The week had crawled by with the persistence of a wounded animal. Gerald found himself checking his phone obsessively, hoping for a message from Alice that never came. Each morning, he'd scan the corridors of Houston University, searching for her familiar silhouette among the sea of designer backpacks and luxury accessories that marked the student body's privilege.
His threadbare jacket felt heavier with each passing day, the frayed edges more pronounced against the backdrop of his classmates' pristine wardrobes. The weight of waiting had settled into his bones like a chronic ache.
"You're wearing a hole in that floor," Clinton observed from his bed, looking up from his economics textbook. The dormitory room they shared was cramped, with mismatched furniture that had seen better decades. "She'll answer when she's ready."
Gerald paused his pacing, running his fingers through his dark curls. "It's been a week, Clinton. A whole week."
"Rich girls operate on their own timeline," Rick called from the doorway, his frame filling the entrance. As head of their dormitory, he'd seen countless students navigate the treacherous waters of Houston University's social hierarchy. "Especially ones like Alice."
The mention of her name sent a familiar jolt through Gerald's chest. Alice—the untouchable beauty goddess of their school, with her perfect features and confidence that came from never having to worry about money. The girl who had somehow agreed to consider dating him, a scholarship kid from the wrong side of everything.
Saturday morning arrived with the kind of crisp air that promised change. Gerald was hunched over his laptop, working on an assignment, when his phone buzzed. Naomi's name flashed across the screen.
"Gerald, you need to get dressed. Something nice," her voice carried that particular tone he'd learned to recognize—the one that meant she was orchestrating something.
"Naomi, I'm not in the mood for—"
"Trust me on this one. Meet me at the campus entrance in an hour. Wear that navy suit you borrowed from Clinton last month."
The line went dead before he could protest. Gerald stared at his phone, confusion creasing his brow. Clinton looked up from his textbook, eyebrows raised in question.
"Naomi's being mysterious," Gerald muttered, but something in his chest had lightened. Despite being the heiress to one of the largest conglomerates in the country, Naomi had remained his closest friend, the one person who saw past his worn sneakers and second-hand clothes.
An hour later, Gerald stood at the campus entrance, tugging at the sleeves of Clinton's borrowed suit. The fabric felt foreign against his skin, too fine, too expensive. He'd managed to polish his only pair of dress shoes until they gleamed, hoping to mask their age.
"You look nervous," Naomi observed, approaching with her usual graceful stride. Today, she'd dressed down—or what passed for dressing down in her world—in designer jeans and a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than Gerald's monthly food budget.
"Because I am. Where are we going?"
"SoSo," she said simply, referring to Mayfair City's most exclusive restaurant. Gerald's stomach dropped.
"Naomi, you know I can't afford—"
"My treat. Consider it an early birthday gift." She was already hailing a taxi, her movements swift and purposeful. "Come on."
The ride to SoSo passed in relative silence, with Naomi deflecting his questions with practiced ease. The restaurant sat like a glass jewel in the heart of Mayfair City's financial district, its minimalist facade hiding the opulence within. Gerald had walked past it countless times, always on his way to some part-time job, always wondering what it would be like to eat somewhere that required reservations weeks in advance.
"Table for two under Park," Naomi told the hostess, who led them through the restaurant's pristine interior. Each table was positioned with mathematical precision, creating islands of intimacy within the larger space.
They were seated at a corner table with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of the city's skyline. Gerald felt exposed, certain that every other patron could see through his borrowed confidence to the poor boy beneath.
"I still don't understand why—" he began, but Naomi's expression had shifted, her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder.
"Gerald?"
He turned, and his breath caught. Alice stood there, elegant in a cream-colored dress that seemed to flow around her like water. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple style that somehow made her look more beautiful than ever. But her expression mirrored his own—complete bewilderment.
"Alice?" Gerald rose from his chair, nearly knocking over his water glass. "What are you doing here?"
"I... Naomi told me to meet her here." Alice's voice was soft, uncertain. Her eyes darted between Gerald and Naomi, understanding beginning to dawn. "She said she needed to discuss something important."
Naomi was already standing, her smile apologetic but unrepentant. "I'm sorry for the deception, but you two needed this." She gathered her purse, moving with the efficiency of someone who had planned this moment carefully. "The reservation is for both of you. Don't waste it."
"Naomi, wait—" Gerald called, but she was already weaving through the tables, leaving them standing in awkward silence.
Alice remained frozen for a moment, her fingers toying with the strap of her designer handbag. Gerald could see the war playing out across her features—the desire to leave battling with something else, something that might have been curiosity.
"We don't have to stay," Gerald said quietly, his voice barely audible over the restaurant's ambient noise. "I know this isn't what you wanted."
Alice looked at him then, really looked at him, taking in the way the borrowed suit fit his frame, the care he'd taken with his appearance. "You look nice," she said finally.
"Thank you." He pulled out her chair, a gesture that felt both natural and terrifying. "You look... incredible."
She sat, and he returned to his own chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. The hostess had left them with menus that contained no prices—another reminder of the world Alice inhabited, where cost was never a consideration.
"I can't believe they tricked us," Alice said, though there was no real anger in her voice.
"Naomi's always been good at orchestrating things." Gerald opened his menu, scanning the descriptions of dishes he'd never heard of. "She means well."
"And your friends? Are they in on this too?"
Gerald thought of Clinton's knowing look that morning, the way Rick had wished him luck as he left. "Probably. They worry about me."
Alice smiled then, the first genuine expression he'd seen from her all week. "Maybe we should make the best of it. I mean, we're here now."
They ordered—Gerald choosing carefully, mindful of Naomi's generosity but unwilling to appear too grateful. Alice seemed to relax as the meal progressed, her initial stiffness giving way to something more natural.
"Tell me about your family," she said as they waited for their entrees.
Gerald's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Not much to tell. My mom works two jobs to keep us afloat. My dad... he's not around anymore."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. We manage." He met her eyes, seeing something there that might have been respect. "What about you? Besides the obvious."
Alice laughed, a sound that sent warmth through his chest. "The obvious being that I'm ridiculously privileged?"
"Your words, not mine."
"Fair enough." She leaned back in her chair, considering. "My parents expect perfection. Perfect grades, perfect appearance, perfect friends. Sometimes I feel like I'm performing my own life instead of living it."
Gerald found himself studying her face, seeing past the flawless makeup to something more vulnerable underneath. "Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because I don't fit the perfect image?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implication. Alice's fingers found her napkin, pleating it with nervous energy.
"It's complicated," she said finally.
They finished their meal in relative quiet, the conversation flowing easier now but still carrying undercurrents of tension. When the check came, Gerald reached for his wallet, but Alice shook her head.
"Naomi set this up. It's handled."
Outside the restaurant, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pristine streets of Mayfair City. Alice seemed different here, more relaxed, as if the expensive surroundings had freed her from some invisible constraint.
"Ice cream?" she suggested, nodding toward a small shop across the street.
They walked there together, Gerald acutely aware of the space between them, the way she moved with unconscious grace. The ice cream shop was a small oasis of normalcy in the midst of luxury, with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu that featured flavors like "Grandmother's Vanilla" and "Chocolate Rebellion."
"Two scoops of mint chocolate chip," Alice told the teenager behind the counter, then looked at Gerald expectantly.
"Rocky road, please."
They found a small table by the window, eating their ice cream in companionable silence. Gerald found himself relaxing for the first time all week, the familiar sweetness of the dessert grounding him in the moment.
"There's an amusement park nearby," Alice said suddenly. "Nothing fancy, just... fun. Want to go?"
Gerald blinked, surprised by the suggestion. "You want to go to an amusement park?"
"Why not? When's the last time you did something just for fun?"
The park was a small affair, tucked between two shopping complexes like an afterthought. But it hummed with life—families with children, teenagers on dates, elderly couples sharing cotton candy. It was a world away from the polished perfection of SoSo, and Gerald felt his shoulders relax as they walked through the entrance.
Alice threw herself into the experience with surprising enthusiasm. She won a stuffed elephant at the ring toss, laughed until she cried on the spinning teacups, and insisted they ride the small roller coaster twice. Gerald found himself caught up in her joy, the borrowed suit forgotten as they moved from game to game.
"You're different than I expected," he said as they sat on a bench, sharing a bag of popcorn.
"Different how?"
"More... real. Less untouchable."
Alice's smile faltered slightly. "Maybe that's the problem."
The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Gerald could see Alice's driver waiting by the park entrance, a reminder that their time was running out. His chest tightened with the familiar weight of uncertainty.
"Alice," he said, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the park. "About what I asked you last week..."
She went still beside him, her fingers stilling on the popcorn bag. "Gerald..."
"I know it's been a week, and I know you've been thinking about it." He turned to face her, seeing his own reflection in her eyes. "I just need to know."
Alice was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the park. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but steady.
"I can't, Gerald. I can't date you."
The words hit him like a physical blow. He felt his eyes begin to blur, the careful control he'd maintained all day crumbling.
"Why?" The word came out broken, desperate.
Alice's own eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Because of who you are. Because of who I am. Because my feelings..." She stopped, pressing her lips together. "Because I don't know what I feel yet, and that's not fair to you."
"So it's about money. About status."
"Yes," she said simply, and the honesty was somehow worse than any lie. "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for giving you hope, for making you wait, for not being brave enough to be different."
She stood then, gathering her purse with the same graceful efficiency she brought to everything. Gerald watched her go, his vision blurring as tears finally spilled over.
"Alice," he called, but she was already walking away, her silhouette disappearing into the gathering dusk.
The rain started as her car pulled away, fat drops that turned the pavement dark and slick. Gerald sat there for a long time, letting the water soak through his borrowed suit, feeling the weight of another disappointment settle into his bones.
By the time he stood to leave, his hair was plastered to his head, and his dress shoes squelched with each step. The walk back to the dormitory felt endless, each block a reminder of the distance between his world and Alice's.
Rick was in the common room when Gerald finally made it back, dripping and hollow-eyed. The older student took one look at him and didn't ask questions, just handed him a towel and pointed toward his room.
Gerald changed into dry clothes and collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling without seeing it. Clinton wasn't there—probably giving him space to process whatever had happened. The silence was deafening.
Meanwhile, across campus in the luxury dormitory that housed the university's elite, Alice sat in her room, still wearing the cream dress that now felt like a costume. Naomi knocked once before entering, her expression cautious.
"How did it go?" Naomi asked, settling onto the bed beside her.
Alice's composure finally cracked. "I broke his heart, Naomi. I saw it happen, and I did it anyway."
"What did you tell him?"
"The truth. That I can't be with someone like him. That I don't know what I feel." Alice's voice was thick with tears. "I'm exactly the kind of person I hate."
Naomi wrapped her arms around her friend, feeling the weight of her own guilt. She'd orchestrated this, believing that if Alice and Gerald just spent time together, the barriers between them would crumble. Instead, she'd only made the gulf more apparent.
"Maybe there's still time," Naomi said softly. "Maybe you can change your mind."
But Alice was already shaking her head, her tears falling freely now. "It's too late. I've already shown him who I really am."
Outside, the rain continued to fall, washing the streets clean while leaving the wounds it had witnessed untouched. In two different worlds, separated by more than just money, two young people mourned what might have been, and what never could be.