I’ve always been my brother’s biggest fan. Since we were kids, my favorite thing in the world was taking care of him—bringing him coffee, carrying his gym bag, picking up his takeout. I did it all with a smile. When Charlie got into Columbia, I practically killed myself academically, skipping a grade just so I could catch up and get in too. On move-in day, Charlie showed up at the dorms with a literal entourage of six security guards. While our roommates were practically kissing the ground he walked on, calling him a legend, I was quietly tucking in the hospital corners of his fitted sheet. Only Devin watched me with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t look like his roommate,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You look like his personal valet.” I just smiled and kept tucking. Later that afternoon, Charlie casually unclasped his brand-new Patek Philippe and tossed it onto my mattress. “This face is too small for me anyway. It’s more your style. Keep it.” As I caught it, smiling, I noticed Devin staring from the doorway. A few weeks later, Charlie flew to Paris for the weekend, leaving just Devin and me in the dorm. “Hey, Troy,” Devin said, not looking up from his laptop. “Do you have any idea what people call you behind your back?” “Charlie Chapman’s lapdog.” The next morning, my girlfriend, Gina—the campus sweetheart everyone swore was out of my league—asked to meet me at the running track. Devin was already standing beside her, his eyes suspiciously red, looking small and fragile. The moment she saw me, her face hardened into a scowl. “Troy, can you seriously have some self-respect for once?” “You let him treat you like a servant just because he throws an expensive watch your way?” “Devin comes from nothing, and even he has more backbone than you.” Devin tugged gently at her sleeve, his voice barely a whisper. “Gina, please don’t say that. I’m not worth you getting upset over.” I looked at their hands, fingers intertwined, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat. Seriously? Did absolutely no one realize that Charlie and I have the exact same last name? … I rolled my wrist, letting out a soft laugh. “You’ve been holding that in for a while, haven’t you, Devin?” I said. “What’s the matter? Did you want the watch too? Too bad you could never afford it.” Devin’s face instantly flushed crimson. His lips trembled, and he took a half-step back as if struck. Gina’s brow furrowed into a tight knot, and she immediately stepped forward, shielding Devin with her body. The disappointment in her voice was palpable. “Troy! I had no idea you were this kind of person.” I tilted my head. “What kind of person is that?” She paused, letting every word land. “Since when did you become so incredibly arrogant? Devin doesn’t have the kind of money you do, and you’re using luxury items to mock him? Have you lost your mind?” She looked at me with pure disgust. I froze. Arrogant? Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind—a year ago, when Gina had stopped me outside the library. The summer sun had caught her hair, her smile radiant and warm. “Troy, you’re the brightest, most genuine guy I’ve ever met. You’re like sunshine,” she’d said, her ears turning a deep, blushing pink. “Will you be my boyfriend? I want to see you smile like that every day.” I guess when the love fades, “sunny” becomes “arrogant,” and “warmth” is just blinding. My chest tightened, a dull, aching throb pulsing through me. Devin tugged at Gina’s sleeve again, looking like a martyr. His voice was soft, tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “Gina, please don’t blame Troy. It’s my fault. I only asked you to talk to him because I didn’t want him to be Charlie’s… well, you know.” He bit his lower lip, playing the part of the wounded soul perfectly. “But he wouldn’t listen. He just used his money to humiliate me.” His voice grew fainter, his eyes red like a frightened rabbit’s. Gina’s expression softened into deep, protective pity. The commotion had started to draw a crowd. Students on their way to class began circling us, whispering. Some recognized the Patek Philippe on my wrist; others recognized Devin. “Isn’t that Charlie Chapman’s shadow? Where did he get a Patek?” “Please, the master gave the servant a little treat, and now the dog thinks he’s royalty.” “Keep it down. You have to respect the owner before you kick the dog.” “Hahaha, his owner is in Europe. Right now, he’s just a stray.” Their words drifted over, perfectly pitched to ensure I heard every syllable. Some covered their mouths, snickering. Others looked me up and down like I was some cheap knockoff on display. And Gina just stood there. She listened to every cruel word, and she didn’t offer a single word of defense. Her eyes held the exact same cold contempt as the rest of them. Devin buried his face slightly behind Gina’s arm, his shoulders shaking. But I saw it. Just for a fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth curved upward. I wanted to laugh. A Patek Philippe? I had a drawer full of them back home. I just hated the attention, so I never talked about my family. But because of that, everyone assumed I was my brother’s lapdog. Charlie had only insisted on sharing a dorm with me because he worried about me and wanted to look out for his younger brother. I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. “I’ll wear whatever watch I want,” I said, looking around the circle. “What does that have to do with any of you?” But that seemed to push Devin over the edge. He suddenly raised his voice, his posture stiffening. “Troy, who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” His eyes were brimming with tears, but he kept his chin high, playing the defiant underdog. “Yes, I’m poor! My family has nothing, and I’ve never owned a luxury watch in my life! But you? You couldn’t afford any of this either without selling your dignity. What right do you have to show off in front of me?” The crowd’s gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. I was so angry I nearly laughed out loud. I hadn’t even started on him, and yet his fragile ego was already shattered. I took a step closer, looking down at him. “Devin, which of your eyes saw that I couldn’t afford this?” Before Devin could respond, Gina let out a cold, sharp laugh. Her face was a mask of utter impatience. “Troy, stop pretending,” she said, her voice dripping with exhaustion. “Maybe the rest of the school doesn’t know your situation, but do you think you can lie to me? You wear the same three faded hoodies every week. You order the cheapest combo at the diner. Last month, you spent twenty minutes calculating how to save five dollars on your phone bill. Devin is at least honest about who he is. What do you actually have?” She gestured vaguely at me, her disappointment turning to mockery. “Even if you wore a real designer bag, it would look like a fake on you. You’re using someone else’s charity to humiliate Devin. Don’t you feel any shame?” A low wave of chuckles rippled through the crowd. I felt a sharp, twisting pain in my chest. Last month had been Gina’s birthday. I remembered her forwarding me a post of a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet a friend’s boyfriend had bought, accompanied by a wistful emoji. I wanted to give her something beautiful. But I wanted it to come from my own hard work, not my father’s checkbook. So, I took a job at a boba shop near campus. I stood for eight hours a day until my feet were too swollen to fit into my shoes. I tutored high school students, spending two hours on a hot, cramped bus each way, talking until my voice was raspy. I had finally saved enough to buy it for her. But on the day she opened it, she barely glanced at the bracelet before rushing out to go shopping with her friends. She probably didn’t even remember. I took a slow, deep breath, pushing the bitterness down into the pit of my stomach. “Are you done?” I asked, staring directly into Gina’s eyes. “Whether I can afford it or not is my business. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. Excuse me.” I turned to walk away. The crowd parted instinctively, giving me space. But I had only taken two steps when Gina’s voice flared up behind me, sharp and venomous. “Troy, stop right there!” She rushed forward, her heels clicking against the pavement, and grabbed my arm. “Devin was only trying to look out for you. If you don’t want to hear it, fine, but who gave you the right to walk away like this?” I ripped my arm out of her grip. Her anger boiled over. “You are going to apologize to Devin right now, and then you’re going to give that watch back to Charlie.” Give it back? It belonged to my family. Who exactly was I supposed to give it back to? Without a word, I turned and kept walking. Behind me, Gina’s voice pitched higher, cracking with humiliation. “Troy! If you walk away today, we are done!” The whispers in the crowd died down instantly. Everyone was waiting for me to turn around, to beg for her forgiveness. My feet paused for a fraction of a second. Then, without looking back, I took another step forward. When I got back to the dorm, I pulled my laundry bin out from under my bed. Charlie was coming back the day after tomorrow, and his sheets needed to be washed. I stripped his bed, threw the linens into the bin, poured in the detergent, and knelt on the bathroom floor to scrub them. The cool suds ran over the backs of my hands. The bathroom door creaked open. Devin walked in, carrying a bundle of dark sheets. When he saw me scrubbing on the floor, a smug little smile played on his lips. He took a few steps, stopped directly in front of me, and let the sheets fall straight into my soapy water. Dirty water splashed across my face. I looked down. A massive, greasy patch of vomit was smeared across his sheets, sticking directly to my brother’s clean laundry. I snapped my head up. “What do you think you’re doing?” Devin crossed his arms, tilting his chin up. “My stomach hurts, and I threw up. I don’t have the energy to wash this.” He smirked. “Since you’re already doing laundry, do mine too. You’re so good at serving people anyway, aren’t you? We’re roommates, Troy. You shouldn’t play favorites.” His eyes glinted with triumph. I slowly stood up, wiping the soap from my hands onto my apron. I looked down at the disgusting mess in the tub. Reaching down, I grabbed the clean edge of his sheets, pulled them out of the water, and shoved the soaking, heavy mass directly into his chest. “Wash your own garbage.” I knelt back down and went back to scrubbing Charlie’s sheets. The wet, dirty fabric soaked through Devin’s shirt. He stood frozen for a second, stunned. Then, his voice exploded. “Troy! What is your problem? I literally just told you I’m sick! Can’t you have some basic empathy?” I ignored him. Our other roommates, who had just walked in, spoke up: “Devin, you have a stomach ache, not broken arms. How hard is it to wash a sheet? Troy isn’t your maid.” “Seriously, man. Why should he wash your mess?” Devin’s face flushed a blotchy, angry red. He bit his lip, tears springing to his eyes. He threw the sheets violently into his own basket and slammed his way out of the room. The door rattled on its hinges. About twenty minutes later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from an unknown number. “Troy, do you have to be such a bully?” “Would it have killed you to help him? He’s so sick he’s throwing up, and you just don’t care?” “He’s crying out on the campus green right now. How can you sit there with a clean conscience?” Another buzz. “I never realized you were this cold-blooded.” “You won’t even help with a small favor like this. I’m so incredibly disappointed in you.” I stared at the screen and let out a dry laugh. I tapped the notification and typed out a reply. “If you want to wash his vomit-stained sheets so badly, go right ahead. Lick them clean for all I care.” “And by the way, we’re broken up. You don’t have the right to be disappointed in me.” I hit send. Then I opened my contacts and blocked the number. The screen went dark. I went back to scrubbing the laundry. The next morning, I was jolted awake by my phone buzzing repeatedly. Groggily, I unlocked it to find a dozen messages from one of my roommates, topped by a link. The headline read: “Exposed! The True Identity of Columbia’s High-Society Lackey: Is Charlie Chapman’s shadow actually a fraud?” I was instantly awake. I clicked the link. The post had been uploaded to the university forum at three in the morning. “Everyone remembers Troy, right? The guy who clings to Charlie Chapman’s shadow and was literally tucking in his bedsheets on day one?” “You all thought they were roommates? Too naive.” “His father is actually a driver for the Chapman family. In other words, he’s a servant.” “So he really is just the Chapmans’ dog. The truth finally comes out~” The post went on to list my various “crimes” since the semester started. “This guy only cares about sucking up to the rich and looks down on the rest of us from normal backgrounds. Honestly, sharing a classroom with someone this pathetic makes me sick.” At the very bottom, an anonymous comment had been pinned: “I’m his roommate. He never speaks to any of us in the dorm because he thinks we’re beneath him. With the great Charlie Chapman backing him, why would he care about us?” The tone, the phrasing—I could recognize his writing anywhere. The post was already trending, with hundreds of comments piling up. “No wonder he was so eager to serve. I guess he’s been trained to do it since he was a kid.” “People like him are the worst. Imagine being a servant and still acting superior.” “I heard he was dating Gina. How did she ever end up with a loser like him?” Someone had tagged Gina’s account. I clicked on her profile and saw her reply. “We broke up. Thank god.” “He was always the one clinging to me.” The reply had dozens of likes, with people praising her for “dodging a bullet.” Clinging to her? I guess she had completely forgotten how she used to wait outside my lectures for hours just to get my attention. I turned off the phone and sat on the edge of my bed, staring out at the grey, overcast morning. Before I could even process it, my advisor’s assistant called: “Troy, Ms. Weaver wants to see you in her office immediately.” Ms. Weaver pushed a stack of papers across her desk. They were printed pages of the forum post, with several comments highlighted in bright yellow ink. She frowned, tapping her pen against the desk. “The entire department is talking about this, Troy.” “Boasting about wealth, mistreating students from lower-income backgrounds… this is reflecting very poorly on the university. The dean’s office is already asking questions.” “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to write a formal apology to Devin, and we’ll put this behind us.” I let the word settle on my tongue. “An apology?” “He threw vomit-stained sheets into my laundry bin, posted lies on the school forum claiming my father is a servant, and incited a campus-wide harassment campaign against me.” “And you want “me” to apologize to “him”?” Ms. Weaver’s face darkened. “With that attitude, are you trying to make this worse?” I stood up, my chair scraping sharply against the linoleum floor. “Ms. Weaver, you don’t need to worry about this.” “My parents will be back in the city tomorrow. You can discuss it with them directly.” Ms. Weaver’s frown deepened. “Then bring them in!” “I’d love to see what kind of parents raise a child to be this entitled!” I looked her dead in the eye, keeping my voice perfectly calm. “Charles Chapman. Ms. Weaver, would you like me to dial his number for you?” The pen slipped from Ms. Weaver’s fingers, clattering onto the desk. Her lips parted, and she hurriedly scrambled to open the university registry on her computer, scrolling until she hit the name. Her face turned from a flush of anger to a pale, stony white, before settling into an expression of utter horror.
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