Chapter 1: Debt
Iris Wright adjusted the stack of papers on her desk one last time. Every sheet was aligned, margins checked, deadlines highlighted. Her pen rested perfectly on top, ready to take notes. As class president of Class A, the top thirty students in eleventh grade, she was in charge of Founder’s Week this year. Normally, the twelfth graders handled everything, but with college entrance exams occupying their days, the responsibility fell to her class. And that meant Iris had to make sure nothing went wrong.
She stood, clearing her throat. “Good morning, everyone. Let’s get started.”
Immediately, the chatter died down. In Class A, students had learned long ago that when Iris spoke, attention was mandatory. She wasn’t just organized, she was meticulous, disciplined, and relentless. She didn’t allow loose ends, not in her work, not in her plans. Mistakes were inefficiencies, and inefficiencies had consequences.
Everscrest Academy was known as the top school in the country, where the brightest and most talented students compete for the highest ranks. With elite programs, specialized mentoring, and relentless academic pressure, only the best lasted.
Iris Wright earned her place without shortcuts. No special tutors. No advantages. Just discipline, sleepless nights, and unwavering focus.
That was why she stayed on top of everything. At Everscrest, excellence wasn’t optional, it was expected.
“First, let’s review the schedule for Founder’s Week,” she said, flipping open her notebook. “Day one is the opening ceremony. We’ll need volunteers for stage setup, decorations, and ushering guests. Day two is booth day, and each group should decide on their activity and prepare materials by the end of the week. Day three will be the talent showcase, and day four, closing ceremonies with awards.”
She looked up, scanning her class. “I’ve already drafted a tentative plan based on everyone’s strengths, but I want suggestions. We’re a team, so let’s make this memorable.”
A classmate near the back raised a hand. “Ms. President, what if we organized a parade for all the school clubs? It could open the festival and get everyone excited.”
Iris tilted her head thoughtfully. “A parade… that could work. Class A can coordinate it, and each club will need a clear schedule and marching order.” She paused, eyes sweeping the room. “Who leads the parade?”
Another classmate spoke up. “The basketball team. They’re the most popular club in the school, it’ll get everyone’s attention right away.”
Iris nodded, already mapping the logistics in her head. Then her gaze flicked toward the back of the room, over the empty row where the basketball captain usually sat. As usual, Ethan Hale wasn’t there. Skipping planning meetings was nothing new for him, and yet she knew he would be the face of the parade whether he attended or not. The thought made her tighten her grip on her pen. Even absent, he carried influence.
“Fine,” she said, jotting down notes. “Basketball team leads, Ethan Hale as captain, attendance or not, the plan remains. Everyone else will follow the schedule I provide.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Iris acknowledged them with a brief nod, already reviewing the plan for weak points.
She tapped her pen against her notebook. “Class A, remember: we are in charge. The twelfth graders are busy, and Founder’s Week depends on us. I expect everyone to stay on top of your responsibilities, communicate clearly, and report issues immediately. Anything less than perfection isn’t acceptable.”
A classmate in the front smiled. “Don’t worry, Ms. President. With you leading, nothing will go wrong.”
"Thank you." Iris allowed herself a short nod. Confidence was useful, but only when backed by preparation.
As the meeting ended, students broke into smaller discussions about booth designs and schedules. Iris lingered, straightening her papers and reviewing assignments once more. Founder’s Week wasn’t just a festival. It was a responsibility, and she treated it like one.
—
Iris sat on the wooden bench inside the gym, clipboard resting on her knees, pen in hand. The sound of basketballs hitting the court echoed around her, steady and rhythmic. She tapped her pen lightly, checking the schedule for Founder’s Week one last time.
The doors swung open, and he appeared, tall, broad-shouldered, a towel slung over one shoulder, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. Ethan Hale. The basketball star. Cold, distant, impossible to pin down, but someone Iris had known her entire life.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Madam President?” he said, his voice low, teasing, eyes briefly flicking to her before scanning the gym.
“There’s a school event coming up,” she said, eyes forward. “Founder’s Week. We’re planning a parade.”
He hummed, unimpressed. “Sounds busy.”
“It is,” she replied. “And you’re participating.”
That got his attention. He turned his head slightly, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Am I now?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Since you are the captain, you will lead the basketball team and the parade.”
He let out a soft laugh. “You planned that.”
“I planned everything,” she said. “Also, the crowd will love it. Especially the girls.”
He raised a brow. “Using my looks for school morale?”
“Think of it as community service.”
Ethan studied her for a moment, then leaned closer, elbows resting on his knees. “What do I get out of this?”
She finally looked at him. “You get to help the school.”
“That’s not enough,” he said lightly. “I want something in return.”
Her grip tightened on the clipboard. “What do you want?”
He smiled, slow and unreadable. “You’ll owe me.”
“That’s not an answer."
“It’s better,” he replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll collect someday."
She exhaled sharply. “Fine. But don’t expect me to babysit you. I’ll tell you where to stand and when to smile.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Less effort.”
She flipped a page. “There’s also the parade pairing. Each representative gets a muse.”
His eyes flicked to her. “You.”
“No,” she said instantly. “I’m the organizer.”
He chuckled. “Pity.”
“Someone else will be assigned.”
“Okay,” he said, standing and grabbing his tumbler. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave.”
Iris gathered her things, forcing her focus back to the clipboard. At least one variable was under control, for now.
As they walked out of the gym together, she wondered when agreeing had started to feel like surrender.
Behind her, Ethan smiled to himself.
After all, a debt was far more interesting than a favor.
