Story code: ST-001765
Part 2: The Portal
The tile floor seeped cold water through the knees of Clara’s jeans. She stared at the blue leather of her wallet resting in Chloe’s palm. The demand for the portal PIN echoed over the rushing in Clara’s ears. The student portal held everything: her transcripts, her financial aid disbursement, her upcoming course schedule, her private messages with academic advisors.
Clara shook her head, pressing her spine against the cheap plastic of the shower curtain. The curtain rings clattered against the metal rod. She told Chloe she couldn’t have it. She demanded her wallet back, stepping forward and extending a trembling hand.
Chloe stepped back smoothly, maintaining the distance between them. She slipped the wallet back into her hoodie pocket alongside the crushed, blood-spotted blister pack. She didn’t raise her voice. She simply pulled a smartphone from her back pocket, tapped the screen alive, and navigated to the university’s login page. She held the phone up, the blue light reflecting in the dark circles under her eyes, and repeated the demand.
Clara’s lungs burned from the bleach fumes. She asked Chloe why she was doing this. She pointed at the pocket where the foil pack had vanished. She asked why Chloe hadn’t just called the RA or an ambulance if she was so concerned about what she found in the trash.
Chloe let out a short, hollow laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. She explained that an ambulance would mean campus security, which would mean an incident report. An incident report would require an investigation into why a student was bleeding heavily enough to soak three layers of rough brown paper towels, and what exactly those crushed foil bubbles had contained. Chloe kept her eyes locked on Clara, stating plainly that she didn’t care about Clara’s health. She cared about the waitlist for Dr. Aris’s advanced biochemistry seminar.
The air rushed out of Clara. The seminar. The capstone course with a strict twelve-student limit, guaranteeing a letter of recommendation for medical school. Clara had spent two years tailoring her prerequisites to secure her spot. Chloe was number one on the waitlist. If Clara dropped the class, the automated registration system would immediately pull Chloe in.
Clara shook her head again, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks. She told Chloe she wouldn’t do it. She had earned that spot. She pleaded, saying she would do all the room chores for the rest of the semester, pay for Chloe’s groceries, anything else.
Chloe leaned her shoulder against the locked door. She tapped her phone screen. She said she could hit the emergency dial button right now. She narrated exactly what would happen. Security would arrive in three minutes. They would smell the bleach. They would see Clara shaking in wet clothes. Chloe would hand over the blister pack and tell them Clara had performed a dangerous, unapproved medical procedure on herself in the shared suite. Chloe detailed the university’s zero-tolerance policy for biohazards and illicit substances. She mapped out the inevitable expulsion, the notification to Clara’s strict parents, the permanent black mark on her academic transcript that would ensure no other pre-med program would ever accept her.
The small bathroom felt like it was shrinking, the walls pressing inward. The smell of the chemicals made Clara nauseous, or maybe it was the realization of how thoroughly she was trapped. She looked at the brass deadbolt, then at the heavy sneakers blocking her path. If security saw that foil pack, the weekend she had just tried to erase would become a permanent, public record. The secret would destroy her family. It would destroy her future.
Clara’s jaw tightened. The metallic taste of fear flooded her mouth. She asked Chloe if that was it. If she gave up the PIN, and Chloe got the seminar spot, she asked if the blister pack would be destroyed.
Chloe nodded once, a sharp, businesslike dip of her chin. She promised that as soon as the registration transfer was confirmed, she would flush the foil down the toilet herself. She held the phone out, the portal login screen glowing brightly in the dim light.
Clara hesitated, her fingers hovering over the glass screen. Giving up the seminar meant throwing away her primary advantage for med school applications. It meant all her late-night studying, her flawless grades, her desperate need to be perfect had been for nothing. But refusing meant losing the university entirely. It meant facing the consequences of Friday night.
With a shaking index finger, Clara typed her nine-digit student ID into the first box. She tapped the password field and entered the eight-character PIN she had guarded so carefully. The screen loaded, spinning for a torturous second before displaying her personal student dashboard.
Chloe snatched the phone back immediately. She didn’t look at Clara. Her thumbs flew across the screen, navigating through the menus with practiced speed. She clicked into the current schedule, her eyes reflecting the glaring white background of the course list.
Clara watched, helpless, holding her breath. She waited for Chloe to tap the ‘Drop’ button next to the biochemistry seminar. She waited for the nightmare to be confined to a single academic setback.
Chloe paused. Her thumbs hovered over the screen. A slow, terrifying smile crept across her face, changing her entire demeanor. She didn’t click the course schedule. Instead, Clara watched in horror as Chloe’s thumb drifted upward, tapping the tab labeled ‘Financial Aid Disbursement’.
Clara lunged forward, her wet shoes slipping on the soapy tile. She yelled that the refund wasn’t hers to touch, that the money was for her off-campus housing deposit.
Chloe stepped back with ease, pulling the crumpled, bloody blister pack halfway out of her pocket. The rust-colored stains were stark against the silver foil. She raised a single eyebrow, daring Clara to take another step.
“The seminar is a good start,” Chloe murmured, her eyes flicking up to meet Clara’s, the smile not fading. “But let’s see where your tuition refund is being routed this semester.”