The Bet

6) Mickey

The next day I found myself sitting in Mikey's middle school counselor's office after school let out.

  "Michael has received the scholarship he applied for for the High School of Future Leaders," Mrs. Toll informed me excitedly.

My jaw dropped and I turned my seat to face my genius little brother. "Oh my god, you got in?! That's so amazing! AND you got a scholarship?! Why didn't you tell me when you got in? We could have celebrated!"

  To my complete and utter surprise, he doesn't look very excited at all. "It's not that big of a deal," Mikey mumbled sinking down in his seat. "I don't really wanna go that bad anymore. It's just a dumb fancy private boarding school." He glanced between me and Mrs. Toll.

  We both frowned.

  "What are you talking about?" I leaned forward to put my hand on his shoulder and talk some sense into him. "You've been talking about going to school there since sixth grade. It has one of the best STEM programs in the country and offers enough dual credit classes to get you an associates degree by the time you graduate. And now you're in!"

  He looked at me with his lip between his teeth before he drew his gaze to his lap. "I didn't get the full ride," he whispered underneath his breath.

  I had to lean in to hear him, but once I did, I scoffed. "But every little bit helps." I turned to Mrs. Toll. "What's the tuition and what will the scholarship cover?"

  "The tuition is twelve thousand a year."

  Holy shit, that's college right there.

  "And Micheal has earned a twenty four thousand dollar scholarship, which separated into the four years would be six thousand dollars a year."

  Okay. . . It'll be a stretch, but it might actually be doable.

"Three thousand a semester?! That's so totally doable, dude!" I yelled and threw my hands up.

  Everything will be alright. I'll just have to pick up more fights, bet high, and win.

  "How much is room and board?" I asked his counselor.

  "Seven thousand a year."

  My stomach dropped a little bit. That brings it back to thirteen thousand dollars a year, even with the scholarship.

  "See, I'm pretty sure we don't just have thirteen thousand dollars lying around," my brother deadpanned.

  "We can just go semester by semester. Six thousand dollars —"

  "Six thousand five hundred," my smart ass thirteen year old corrected me.

  "Whatever. It's not impossible. I can just pick up some more night shifts and maybe even find a better paying job than the diner —"

  "No!" He gripped the edges of his seat and looked at me with wide eyes. "Don't pick up any more night shifts!"

  My eyebrows furrowed and I looked between him and his counselor for some sort of explanation for his weird reaction.

  My heart started pumping. What the hell is that about?

  "What? Why?" I asked him, while I wiped my palms that are starting to sweat on my dress.

  "I don't like when you 'take night shifts'," he put air quotes around the last few words with a an anxious look.

. . . What?

  Now I can almost feel tears forming behind my eyes because of what this could mean, but I wouldn't be caught dead crying in front of my little brother.