Chapter 1: Bribes, Bikes, and Blackmail

When I purposely popped the chain off my professor’s old bike, the campus heartthrob totally caught me red-handed.

My heart leapt into my throat. The late afternoon sun slanted through the bike shed, painting everything gold—except for the mortification burning on my cheeks. I froze, grease-stained fingers halfway to my pocket, caught like a raccoon in a trash can.

"I’ll, um, give you five bucks. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?"

I tried to sound casual, but my voice wobbled. I could feel sweat beading on my neck, sticky and cold. The silence stretched, and I tried to look anywhere but at his eyes.

"Ten!"

He cocked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. I caught my own wide-eyed, desperate reflection in his glasses. I cringed, but my stubbornness kicked in.

"Fifty. That’s all I’ve got!"

He pulled out his phone. I gritted my teeth, added him on Venmo, and sent him fifty bucks.

The transfer went through with a little digital ding, and I felt my dignity drop another notch. I wiped my hands on my jeans, trying to act like this was totally normal. Fifty bucks lighter, but at least my secret was safe—hopefully.

After helping the professor fix her chain, I managed to get on her good side.

It was the first time in college I felt like I’d actually played the system and won. The bike chain trick worked—she thanked me with that warm, approving smile that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I belonged here after all.

When I went to my advisor’s house for dinner, I saw the campus heartthrob call out, "Mom!" at her.

It was like the universe pressed pause. There he was, in the doorway, calling out for his mom, and my brain just short-circuited. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him?

In sophomore year, we got to pick our advisors. From day one, I’d had only one target—

Professor Allison Grant!

Her name was basically legend in the psych department. I’d heard upperclassmen whisper about her in the library, like she was some kind of academic unicorn. Getting her as an advisor was like winning the campus lottery.

Her clinical psychology course was only available to juniors, and she was so popular that underclassmen had almost no shot at getting in.

Every time I tried to peek into her lectures, the room was packed. People were sitting on the floor, lining the back wall, just hoping to catch a word. I’d stand outside, listening to her voice through the cracked door, wishing I could just walk in and claim a seat.

Plus, her classes were always packed, so I never had the chance to sit in and get on her radar. My odds of being chosen were basically zero.

It wasn’t just the crowd—it was the aura. She had this way of making everyone feel seen, and I wanted that. But with so many people clamoring for her attention, I knew I’d have to do something drastic.

So, I had to get creative.

Desperation breeds ingenuity, right? I’d spent nights brainstorming, chewing my pencil to bits, until I landed on the bike idea.

Professor Grant usually biked to work. After staking things out for a few days, I figured out her schedule and where she parked.

I felt like a low-rent detective, jotting notes in my phone and timing her arrivals. It was a little creepy, but hey—college is all about hustle.

Thursday at 3 p.m., I snuck into the bike shed and crouched next to an old black Schwinn.

The shed smelled like rubber and dust. My heart pounded as I crouched behind a row of bikes, keeping an eye on the quad. My hands shook as I reached for the greasy chain.

My plan was to take off the chain and, when she got off work, pretend to be passing by and offer to help fix it. Then I’d introduce myself, get on her radar, and boost my chances of being picked.

It sounded a little deranged when I said it out loud, but it was all I had. If I could just get her to remember my name, maybe that would be enough.

Everything went smoothly at first—I got the chain off just fine.

The chain slipped off with a satisfying clink. I grinned, picturing Professor Grant’s delighted surprise. My fingers were black with grease, but it felt like a badge of honor.

I could practically see Professor Grant smiling at me with kind approval.

In my head, she was already shaking my hand, saying, "Jamie, you’re exactly the kind of resourceful student I need." I was practically floating.

A sudden voice shattered my daydream. "What are you doing?"

I yelped, almost dropping the chain. My heart leapt into my throat. I spun around, squinting into the dappled light.

Startled, I fell back onto the concrete and turned to see a guy standing under the big maple tree. I had no idea when he’d gotten there.

He was leaning against the trunk like he’d been there forever, hands in his pockets, an unreadable look on his face. The sun caught the edges of his glasses, making him look both angelic and annoyingly smug.

Wasn’t that Lucas Grant, the campus heartthrob?

Of all people. I’d seen him around—always with a crowd, always with that cool, distant vibe. Now he was staring right at me, and I wanted to melt into the pavement.

When I first heard about Lucas from my roommate, who ran the campus confessions Instagram, I’d just scoffed. I barely even knew the guys in my own class—why would I care about some campus heartthrob? I’d never voted in those polls!

I’d laughed off the hype, insisting I was immune to campus crushes. But the way my roommate giggled over his photos made me curious.

Later, she showed me a photo of Lucas posted on the confessions page. He really was good-looking—tall, handsome, with thin black-rimmed glasses and an air about him, almost like a young movie star.

He had that effortless, clean-cut look—like he’d stepped out of a J.Crew ad. The kind of guy who made you want to straighten your posture. Or check your teeth in your phone screen.

But what did that have to do with me, a campus survivor scraping by on two hundred bucks a month?

I was the girl who lived on instant noodles and the free coffee in the psych lounge. Guys like Lucas belonged in a different universe.

I never thought I’d actually run into him today.

Handsome? Yeah, right. More like the devil.

My pulse was racing, and my mouth went dry. This was exactly the kind of cosmic joke that only happened to me.

I stammered out a lie: "I saw the professor’s bike chain fall off as I was passing by and wanted to help fix it."

The words tumbled out, way too fast. I tried to smile. Pretty sure it looked more like a grimace.

He pushed up his glasses, his tone flat: "I saw everything."

He sounded bored, but his eyes were sharp. I felt like a bug under a microscope. My cheeks flamed.

A million scenarios flashed through my mind in that instant.

I pictured my name plastered all over campus, students whispering behind my back, professors shaking their heads in disappointment. I could almost hear the confessions page blowing up, you know?

He’d post about me on the confessions page, and the whole school would roast me. Professor Grant’s kind smile would turn into stern scolding. I’d get publicly shamed and become a total pariah.

I could see it: my scholarship revoked, my photo turned into a meme, people snickering in the dining hall. I’d have to transfer to another school, maybe change my name. All because of one stupid bike chain.

No way!

I hurriedly pulled out the last of my cash and pleaded, "Lucas, I’ll give you five bucks. Just please don’t tell anyone, okay? I swear I’m a good person."

My voice cracked at the end. I felt pathetic, but I had no shame left to lose. I pressed the crumpled bill in his direction, hoping he’d take pity on me.

Though, honestly, sneaking around like this didn’t exactly scream "good person."

A little voice in my head was already mocking me. I tried to look sincere, but my hands were shaking.

He said nothing.

He just stared, letting the silence stretch until I wanted to scream. I shifted my weight, feeling smaller by the second.

I gritted my teeth. "Ten!"

My desperation was starting to show. I dug through my pockets for more cash, but my wallet was nearly empty.

Still nothing.

He didn’t even blink. I wondered if he was secretly enjoying my panic.

Ten wasn’t enough? Guess bribing guys is pricey.

I let out a little, nervous laugh. "Guess inflation hits everything, huh?"

"Fifty! That’s all I’ve got!"

I waved the bills in the air, voice rising. If this didn’t work, I was out of options. I could feel my face burning.

If he still didn’t take it, then so be it—let him expose me. I had nothing left to lose.

I squared my shoulders, trying to look defiant, but my hands were shaking. I was ready to walk away, consequences be damned.

Lucas finally nodded. "Add me on Venmo."

His voice was calm, almost amused. Like he was dealing with a lost puppy instead of a criminal mastermind.

"Can’t I just hand you the cash?"

I was hoping he’d take pity on me, but he just shook his head.

"I’m worried you’re a scammer. This way I can track you down later."

His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. I rolled my eyes, but inside I was relieved.

Ugh, extortionist, I grumbled to myself.

I grumbled under my breath, but did as he said. My thumb hovered over the send button, my pride shriveling with every second.

Fuming, I added him on Venmo and sent him fifty dollars.

The little payment notification popped up, sealing my fate. I gave him a glare that said, "Don’t mess with me," but he just pocketed his phone, cool as ever.

When Professor Grant got off work, I “happened” to pass by and saw her frowning at her bike.

I made sure to time it just right, lingering near the bike shed like I had all the time in the world. When she arrived, I put on my best "concerned student" face.

I put on my biggest smile and walked over. "Professor Grant, I’m Jamie Miller from Applied Psych, Section 2. Did your bike chain fall off? I can fix it for you."

I tried to sound casual, but my heart was pounding so hard I thought she’d hear it. I flashed my student ID for good measure.

She smiled at me gratefully.

Her smile was even warmer in person. She looked genuinely relieved. For a second, I felt like a hero.

I quickly fixed it. "Professor Grant, it’s Jamie Miller from Applied Psych, Section 2. I fixed your chain."

I made sure to repeat my name, hoping it would stick. I tried not to sound too eager, but I couldn’t help it.

"Thank you."

Her voice was soft, but it felt like a gold star. I grinned, feeling a little dizzy with relief.

I kept going: "No need to thank me. I’m Jamie Miller from Applied Psych, Section 2."

Okay, maybe I was overdoing it, but I wanted to make sure she’d remember me. I could feel my cheeks burning.

She gave me a strange look and nodded. "Got it. See you, Jamie." I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

After she left, my palms were sweaty and my heart was pounding.

I leaned against the bike rack, clutching my chest. I’d pulled it off—barely. I closed my eyes and whispered, "Please let this work."

Please let this work!

I crossed my fingers, making a silent deal with the universe. If this worked, I’d never mess with anyone’s bike again.

The next day, when it was time to choose advisors, my hand shook as I wrote down Professor Grant’s name.

I pressed my pen so hard it nearly tore the paper. My nerves were shot, but I forced myself to write clearly—no smudges, no mistakes.

That night, the results came out—I got picked.

I stared at the email, not daring to believe it. My roommate screamed and hugged me. I felt like I’d just been handed the keys to the city.

Mac and cheese and pickles tasted extra sweet the next two days.

Even my sad little dinner felt like a feast. I celebrated by treating myself to an extra pickle and texting my mom the good news.

At our first group meeting, Professor Grant asked if we’d like to help the older students with their experiments. Everyone nodded.

Her office smelled like coffee and books. I tried to look cool. Inside, I was bouncing off the walls.

We got assigned to a new project. At first, we’d just be assisting the upperclassmen.

I didn’t care if I was just fetching coffee or entering data—I was in. That was all that mattered.

Professor Grant specialized in Alzheimer’s research and had published several top-tier journal articles—she was a leading figure in our department.

She was the real deal. Sometimes I’d catch her name in academic journals in the library, and it made me proud just to be in her orbit.

She was strict with us academically, but in life, she was like a kind mom who never hesitated to spend money on us.

She’d bring in bagels for morning meetings and never let anyone go hungry. I felt like I’d found a second family.

She even invited us over for dinner that weekend.

The invitation felt like a golden ticket. I spent hours agonizing over what to wear, what to bring, and how not to spill anything on her carpet.

A few of us bought a bouquet of carnations and rang her doorbell. When the door opened, a handsome face greeted us.

I recognized him instantly—Lucas, looking even more annoyingly perfect in a faded college hoodie. He gave us a polite, neutral smile. But his eyes lingered on me for a split second longer.

I froze.

My mind went blank, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Of all the houses, of all the weekends...

But Lucas acted like he didn’t know me. He raised his voice and called inside, "Mom, your students are here!"

He sounded casual, but I caught the ghost of a smirk. I wanted to sink into the welcome mat.

My mind went blank.

I stared at him, trying to process what I’d just heard. Mom? My professor was his mom?

Mom…

It echoed in my head, surreal and a little terrifying. I’d bribed the campus heartthrob, and now I was eating dinner at his house. Fantastic.

Professor Grant invited us in. Lucas sat right across from me.

I tried not to look at him, but every time I glanced up, he was there—cool, collected, like nothing ever happened. I picked at my salad, wishing I could disappear.

The whole meal, I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles.

I could barely taste the food. Every laugh, every question, I wondered if Lucas would say something—spill my secret or make a joke. He didn’t.

From dinner to chatting with Professor Grant, I never found a chance to talk to Lucas alone, so I had to bottle everything up for later.

I kept sneaking glances at him, but he never looked my way. I felt like I was holding my breath the whole night.