Falsely Accused, But I’m Sending the Bill Back

It was the first day of senior year when Nico Sives, our class heartthrob, flashed his signature smirk and tossed out a casual suggestion like it was no big deal.

“Hey, let’s set up a class fund,” he said, spinning a pen between his fingers. “River, you handle the money, yeah?”

I blinked. “Why me?”

Nico leaned back in his chair. “Come on, we’re all rich kids here. No one’s worried about money. You take care of the funds and whatever interest it racks up? It’s yours. Think of it as a little thank-you.”

Honestly, it sounded like troubles and risks. So I shook my head.

But then Calla Grant, our ever-so-graceful class rep, chimed in to second that idea.

“River, your dad’s been working for my family for years. He’s had it rough. Take this chance, earn a little for yourself, give him one less thing to stress over. Yeah?”

With the both of them pushing me into a corner, I didn’t have much of a choice. I agreed.

For three whole years, I kept the fund running like clockwork. No one ever questioned me and everyone transferred their dues right on time. These trust fund kids treated money like it grew on trees.

Then came graduation night.

We were at this upscale restaurant downtown for our farewell party when Calla raised her glass with a grin.

“River, the fund’s still got plenty, right? Send me a hundred grand—I’m thinking gold figurines for everyone. Thirty grams each. A little something to remember each other by.”

I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “The fund’s empty.”

——

Everything stopped. Forks froze halfway to mouths. All eyes snapped to me.

Calla’s smile cracked.

“What did you just say?” she asked, like she couldn’t believe her ears.

She stood up so fast her chair almost toppled. Within seconds, she was towering over me, eyes blazing, breath laced with alcohol and entitlement.

“Are you freaking serious right now? Three years of class funds—every single person paid two grand a year. That’s should at least 250K! And you're telling me it’s all gone?!”

She jabbed her finger at my chest.

“Where is it, River? Did you funnel it into your broke-ass family? Or did you just pocket it for yourself? Come on, say it!”

Her words cracked something open inside me—three years of biting my tongue, of pretending I belonged among people like them.

I stood up, met her glare head-on.

“I may not be well-off, but I’m not a thief, Calla.” 

I turned to the others. 

“All you people ever look at is how much you send. Ever bother to check how much we spent? You want me to pull up the—” 

“Oh please!” Calla cut me off, full of righteous fury. “None of us here need to count pennies. Only you do. So here’s your chance—tell us where the money went, or I call the cops.”

I stood up, picked up my beat-up old phone and opened the fund app. Then I held it up for the whole room to see.

Balance: 20 dollar.

Calla’s face twisted. “Twenty?! Are you serious right now?”

I didn’t blink. I transferred every last cent to her.

“There. You can dig through the expense reports yourself if you think something’s off.”

I held out the phone—but Nico stepped in and snatched it.

“Okay, okay,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder like this was all a misunderstanding. “We’re all a little tipsy, alright? No point ruining friendships over numbers. If it’s really a problem, I’ll cover it.”

“What? No. I’m not gonna let you do that. We need to find out where’s the money–”

Nico silenced her by grabbing her face and planting a kiss right on her lips.