Chapter 3

3

The next afternoon, Professor Miller, our department head, sent an urgent blast to the group chat.

“General dorm safety and hygiene inspection tomorrow at 9 AM. Any room that fails will lose eligibility for this year’s scholarships and awards.”

Knox was the first to freak out.

“Holy crap, tomorrow?” He jumped up and almost slipped on a greasy takeout box.

He grabbed the desk to steady himself, looking around the room. His face went paler than it did after a ten-mile run.

Miles dropped his book and stared at the crusty red stain on the floor. He swallowed hard.

Sterling walked to the balcony door. When he saw the green puddle, his lip curled for a fraction of a second.

Then he turned around, his face resetting into a calm mask. But against the backdrop of that sour smell, he was struggling.

“Knox,” Sterling said, sounding like a manager at a meeting. “Weren't you supposed to scrub that stain ages ago?”

“I did!” Knox snapped. “I mopped it right after I took the trash out―”

“Then why is it still there?” Sterling pointed at the floor.

“Because someone else spilled something later! It wasn't me!”

“It wasn't me either,” Miles added quickly.

The three of them fell silent. Then they all turned to look at me.

I was sitting there reading, my headphones still on. I could feel the weight of their stares.

Sterling’s was heavy, like he was trying to offload a burden. Knox’s was desperate, like a drowning man reaching for a straw. Miles’s was hollow.

“Silas.” Sterling walked over. It took him seven steps to reach my bed.

He adjusted his expression with every step. By the sixth step, he was smiling.

“The inspection is tomorrow. You’re the expert at this. Can you give us some guidance?”

“Guidance on what?”

“On cleaning!” Knox blurted out. “You used to handle the whole room by yourself, Silas. You know where the blind spots are, the―”

I took off my headphones.

“I was the Floor Lead back then. I’m not anymore.”

Knox’s mouth hung open. The words died in his throat.

Sterling’s smile thinned out. He took another step forward, entering my personal space.

“Silas,” he said, using my full name for the first time. “Can we not do this? If we fail, it affects everyone in 404. You live here too. Your scholarships will be hit―”

“I won’t be affected.”

He froze. That one sentence hit him like a brick.

“What do you mean?”

I didn't answer. I just looked back down at my book.

He stood there, his jaw muscles twitching. It was the last bit of control he had before his mask completely shattered.

Then he laughed. It wasn't his usual fake laugh. It was cold.

“Fine,” he turned to the door and barked at Knox and Miles. “Someone clearly wants to watch us fail. We’ll do it ourselves.”

They spent the night scrubbing until 3 AM. The sound of mops, splashing water, and Knox’s constant cursing filled the room.

Sterling spent most of the night on the balcony making phone calls. When he finally came back in, his face was darker than the night sky.

The next morning at nine, Professor Miller arrived with two student reps.

She stood at the door for three seconds. Her face went through three stages: neutral, then a deep frown as she saw the floor, then wide-eyed shock at the balcony.

She didn't say a word. She put on a pair of rubber gloves and walked in.

First move: She reached under Knox’s bed and pulled out a takeout container covered in grey fuzzy mold.

Second move: She pointed at the balcony. A student rep checked the green water and put a big red ‘X’ on the score sheet.

Third move: She looked at my side of the room.

My bed was made. My desk was spotless. My shoes were lined up perfectly.

“Silas, did you clean your own area?”

“Yes, Professor.”

She nodded and scribbled something on her clipboard.

The inspection only lasted five minutes. After she left, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Knox was the first to speak. His voice was cracked. “We’re screwed.”

“Is it a formal citation?” Miles’s voice was trembling.

Before he could finish, Sterling’s phone lit up. A notification popped up in the department group chat.

“Room 404: Failed hygiene inspection. Formal reprimand issued. Scholarship eligibility suspended for the current academic year.”

The comments under the post exploded:

“Isn't 404 Sterling’s room?” “Doesn't he post about how clean he is every day?” “LOL. The ‘Cleanliness is my baseline’ post is still up. Talk about a self-own.” “What a fraud.”

Sterling stared at the screen, motionless. His thumb kept swiping, looking for a way to undo it. But you can't delete a public announcement.

Half a minute later, he slowly looked up and locked his eyes on me.

“It was you.”

“What?”

“You did this on purpose.” He slammed his phone face down on the desk. His voice rose an octave.

“You knew the inspection was coming. You knew we couldn't handle it, and you sat there and watched us fail! You wanted 404 to get cited! You wanted to kill my scholarship!”

Knox opened his mouth. Miles twisted his fingers together.

I put my book down.

“Sterling. The day you moved in, you brought up the extra credit for Floor Leads. The next day, you manipulated Knox into demanding a rotation while you played judge. And on your week? You mopped for thirty seconds and took nine photos for the ‘gram.”

“Tell me―in the last three weeks, have you done even ten minutes of actual work for this room?”

His lips moved, but no words came out.

“I’m going to see the Advisor,” he suddenly grabbed his phone and headed for the door.

Knox took a step after him. “Sterling, what are you going to tell her?”

Sterling stopped at the door and looked back at me.

His eyes weren't just angry or panicked anymore. They were calculating. He was like a chess player who had made a terrible move and was frantically looking for a way to cheat.

“I’m going to explain the situation,” he said. “Just wait.”

The door slammed shut.