The Billionaire Student's Secret.

7

Immediately Leroy and his crew left, Jade ran up to where Harry sat weeping, astonished by Leroy's cruelty.

When Harry noticed her, he wiped away his tears and spoke, “What do you want?”

Jade was about to reply when he continued, “You're here to laugh at me, aren't you?”

Jade knelt beside him on the floor and looked at the reddened wrist Harry clutched with his good hand, “Why would I? Leroy is just a wicked bully.”

“And how would you know?” Harry was still distrustful. To get him to trust her, Jade had to tell him the story of how Leroy cost her her job.

When she was through, Harry shook his head, “The evil in that man is just too much.”

“But we can't let him get away with this,” Jade gestured to Tenzin's hand.

Harry looked the other way, “What can we do?”

“We can report him to the school authorities,” Jade suggested, and to her surprise, Harry burst into hysterical laughter, crying a little.

When he was through laughing, he quickly sobered up, “You want me, some nobody in this school, to report Leroy Hawkins, the school's golden boy to the authorities?”

“Yes,” Jade nodded.

“You're naïve if you think anything will come out of it, except more injuries for me,” Harry replied.

Jade was confused, “Look Harry, if you report Leroy for physical abuse, I'll be your witness. Together, we can get him suspended and his sports scholarship revoked.”

“No, thank you,” Harry snapped. Raising his right hand gingerly, he showed off his wrist which had begun to get inflamed, “do you know what Leroy did just now? He has made it impossible for me to write my other tests and quizzes, because I sure as hell am not ambidextrous.”

Jade was aghast, berating herself for not thinking about that in the first place. Her anger towards Leroy doubled, tripled and quadrupled in the space of a second. Harry was going to miss all his mid-semesters, and that meant he'd lose a whopping ten marks. He'd have to work harder to get an A+.

“I'm sorry, Harry” Jade stood and offered him a hand to draw him up, “let's get you to the clinic before irreparable damage is done to that hand.”

Harry ignored her outstretched hand and regarded her warily, “Why are you helping me?”

Jade sighed, sad that Harry had been hurt so much that he was wary of trusting of her, “Because I know how it feels to be at the receiving end of Leroy's mephistophelian acts.”

The side of Tenzin's mouth turned upwards a bit, “Mephistophelian, eh?”

“That's right.” Jade gestured to her still outstretched hand, “get up, Harry. Let's get you to the clinic.”

Harry grabbed her hand clumsily with his left hand and stood.

“Thank you,” Harry looked away shyly, “but you actually don't have to go to the clinic with me.”

Jade smiled, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, “I don't want to keep you back from any other appointments you may have.”

Jade didn't have any appointments but she nodded and turned to leave. She knew Harry felt ashamed that she'd caught him at a vulnerable moment and probably didn't want to spend anymore time with her. If she imposed her presence on him, he'd probably dismiss her and avoid her until the day they both graduated. That was the last thing Jade wanted because Harry was in sore need of a friend, and she had decided she'd be his friend and make his life as less miserable as she could manage.

“Make sure you get a doctor's report,” Jade advised as she waved, “some lecturers might consider your condition if you present them with the report.”

* * *

Situated near the faculty of arts, Barry's bar was an unofficial hangout spot for the arts students of Blossom College which meant it was filled to the brim with students of all levels who majored in the various arts.

It was a brick bungalow with a low lit interior and moderately priced drinks and beautiful waitresses, the two major factors that attracted students to the bar.

Charles sat at a corner, observing the things going on in the bar. It was what he did whenever he got too excited before an appointment. Watching university students act like the world was their oyster was his go-to whenever he wanted to douse his ardor.

Three slightly drunk stuffy young men were arguing over who made some quote. Two said it was Shakespeare, while one said it was the Bible.

Charles smirked, all three were wrong. The quote was from Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus.

Two young women were fawning over some man in their class, and one woman who sat alone was writing down something, peeping into a textbook once in a while.

Charles was about to cast his gaze on a couple who were on their eighth bottle of beer when a someone sat before him, blocking his view.

Charles sighed and slowly looked at who had obstructed his view. It was a smirking Brummel Cassius. He was wearing an ill-fitting designer leather bomber jacket which failed to hide the beginnings of a potbelly.

“Charles, old friend, fancy meeting you here,” Brummel grinned, showing off a set of disarrayed dentition.

With all his father's money, why couldn't the man just fix his dentition? Charles wondered, irritated.

“I came here to be alone,” Charles replied as coldly as he could.

Brummel didn't take the hint, “Who goes to a bar to stay alone?”

Motioning to a waitress, Brummel continued speaking, “Do you come here often?”

“Nope,” Charles scowled, Brummel was really disturbing him.

The waitress appeared and Brummel's attention moved to her. Looking at her in a way that Charles was sure made her feel uncomfortable, Brummel proceeded to make his order as suggestively as possible, raising a hand to slap the beautiful woman's behind as she turned to leave.

Without reasoning, Charles leaned over and high-fived the hand while it was still in the air, shocking and annoying Brummel.

“What the f**k was that, bro?” Brummel's brow furrowed, annoyed he had missed the chance to spank the waitress.

“Sorry,” Charles apologized insincerely, “I really thought you wanted a high-five.”

“Why would I want that?” Brummel asked, disgusted.

Charles shrugged, barely holding back his laughter.

Brummel glared at him for a moment and then took a deep breath, “I actually came here to ask you for something.”

Charles leveled a look at Brummel, “What?”

Brummel ran a finger through the curly mess he called hair and lowered his voice, “I'm throwing a party at my crib this weekend.”

Charles was confused. Why was Brummel whispering about throwing a party? Usually, he blasted the news all over campus and on social media.

“So?” Charles asked, Brummel knew he never attended parties but usually still invited him. Charles suspected it was to annoy him, “I'm not attending.”

“Fine by me,” Brummel continued to whisper, “that's not what I wanted to ask you for.”

“What is it?” Charles asked impatiently, staring at his wristwatch. The last thing he wanted was to be late for his appointment.

“I need to borrow your vintage Maserati.” Brummel exhaled.

Black's eyes narrowed in thought, “I have five cars, and none of them is a Maserati.”

Brummel's cheeks reddened, “I know. The car belongs to your father.”

Charles smiled, “Why do you want it?”

Brummel grew animated and his tone increased, “There's this hot girl I've been trying to get in the sack, but she's been playing hard to get. I only realized yesterday that she's a vintage car freak. I was hoping you'd lend me your old man's car. If she thinks I own it, she'll probably spread her legs for me.”

Charles grew disgusted at Brummel's vulgarity, “You want me to give you my father's favorite car so you can get laid?”

Brummel nodded enthusiastically.

Charles glanced at his watch and stood, it was almost time for his appointment and he wouldn't run late for an i***t like Brummel.

“No,” Charles said firmly to Brummel, and with that he walked away.

Brummel growled under his breath, “Who the f**k does he think he is, giving me attitude because I asked for his father's car? I'll make sure he pays for his snobby attitude.”