Chapter 1 The Scholarship Girl
Elowen‘s POV
The espresso machine hissed and sputtered, and I didn’t even blink anymore. After working evening shifts at Grind House for two years, I could make a perfect latte half asleep. Good thing too, because I was running on maybe four hours of rest.
I wiped down the counter and did the math again in my head. Aunt Clara’s next treatment was three thousand dollars. Insurance would cover half if we were lucky. My paycheck from here plus what I made at the library would get me close. But close wasn’t enough. I’d already maxed out my credit card last month when her prescriptions went up.
Six more months. Maybe seven if I picked up extra shifts. Then I could start paying down my student loans. Then maybe, just maybe, I could breathe.
“Elowen.” My manager Beck stuck his head out from the back. “Can you cover the register? Riley called in sick.”
“Sure.” I grabbed a clean apron. Riley called in sick at least twice a week, which meant she was probably at some party. Must be nice to have that kind of freedom.
The evening rush started around six. That’s when the wolf students came in, fresh from their afternoon classes or workouts or whatever rich kids did with their free time. You could always tell the wolves from the regular humans. They moved differently. More confident. Like they owned every space they walked into.
Because most of them, actually, their families donated the buildings, funded the programs, and sat on the boards. Mooncrest University wasn’t just elite. It was Wolf Elite.
A group of them pushed through the door, laughing about something. Three girls, all gorgeous in that effortless way that costs a fortune. Designer workout clothes that probably cost more than my rent. Hair and makeup were perfect even though they claimed they’d just left the gym.
I recognized Madison Blackthorn immediately. Hard not to. Blonde hair, green eyes, and a smile that never reached past her teeth. She came in here at least three times a week, always with her little crew, always treating the staff like we were furniture.
“Welcome to Grind House,” I said automatically. “What can I get you?”
Madison looked at me like I’d just appeared out of thin air. “Oh. You’re still working here.”
I smiled. The customer service smile I’d perfected over years of dealing with people who thought they were better than me. “Yep. Still here. What can I make for you?”
“Skinny vanilla latte. Extra hot. Almond milk.” She barely glanced at me while she ordered. “And make sure it’s actually hot this time. Last week it was basically lukewarm.”
It hadn’t been lukewarm. I’d made it exactly to the temperature. But I’d learned not to argue.
“Coming right up.” I grabbed a cup and wrote her name on it, then looked at her friends. “Anything for you two?”
They ordered their complicated drinks with extra this and no that, and I wrote it all down. My hand moved on autopilot while my brain did more math. If I worked the closing shift every night this week, that was an extra forty dollars. Not much. But it helped.
I turned to make their drinks, and that’s when I heard it.
“God, this place has really gone downhill.” Madison’s voice carried across the whole shop. She wasn’t trying to be quiet. “I heard they’re giving scholarships to anyone these days. Charity cases who can’t even afford their textbooks.”
One of her friends laughed. “I know. My dad sits on the scholarship board. He says the applications are just depressing to read.”
“Well, someone has to serve us our coffee, right?” Madison said. “Might as well give them something to do while they’re pretending to belong here.”
My hand tightened on the milk pitcher. Don’t react. Don’t say anything. You need this job. Aunt Clara needs you to keep this job.
I finished their drinks with steady hands and set them on the counter. “Three lattes.”
Madison picked hers up and took a sip. Made a face. “This is barely warm.”
It was hot. I’d literally just steamed the milk.
“I can remake it,” I offered.
“Don’t bother.” She dropped a five-dollar bill on the counter, not even close to enough for all three drinks. “Keep the change.”
They walked away, laughing about something else now. Already forgotten about me.
I picked up the five dollars and put it in the register, then pulled six dollars out of my tip jar to cover the difference. Not the first time. Wouldn’t be the last.
The rest of the shift passed in a blur of orders and cleanup. My feet hurt and my back ached, but I’d lived with worse. At least I had a job. At least I had scholarships. At least I was still here, still fighting.
Around eight, things finally slowed down. I was wiping down tables when I heard two girls talking in the corner booth.
“Did you get the email about the gala?” one of them asked.
“The Valor thing? Yeah. My mom’s already freaking out about what dress to buy.”
“Are you going?”
“Obviously. Everyone goes. It’s the event of the semester.”
I kept wiping the same table, not looking at them but listening carefully. The Valor family. Everyone knew who they were. The richest, most powerful wolf family in the region.
“I heard even scholarship students have to go,” the other girl said. “Like it’s mandatory or something.”
“That’s so weird. Why would they want them there?”
“Probably for optics. You know, showing how generous and inclusive they are.”
They laughed and went back to their drinks.
I finished wiping tables, my mind racing. A mandatory gala. That meant me. That meant finding something appropriate to wear to an event where everyone else would be in designer dresses and expensive suits.
That meant being visible in a room full of wolves who could sense what I was. Or more accurately, what I wasn’t.
When I was little, maybe six or seven, I remember asking Aunt Clara why I couldn’t do the things the other kids in our old neighborhood could do. Why couldn’t I shift like them?
She’d gotten this look on her face. Sad and scared at the same time. “You’re special, baby,” she’d said. “Different doesn’t mean wrong.”
But different didn't mean wrong when you grew up around wolves. Being wolfless was like being broken. Defective.
I’d learned to hide it. To stay quiet. To be invisible.
Most days it worked.
I clocked out at nine and walked across campus toward my dorm. The night was cold, October slipping into November. I pulled my jacket tighter and kept my head down.
My phone buzzed. A text from Aunt Clara.
How was work, sweetheart?
I smiled despite my exhaustion.
Good. How are you feeling?
Better today. Don’t worry about me. Focus on your studies.
Always do. Love you.
Love you too, baby.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and kept walking. Six more months. Maybe seven.
I could do this. I had to.