over the contact for the Dean of Students. "I’ve been waiting for you to slip up, Harper. I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to hand me the rope to hang you with."

"Please," she whispers, and for the first time in six years, I hear her voice break. A single tear tracks through her perfect makeup. I’m not falling for her act. "If I get expelled... my parents... they’ll cut me off completely. They’ve already arranged a marriage for me back home with a business heir, and the only reason I’m here is to get the degree they want. If I fail, they’ll pull me out tomorrow. I’ll have nothing. No freedom, no choice. I’ll just be... a trophy."

I stop. My thumb stays hovered over the call button. I look at her—really look at her. She looks small. She looks terrified. The "Queen Bee" has been replaced by a girl who is drowning in her own gilded life. For a second, a flicker of pity stirs in my chest, but then I remember the coffee-soaked notes. I remember the four years of hell.

Pity is for people who haven't been stepped on.

“That’s not my problem,” I say. “What you did was wrong, and you know it. The bullying is bad, but this? This is a crime, Harper. I don’t care if you end up marrying some stuck-up frat boy and dropping out. I’m not letting you slip out of this one.”

“Please!” She begs. “I’ll do anything you ask me to. Just say the word. I can’t afford to be kicked out of college. I promise I’ll make this worth your while.”

I pull my arm back, but I don't put the phone away. A slow, dark realization settles over me. I don't want her gone. If she’s gone, the game is over. If she stays... I have her. I have the ultimate leash. And she did say she’d do anything for me. Harper has no idea what she’s got coming.

“Anything?” I ask with mock innocence.

“Anything. Avery. I'll pay for your notes, I'll buy you a new laptop, I'll—"

"I don't want your money, Harper," I cut her off, my eyes locking onto hers. I step into her space, forcing her to lean back against my desk. "I want something else. A deal.”

“A deal?” her blue eyes widen.

“That’s right. I’ll keep my mouth shut about this, but in exchange, for the next thirty days, you are my personal assistant. My slave to be precise. You carry my bags to class. You do my laundry. You sit on the floor when I’m at the desk. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. Your soul belongs to me. Do we have a deal?"