The Billionaire Student's Secret.

6

“Students, you have thirty minutes more,” Professor Clarke announced imperiously after glancing at his watch, “why haven't you started writing?”

A murmur washed over the class, and Brummel Cassius was brave enough to say, “We can only write if we know what to write.”

Charles pushed the noise out of his head, and continued scribbling on his test script. There was so much he wanted to write, and so little time. He wanted to make sure he aced this test so well, Professor Clarke would have no other option but to give him an A +.

He stopped to think of how to put his next sentence into words when he discovered he was the only one writing. The rest of the class were either biting their pens or staring at the lecturer. Wait, except for the mouse and another man Charles was noticing for the first time.

He frowned and continued writing. When his back felt too stiff from leaning forward to write, he leaned back and was rewarded with biting pain that washed all over his back.

Charles groaned aloud before he could stop himself, attracting Professor Clarke's attention.

“Mr. Li,” Professor Clarke c****d a brow, “is anything the matter?”

Charles shook his head, “Not at all, sir.” and continued to write. He remembered what had transpired the day before, before he'd revised for the test. His rescheduled appointment had held, and he had enjoyed it to the very end. Thinking of the events brought a smile to his face.

“Everyone, Charles is smiling,” Professor Clarke remarked, “the questions must be quite cheap.”

As if, Charles scoffed internally. Professor Clarke went out of his way to set questions that were as tough as nails.

Charles wiped the smile off his face and shoved the memories of the day before to a little compartment in his head, to be opened only when he was alone. No need getting horny in an examination hall.

Ten minutes later, Charles was through with his test. He crosschecked his work, correcting a few grammatical errors, and when he found his work satisfactory, he stood to submit.

As he made his way to the front of the class where Professor Clarke stood, he heard shouts of awe from his course mates and smirked, yes, he'd spent a lot of time studying so he wouldn't end up like them.

From his peripheral vision, Charles saw the clod, Leroy Hawkins peek into his neighbor, the man Charles had first noticed some minutes ago, and almost laughed out loud when the man covered his script to prevent Leroy's roving eyes.

Leroy whispered furiously to the man, but he shook his head and kept his paper closed.

As Charles was about to submit, someone before him, stood abruptly and also handed her paper over to Professor Clarke.

From her perpetually dishevelled hair, Charles could tell it was Mouse. In order not to bump into her, Charles hit his leg on a chair and dropped his paper, which a gust of breeze carried and dropped it in front of her.

Mouse picked up the paper and handed it to him, avoiding eye contact.

Charles snatched his paper from her without thanks, and was about to hand in his paper when a tiny hand grasped his wrist.

Black's eyebrows shot up in shock, Mouse had had the audacity to hold onto him.

“What is it?” Charles growled as belligerently as he could.

Mouse pointed at some red scuff marks on the inside of his wrist. They were fading, but were still visible and red enough that she'd spotted them. He had fallen and scraped his hands in a haste to get to school.

“Are you okay?” Mouse asked, her eyes big pools of concern.

Charles snatched away his hand and ignored her. What game was she trying to play, acting as though she gave a whit about the marks on him? He saw the hateful glares she shot him whenever she thought he wasn't looking, and even he was staring at her.

“Here's my paper, Sir,” Charles submitted his script to Professor Clarke who happily collected it.

“May I be excused?” Charles asked, not wanting to spend a minute more in the same room with Mouse.

“Of course,” Professor Clarke smiled. Facing the class, he added, “if you're done, submit your paper and leave.”

Charles bowed to the professor and left, leaving a stunned Mouse in his wake.

* * *

Jade muttered to herself as she walked down the hallways of the university, recounting her problems. She had no job, and soon, she would have no money for her tuition and accommodation fees. The only good thing had been the test she had written earlier in the day, and that too had been marred by Black's rude and uncouth behavior towards her.

Jade blamed herself for being stupid enough to care about him. Seeing those marks on his wrist had shocked her. If she guessed correctly, they were from abrasions. Jade wondered what Charles had done to get those marks.

She knew she had taken him unawares by grabbing his hand, but in her defense, she'd taken herself unawares too. Did he really think she'd wanted to hold his hand? Ewwww, gross.

Charles had no excuse for throwing off her hand in front of the class like that, Jade concluded as she stomped on to her destination.

She was pulled out of her murderous thoughts towards Charles by a what looked to be an argument in one of the secluded corners of the school, an abandoned classroom block which students studied in when they did not want to go to the library.

Jade paused to find out what was going on, and saw Leroy Hawkins with his crew who hung around him like a pack of flies.

Leroy was shouting at a young man in Jade's class. Jade had forgotten his name because the man rarely talked in class, but she knew him to be smart.

The man was thin and looked guileless. He always wore sweaters and jeans no matter the weather.

“Harry! You motherfucker!” Leroy pushed him, “what did you do in Professor Clarke's class today?”

Harry swallowed audibly, his bulbous Adam's bobbing up and down, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh!” Leroy looked at his men, “he doesn't know what I'm talking about.”

Before anyone could react, Leroy slapped Harry so hard it echoed off the walls of the classroom. Leroy's crew laughed like idiots.

Harry held his offended cheek with both hands, looking like he was going to cry, “But I didn't do anything.”

Leroy laughed, “So, what about when I asked you to let me copy your work, why did you refuse?”

“Because it's unethical and unprofessional to copy or let someone else copy your work,” Harry stammered, stepping backwards until his back hit a wall.

“Well, it seems that slap had no effect on you,” Leroy remarked advancing threateningly toward Harry, “you are still bold enough to give me a lecture.”

Harry began to cower, pleading, “Please, Leroy, please. I won't do it again. Next time, I'll let you copy, please. In fact, I'll write your own test for you.”

Leroy threw his head back and laughed raucously, obviously enjoying making Harry grovel and cower before him. His crew followed suit.

When Leroy was through laughing, he nodded, “You know what? I'll let you off with a warning this time.”

Stretching out his hand, Leroy commanded, “Give me your hand.”

Harry looked scared, “What for?”

Leroy scowled, “Bring it here.”

Harry fearfully brought out his right hand and Leroy grabbed it. Before Harry could retract his hand, Leroy turned the hand facing palm forwards and applied pressure, pronating the hand.

Harry cried out and tried to shake off Leroy's grip and failed. Leroy continued applying pressure until a loud crunch was heard.

“Aaaaah!” Harry shouted, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Leroy released the hand, and Harry cradled it.

“I thought you said you'd let me off with a warning.” Harry wailed.

“Of course,” Leroy smirked, “this was just a warning. Next time, you'll be in the ICU.”

Satisfied with his work, Leroy and his men left, singing and laughing all the way.