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* Italics = thoughts

I clutched onto my backpack as another cold February chill ran through me. I adjusted my thin black sweatshirt and wrapped my arms around myself, attempting to create some heat. I've always hated the cold, mainly because our family was too poor to actually afford clothes that shielded us from the unforgiving weather. I looked down at the tattered and torn sweatshirt and made a mental note to sow it back together once I was home. My jeans were short due to an unexpected growth spurt last year, revealing my ankles. My converse were flimsy, and felt as if they would fall apart with every step I took.

My house was 4 miles from my school. I mentally have been counting down the days until graduation so I'll never have to make this damn walk again: only 3 years and 6 months left. As I turned the corner of our run down apartment complex, I picked up the pace as the sun began it's decent. My family lived in one of the worst neighborhoods in Seattle. The only reason why we lived in this city is because my mother insisted that I get a decent education. I made sure her sacrifice was worth it with a 4.0 GPA and a 1600 on my SAT, a perfect score.

I jogged up the steps to our apartment and shoved my key into the rusted lock. I pushed the door open, groaning when the door got stuck. I shoved it open with my shoulder and rushed inside, ecstatic to tell my mom about the A I received on my Computer Programming exam. She always enjoyed hearing about how well I did, and I always enjoyed seeing her smile light up the room.

My mother was the most important person in my life. She was everything to me, and I wanted to make something of my life, become successful so she'll never have to worry about anything ever again. She sacrificed so much for me, the least I can do is excel in school.

The apartment felt colder than it was outside. I shivered and looked at the stack of unpaid bills on the table scattered amongst the piles of empty beer cans and filled ash trays. I walked over and examined the overdue bills, confirming my assumption that our heat was turned off... again.

"Johnny, stop please, it's for Rebels college fund. I had to-" I heard my mother scream from the other room.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU'RE WORTHLESS. SO FUCKING WORTHLESS." My father bellowed. "YOU WERE SUPOSTO BRING BACK EVERYTHING YOU MADE. YOU'RE HOLDING OUT ON ME AGAIN YOU BITCH!"

Fuck, not again. I ran to the other room, nearly tripping on glass shards and bongs that littered the floor. When I reached their bedroom, my mother was on the floor nearly unconscious. Her shirt was ripped practically in half and her skirt was torn off of her completely. Cuts and bruises were scattered all over her fragile body. Tears streamed down her bloodied face, and her eyes widened with fear as she looked in my direction. My father stood over her, his bloody knuckles barely grasping onto the half empty bottle of vodka.

My father stumbled before he turned around and faced me. A hideous smirk formed on his lips.

"H-honey, now is not a good time. Go." My mother pleaded, her words barely audible.

"Ah, Rebel. My little fucking know it all. Just the girl I wanted to see." My father said, sarcasm dripping off of every word. He jolted towards me while my mother screamed.

*************************************************

I sat straight up out of my bed. My heart was racing so rapidly I felt as if it would burst out of my chest. My body was drenched with sweat and my breathing was ragged. I evaluated my surroundings and relief washed over me as I realized that I was in my dorm room. Nightmares were a regular occurrence for me. After 6 years, I thought I would be use to them by now. I looked to my left to see Stacy sleeping with a deep scowl on her face.

"She still has a resting bitch face even when she's asleep." I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes. Stacy was a roommate from hell. I hated the promiscuous, spoiled brat the second I walked onto this hellhole of a campus. She's a trust fund baby, and relied more on her daddy's money than her own intellect... scratch that, she doesn't even have an intellectual bone in her body. Her father must have some major connections and money if he was able to get this dimwit her calls a daughter into Stanford.

I glanced at the clock - 8:02 AM. I threw the sheets off of me and decided to get ready for my 9AM Philosophy class. I opened my dresser and looked at the small amount of clothes, it barely filled the drawer let alone the entire dresser. I changed into a pair of yoga pants, a baggy sweatshirt, and my converse. My laptop was on my nightstand, it was my prized possession. I grabbed a soft cloth from its case, and gently cleaned the screen and cover. I traced my fingers over the Whitman logo before I put it in its case, and gently placed it in my backpack.

I grabbed my toiletries bag and made my way to the group showers. I kept my head down as I walked through the hallways, not in the mood for useless social interaction. A group of girl in mini dresses and crop tops walked by me snickering and whispering.

"I didn't know they allowed the homeless to enroll here." One of the girls stated as she walked by and shoulder checked me.

"Nice shirt, where'd you get it? Baby GAP?" I looked back at her with a serious expression. She stood there with her mouth agape, staring at me in disbelief.

"You-you bitch!" She yelled back.

"Such a lovely vocabulary for such an unpleasant woman. I'm sure you used most of your mental capacity to think of such a dreadful comeback." I rolled my eyes and walked away from the fuming blonde.

I stuck out like a sore thumb at Stanford. Most of the students here came from wealthy families, never having to experience the "college struggle." The only struggle they ever faced was deciding which party they were going to attend or how much alcohol they can consume without killing themselves in the process.

But Stanford was a chance for me to make something of myself, of my life. Not to mention they offered one of the best Computer Engineering programs in the United States and paid for almost all of my expenses. Bitches were a small sacrifice when you look at it from that perspective.

After my shower, I dressed and looked at myself in the mirror. I was 5'5 and 110lbs. I had a tiny frame, mainly due to the fact that I never could afford nutritious meals. My long black hair reached my waist, it's dark pigments contrasting with my pale skin. My hazel eyes looked tired and were accompanied by dark circles. My cheekbones were high, and my lips full. I was the spitting image of my mother, the only feature I inherited from my shitbag of a father was my eyes... the exact same color iris's that have haunted me for my entire life. I quickly looked away and started to head to class.

I put my headphones in my ear, pretending to listen to music to avoid conversation. Even if I wanted to listen to music, I couldn't. My phone was so outdated that it still used T-9 texting and I couldn't afford an iPod. So the end of the headphones were stuffed into my pocket, giving the illusion that I had the luxury of music.

I walked into my Philosophy class, and took my normal seat in the back of the classroom. I put my hood over my head as I sat down. I looked around me at the students laughing with their friends, looking so carefree in their designer clothes and exchanging numbers on their brand new iPhones.

*************************************************

*Flashback*

"Mom, I was wondering." I said as I twiddled my thumbs on the messy plastic table in our kitchen. "For graduation, would it be possible that I can get a cell phone?" I looked up at her. Being 17 and not having a cell phone made me feel like more of an outcast than I already was. I asked with hope gleaming in my eyes, but I felt that I already knew the answer to my question.

"I'm sorry honey, but we just can't afford to get you a phone. The extra bill will put us further behind than we already are." My mother said as she looked down at me. Tears threatened her eyes before she walked out of the living room.

I sighed, grabbed my backpack and started my 4 mile walk to school. I needed to print out an assignment for my course, so I decided to stop by the library on the way there.

I entered the library, and greeted Harry, the man who owned the library. He caught me sneaking in when I was 14, trying borrow a book without a library card. He was about to kick me out of his establishment, when he realized that my textbook was from a course his wife was teaching. We started chatting and found out that I was his wife's favorite student.

From then on, he let me borrow any book I wanted free of charge. That was one of the best days of my life. Usually if I wanted to read, I would spend hours in a Barnes and Nobles reading in the corner, leaving a book mark once it was time to leave and hoping that no one bought it the next day.

"Hi Harry!" I smiled up at him.

"Hiya Reb! What book are you looking to grab today?" He asked, smiling back at me.

"Probably some more books on Information Systems. I finished the last one already." I said shyly as I brought out the textbook I finished. For years I've enjoyed reading about computer programming, information systems, philosophy, math, physics, languages, chemistry, and my favorite of all: coding and hacking.

After a short conversation with Harry and seeing how his wife was doing, I made my way to the computers. I logged on, and my curiosity had me going to the AT&T site. Looking through the prices, a frown appeared on my face. There's no way that we could afford this.

"Hey Reb, here's another book on System Integrations for ya! The wife highly recommends this one for you." Harry said as he placed it next to me on the desk. I thanked him as he walked away. I stared at the cover for a few moments.

Maybe there's a way I can still get a phone and not set my family back...

I nervously looked around, and looked back at the site and started to hack into the AT&T database. It was easier than I thought, and only took me a few minutes to get past their security systems. I set up an account for me, and marked it as "PAID IN FULL" for the next 3 years.

I placed an order for the cheapest phone, which I also marked as paid. I had it delivered to the library as to not cause any suspicion at home.

That's still the same phone I use today.

*************************************************

I felt a vibration from my pocket and pulled out my old, outdated flip phone to see who was calling me. Dr. Chet's name flashed on the screen. I immediately answered, worry washing over ever cell in my body.

"Hi Doc, what's the news?" I asked.

"Good morning Rebel. It appears that your mothers condition has gotten worse, she-" Before he could finish his sentence, the phone was snatched away from my hand.

I looked up to see Ms. Jamison, my Philosophy teacher inspecting the phone in her hand before she shut it and ended the call I've been waiting on for a whole fucking week.

I mentally contemplated the pros and cons of bashing her head against the desk until she lost consciousness, or life. Either would be fine with me.

"Miss Simmons!" She yelled.

"What?!" I growled.

"I've been calling you name for 3 minutes now." Her voice was so high pitched I swear my ears were going to start bleeding from the frequency. She was an older woman, who wore clothes too tight and heels to high. Her face was constantly plastered with makeup, giving me the impression that she puts her self image in her looks and appearance. Reading her body language and the way she carries herself, you can tell she's lonely and craves a mans attention.

"Obviously I didn't care enough to answer." I said as I crossed my arms and leaned back on the chair. The class erupted in snickers and whispers. The old hag looked at me for a few seconds, her face held an unreadable expression.

"Whoops." She said as she let go of my phone and it shattered against the tan tiles. "Oh how clumsy of me." She said as her lips curved into a small smile. The class exploded with laughter at my expense. My hands balled into fists, my nails digging into my skin so hard that I felt a drop of blood go down my wrist.

"Since I seem to have your full attention now, would you please tell me about your thoughts on determinism, Miss Simmons." She said as she started to walk to the front of the class, her heel kicking a piece of my phone that was in her path.

Stupid. Fucking. Bitch.

"Determinism vs Free Will has been one of the most well known debates in Philosophy. It questions if our decisions in life determine our outcome, or if it was already predetermined for us. Take for example, you." I said with an evil smile.

"Me?" The old hag questioned, turning around to look at me.

"With you being as old and unattractive as you are, do you think your choices led you to the sad an unfulfilling life you are living right now? Or do you think it was predetermined that no one would ever love and care for you? I'm sure you envisioned your life to be more than what it is right now. So according to determinism, it doesn't matter what choices you make. It doesn't matter what you say, what you wear, or how much makeup you use to try and hide your hideous personality, because you are destined to live a life that will never fulfill you and ultimately spent the rest of your life miserable." I said coldly. The classroom fell silent.

I could tell immediately that I hit her where it hurt. She looked at me, tears building in her eyes. For a split second, I couldn't help but feel as if I crossed the line, but my eyes fell upon the shattered phone and those remorseful feelings were soon diminished.

"Get the fuck out of my classroom Rebel Simmons and get your ass to the Deans Office. NOW!" She yelled as she pointed to the door. I grabbed my backpack and laughed as I walked out the door to Dean O'Conner's office... for the third time this week.

Dean O'Conners office was immaculate, everything in its proper place. His office was bigger than my parents apartment in Washington. In the corner was a couch with the most plush pillows I've ever seen. The floor to ceiling windows lit up the office, displaying a perfect view of the courtyard, bustling with students below.

Dean O'Conner sat in his oversized leather chair, behind him were his scholarly accolades adorning the wall displaying degrees from prestigious universities that hung in elegant wooden frames. His thick cherry wood desk took up a large portion of the office, in front of it stood two smaller leather chairs.

I walked in and made my way across the office, my sneakers squeaking with every step against the marble floors. I flung my backpack onto leather chair and flopped into the other seat, crossing my arms anticipating the same lecture that Dean O'Conner always gives me about my behavioral issues.

O'Conner was the only faculty here that I somewhat liked, considering all the time we've spent together from me getting in trouble. He's always helped me out and made sure my record stayed clean and even helped me avoid expulsion a few times.

"Rebel, you promised me that you would at least try to stay out of trouble." Dean O'Conner said, his hands were placed in a power position. His palms open, but his fingers touching each other while his elbows rested on the cherry wood desk.

"Really? I don't recall." I said as I scratched my chin with my fingers.

"You don't recall cursing out your physics professor? Or hacking into your dorm building and setting off the fire alarm so you could 'have some god damn peace and quiet?'" He said making quotations with his hands as he recalled the events from the week.

"If anything you should be thanking me. Mr. Edwards is a pompous ass and students shouldn't be throwing parties in the dorms anyway." I said shrugging.

"Rebel," He said sighing while rubbing his temples. "You are the brightest student at this University. 4.0, revolutionary ideas, IQ score of 252, but this is the final straw. I can't keep helping you out if you're going to continue acting this way. Miss Jamison sits on the Board of Administrators here, and has filed to revoke one of your scholarships." He said seriously.

"She can't do that, she isn't even the head of the Engineering department!" I said raising my voice causing an echo to bounce off the walls of the office.

"She can and she did. I'm sorry Rebel, but I have to agree with her on this one. Your behavior is out of line and this has gone on long enough." He said sternly as he leaned forward again.

"Luckily, you'll still have your other scholarships, but you're going to have to figure out a way to pay for your room and board as well as half of your tuition within the next week or you'll be forced to leave campus. I'm sorry Miss Simmons, but there's nothing I can do." He spoke in a disheartened tone. His face showed pity for me, I hated it. I was so close to finishing my Masters Degree, just one and a half damn semesters away.

I made mental calculations of my expenses: my tuition was $60,072 per year, books and supplies are around $1,530, and room and board cost me $25,998 a year totaling at $87,600 not including groceries or other cost of living expenses.

"So you're telling me I have to come up with $56,034 by next week or I'm living on the streets?" I questioned calmly. The dorms were my only option, I couldn't afford an apartment in Pasadena... I didn't even have a job.

"Yes. By the 30th." He uttered. His face showed nothing but concern... a fake concern. The kind of false concern that looks like he is about to run to the restroom at any second. I can tell from his body language that it was forced, and he really didn't give two shits about what happens to me.

"Stop pretending to feel bad about this. I know the only reason why you kept helping me was because of my perfect score on my entrance exam. Looks pretty good for your investors to have an 18 year old with a higher IQ than Einstein huh?" I scoffed, grabbed my backpack and left the room, leaving a speechless O'Conner behind his desk.

His investors were what kept the lights on in this decorated shithole. He'd do anything to keep them obliviously happy. His silence was confirmation of my assumptions. He didn't give a shit about me, no one did.

I walked towards the young receptionist who was filing her nails, ignoring the ear piercing ring of the multi-line phone system on the corner of her desk. She looked up at me with a scowl on her face.

"Dean O'Conner told me to let you know that he needs you to make copies of the new student pamphlets." I lied smoothly.

"And why should I take orders from a delinquent? If he needs it done, he can let me know himself." She said as she continued to file her nails.

"No problem, I'll be sure to let him know that. I'll also let him know about your affair with Mr. Edwards as well. If I do recall correctly, O'Conner is a pretty good friend of his wife, right?" I said, looking off into the distance and making my best thinking face.

After I cursed out Mr. Edwards this week, the receptionist has been going out of way to be more of a bitch than she already was. She knew in detail about my verbal assault towards the professor, making me think that they were closer than what she led on.

Her face paled as she dropped her nail file. "Who told you?" She barked.

"You just confirmed it for me." I smirked. "Now, run along. You have shit to do." I said as I shooed her.

She roughly grabbed a stack of paperwork and exited the building. The copier was a few buildings down about 1300 feet. She grabbed a stack of about 100 or so pages, the copier would take about 4 minutes, so that gives me about a 14-17 minute window depending on how fast she walked in those obnoxious heels.

I went behind her desk and grabbed her phone. I dialed Dr. Chets number, and sat in her brown plush chair. As the phone rang, I turned on her computer. Her computer was locked, surprise surprise. I guessed Edwards and it unlocked on the first try.

Desperate bitch.

"Hello this is Dr. Chet? How can I help you?" His Indian accent spoke through the phone.

"Hey Doc. It's Rebel Simmons. What's the update on my mom?" I said as I dug through my backpack for the external hard drive I "borrowed" from the tech lab. I plugged it into the computer and started to download the University's data.

"Rebel... your mother has gotten worse. The tumors have spread to her lungs. We have to preform surgery as soon as possible to stop it from spreading further." He spoke urgently.

"Well you're the professional here, do whatever it takes." I barked. I use to be good at handling my emotions, however, those days are long gone. The only emotions I'm able to express is anger, everything else seems non-existent.

"I'm afraid we can't. That's why I was calling you. Your payments are overdue, and we can't keep treating her. We'd need some form of payment before we can preform the surgery. We need a payment by the end of the month or else we have to discharge her." He spoke calmly.

"Well how much is it?!" I said, trying to keep my voice under control and stop myself from cursing out this useless doctor.

"Because she doesn't have insurance, it'll be $180,000 for the past 6 months and with the upcoming surgery it'll be an additional $57,435, plus $15,322 for late fees." He said robotically as he read from the forms.

"So $252,757 by the end of the month?" I calculated quickly. I glanced at the calendar on the desk: November 21st, I'd have nine days to come up with the money.

"Yes ma'am. I apologize about this, especially because of Thanksgiving tomorrow, but we just cannot keep her here without a payment." He spoke sincerely.

"I'll figure it out." I said as I hung up. A ding from the computer informed me that my download was complete. I looked at the clock, 12 minutes have passed. She'd be walking back quicker due to the cold weather outside, so I had roughly a minute to cover my evidence. I quickly reset her computer back to her defaults, tucked my external hard drive away and walked out of the office and turned the corner, making eye contact with the flustered receptionist as she made her way back into her office.

*************************************************

*Flashback*

Butterflies filled my stomach as I held a neatly folded campus map in my hand. I was ecstatic when my 9th grade counselor told me that I was accepted into their CEFYS program (Computer Engineering for Youth Students.) Out of 476 applicants, I was the only one accepted. I was given a placement exam, and received a perfect score, graduating high school at the age of 14.

Whitman College was less than a mile away from my high school, I was informed that I will be starting my bachelors there in an advanced program based on my test scores, the tuition fully paid for.

I looked around the campus, intimidated by the older students who looked to be in their early to mid 20's. I clutched onto my black backpack and quickened my pace. I made sure to pull my sleeves down to hide the bruises that marked my arms.

I stepped into the small classroom, taking a seat in the back to avoid the already unwelcoming stares from other students. I grabbed the hood of my black sweatshirt and pulled it over my head, a habit I had when I just wanted to disappear.

"You lost kid?" A man with a full beard asked me as he walked past. Tattoos covered his neck and face, only adding to his intimidating appearance.

"I-I, um..." I stuttered and looked down at my hands.

"The middle school is a little further away from here. This is Whitman College kid." He said skeptically, raising his pierced eyebrow.

"I-I'm here for C-Computer Programming 189." I managed to say, but it sounded more like a whisper than a statement. He gave me one last look before he left to the front of the room.

A few minutes later, an older woman entered and took a seat at the front of the classroom. She cleared her throat to get the classes attention. She was gorgeous. She had ocean blue eyes, and soft features. Her nose was slightly upturned. She was a tiny woman, about 5'2. She was well put together, perfectly manicured nails, her wavy dark brown hair falling to her shoulders. Her outfit was pristinely ironed and neat.

"My name is Miss Jones, I am your instructor for the course. Before we have our speaker come up, please open your laptops and log onto my course site: passcode is WC189. If you do not have a laptop, please raise your hand." She stated, her voice had a hint of an intimidating foreign accent. Embarrassment flooded over me once I realized that I was the only one without a laptop.

Miss Jones walked up to me with a used laptop in her hand, a standard Dell with a large sticker of "Whitman College" logo on the front. She smiled at me and handed me the laptop.

"You can borrow that for the semester. I trust you'll return it." She whispered to me and smiled.

I gave her a small smile back, and ran my fingers across the logo. This was the first laptop I've ever held.

After explaining the syllabus in detail, a college recruiter made his way to the front to talk to us about our programs for our masters degrees.

I listened intently as he explained the top colleges for Computer Engineering. His PowerPoint showed slides of MIT, Harvard, Stevens Institute of Technology, and my heart stopped when pictures of Stanford's campus graced the projector.

It was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. The grass courtyard adorn with crimson and white flowers. The programs were exceptional, and the architecture was slightly rustic. The dorms looked incredible, with two comfortable looking twin beds inside with a closet. My 14-year-old year heart swelled with hope and visions of my future.

I knew at that moment, that I was going to do whatever it took to get into Stanford University. That is where I will create something of myself. That is where my dreams will come true.

The campus is perfect.

The dorms will be perfect.

The students will be perfect.

The professors will be perfect.

The University is perfect.

It'll all be perfect.

*************************************************

Fuck this shitty campus.

Fuck this shitty dorm.

Fuck these asshole students.

Fuck these incompetent professors.

Fuck this prestigious university.

Fuck my life.

I stared at my dorm ceiling, counting the cracks in the cement as my mind buzzed with thoughts, the sunlight barely making it through the blackout curtains.

I couldn't sleep last night. I spend the entire evening held captive by my mind. My back was stiff from laying on this horrific excuse of a bed. Most nights I slept on the floor seeing that it was more comfortable than this twin sized piece of shit.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving to me.

$308,793. Three hundred eight fucking thousand, seven hundred ninety three motherfucking dollars.

The absurd number kept repeating itself over and over again in my head. I've never even had more than $100 in my bank account. The only way I could eat was from the scholarships giving me $75 a week for food and necessities, which hardly covered anything.

How the hell did I end up here? Thinking that my life would be any better coming to this shit show of a University was the worst mistake I could have made. Come to think of it, I could have gone to any University and it wouldn't have made a difference, my life would be just as shitty and pathetic.

On paper I did everything right. I went to school, graduated early, finished my bachelors by 18, working on my masters at Stanford, and my IQ has me labeled as a "genius". But outside of academics, my life was a complete and utter shit show.

I could easily get a job, but due to my overloaded class schedule, it was impossible to handle a 40 hour a week job and an 18 credit school schedule. I've always believed that money is the root of all evil, when on the contrary, lack of money is the root of all evil. I've never seen anyone who was filthy fucking rich worry about anything I'm struggling with.

What would even happen after my masters? I have no experience in my field because my hectic school schedule wouldn't allow it. If anything, I can get an entry level job keeping me below the poverty line, get told what to do by some uneducated asshole who has the authority to boss me around because of seniority, and if I'm lucky, climb the corporate pyramid to a managerial position until I hit a cap on my income and retire when most of my life is over at the youthful age of 65 with the hopes that I paid into a good pension plan and have enough saved up to barely survive.

Such a bright fucking future.

Society always paints the picture of what your life should look like: a family that loves and encourages you, friends that have your back no matter what, a stable job making enough money to put food on the table and a roof over your head.

But growing up in an abusive home with a drug addicted father, my mother being diagnosed with cancer, constant bullying without a single person to call a friend (besides teachers and librarians that pitied me), and constantly living in poverty, I realized that society and media idealizes a bullshit picture of what life is meant to be like, refusing to show what life really is.

But I refuse to be a useless victim. I survived, I fucking survived. I thought it would get better being here, at the University that I dreamed of attending since I was 14, yet here I am. Doing everything right and still not being good enough to make a difference.

I couldn't help but laugh at the cosmic joke that is my life. With the events that happened today, I could feel the last remaining shred of humanity I had left slip away into nothingness.

Was I determined to live a life of struggle and hardship? Constantly grasping for the American Dream obtaining multifaceted success, but it always being too far beyond my reach. I made the right choices in my life, or the choices that academia and society told me to do, and yet my life has remained as pointless and useless as ever.

Why was I born into a life of struggle, yet others were born into a life of privilege? Was I truely determined to live a miserable, meaningless life? No matter what choices and decisions I make, will my life have the same pitiful outcome? As I evaluated my life, and the path I've went down, it sure as hell seems that no matter what I do, it doesn't make a difference.

It wasn't fair, but then again, life doesn't play fair.

So why the fuck should I?