Forced to Live with Three Alphas Novel – Maya “I’m sorry, Ms. Cole,” the woman at the counter repeated for the third time, like sorry could put a roof over my head. “Your dorm assignment was… displaced.” “Misplaced,” the guy beside her corrected under his breath. “Displaced,” she insisted, smiling through her teeth as if smiling could file paperwork. “The point is, the room you were promised is unavailable.” “The point,” I echoed, because apparently we were playing a game, “is that I’m standing here with two suitcases, a scholarship, and exactly forty-two dollars until my first stipend hits, and you’re telling me I’m homeless on day one?” Her smile widened a millimeter. “Not homeless.
Call it… creative housing.” I blinked. “Is that a new major?” Behind me, someone snorted. In front of me, the woman sighed in a way that said I was the fiftieth problem she’d handled today and the only one that persisted this long. The thing was, I was already two weeks behind in the semester, because it cost me a tooth and a literal toenail on a site I wished never to visit again, to buy my ticket to come here. Another delay was not what I needed right now. The receptionist clicked across her screen, as she tapped her nails.
I tried to stare at the sunlit lobby of Blackridge University’s Housing Office just to distract myself while she checked. It really was a beautiful campus and everything I ever dreamed of. And although I was transferring in my third year out of four, I was grateful that I’d have two years at my dream school. That is, if this issue is resolved and I get a place to rest my head. “Look,” I said, lowering my voice. “I transferred late because I had some issues and my internship officially tarts tomorrow. Admissions fast-tracked me, and housing was confirmed.
I sold my soul to a color-coded spreadsheet—” “Which we appreciate,” she murmured. “—and I don’t have anyone in this city. Or… at all, really.” It slipped out before I could stop it. “So if you could just… ‘creatively’ house me in a room with four walls, that would be amazing. The janitor’s closet would suffice until a student or two decides college is not their cup of tea and decide to drop out prematurely.” She snorted, but I was dead serious. She opened her mouth to respond with another apology, I’m sure, but her obnoxious sounding telephone rang, and she grabbed it without a second thought.
I couldn’t hear the conversation, but she ‘yeah’ and ‘uh-huhed’ through the entire thing while my anxiety ate me whole. When she finally ended the call, she gave me a look of complete relief, that I was sure had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her just wanting to get rid of me. “So, turns out, we can place you,” she said finally, and my heart skipped in joy. “At Blackridge House, off-campus.” My relief and celebration was cut short. “The alumni guest house?” Her colleague coughed. “The Alpha House.” I laughed, because the alternative was fainting. “Right. The Alpha House.
Is that some type of weird way of saying some frat house or something?” The receptionist’s colleague gave me a confused look, but she shot him a glare that seemed to communicate something that I didn’t understand, because he burned bright red and ducked his head as if he realized something that I couldn’t place. “It’s not a frat house,” the lady said. “and it’s not what you applied for, but it will do for the first semester at least, and it’s free.” Now that caught my attention.
“It’s a formal courtesy for the displacement,” she added, sliding a carbon-copy form toward me. “Housing covers the rent, utilities, and a transport stipend for this semester, on us, because the mistake was ours.” “Free?” I echoed. “No catch? No human-sacrifice system that I don’t know about?” “Free. No catch,” she said, and the smile finally looked like policy instead of pity. “We messed up your placement, so the university makes it right.” I hummed and I stared at the address on the paper she handed to me.