Chapter 1: The Lucky Ticket That Broke Us

My roommate, Carter Mills, landed an internship at a Fortune 500 company—big deal, right? He wanted to celebrate, so he invited me out for dinner off campus. Honestly, I could feel the anticipation buzzing in the air, like maybe something good was finally coming our way.

He couldn’t sit still to save his life that day, practically bouncing through every class. When he burst into our room that afternoon, waving the email on his phone like it was Willy Wonka’s golden ticket—seriously, Willy would’ve been jealous—I knew he was itching for something big. Carter never splurged, so his offer to treat me? That was like spotting a unicorn. Made the night feel like it might actually mean something, even if it was just dinner.

After dinner, we stumbled back toward our dorm building, stomachs full and the night air crisp. As we wandered, we passed a little convenience store, its Lotto sign glowing like a dare to every college kid passing by. I couldn’t help thinking, what is it about broke students and the hope of a quick win? Carter, hyped up and joking about his newfound luck, dragged me inside—couldn’t resist the temptation, and honestly, neither could I. “Come on, man, let’s see if the universe is really on our side,” he said, half-laughing, half-serious.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead—loud enough to make my teeth itch. The air was thick with the smell of microwaved burritos and stale coffee, the kind that clings to your hoodie. Carter nudged me toward the counter, his energy infectious, grinning like he’d just hacked the vending machine for free snacks. He picked out two scratch-off tickets, holding them up like secret weapons. “Tonight’s our lucky night, man,” he said, his eyes wide with mischief.

The next day, we checked our tickets. Carter’s was a dud. I could feel the suspense knotting in my stomach as I scratched mine—then, boom. My ticket hit for $1,500. For a second, I just stared at it, not breathing.

The numbers stared up at me, like I’d slipped into someone else’s life. I blinked twice, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Carter leaned in, eyes huge behind those bent, rust-flecked frames. The world went dead quiet, then snapped back into fast-forward. My hands shook as it hit me: I’d just scored enough to cover a month’s rent, maybe two, or finally fix my car’s dying radiator. Unbelievable.

Without missing a beat, Carter goes, “Mason, I bought that ticket for you, so, technically, that’s my win, right? Shouldn’t you hand it over?”

He said it so casually, like he was just asking me to pass the salt at dinner. I had to check if he was serious. Was he actually serious? I half-expected him to crack a smile and say he was kidding, but nope—he just stared, dead serious, like he was waiting for me to hand it over.

Lately, campus was crawling with recruiters and career fairs. Carter had landed that interview on a whim, and a week later, HR from some big-name company shot him an offer. It was all anyone talked about in the dining hall—jobs, internships, the pressure. Carter strutted around like he’d won the lottery already, dropping the company name every chance he got.

Last night, to celebrate, he took me out off campus. On the walk back, we hit the corner store, and Carter—still riding the offer high—decided to press his luck with the lottery. (Funny looking back—like he thought the world owed him a little extra just for showing up.)

The night air was brisk, and we joked about how the store’s neon sign was basically a lighthouse for broke college kids. "If that sign isn’t calling our names, I don’t know what is," Carter said, laughing. For a second, I let myself believe maybe the universe really was on our side.

He pulled me inside and made sure we each got a ticket. But when I reached for my phone to pay, the screen went black—battery totally dead, just my luck.

I’d ignored the low battery warning all day, and now it bit me at the worst possible moment. I patted my pockets, feeling sheepish, but Carter just rolled his eyes, already digging out his wallet. “Seriously, Mason? You and your dead phone,” he teased.

Seeing that, Carter paid the $2 for my ticket. Typical Carter, always ready to bail me out if it cost him less than a cup of coffee. To keep things clear, I borrowed his phone right there in the store and shot myself a Venmo memo: Carter paid $2 for Mason’s lottery ticket.

Just a little digital receipt, nothing more. I figured we’d laugh about it later—never thought it’d actually matter. Who keeps score over two bucks between friends?

The next morning, full of hope, we scratched our tickets. Carter’s face fell—he tossed his loser in the trash, nearly knocking his wire-rimmed glasses off in the process. He shoved them back up his nose, then leaned over to check my numbers, looking for any reason to call it a mistake.

He hovered so close I could smell the coffee on his breath. When my ticket revealed the prize, his eyes darted back and forth, double-checking like he didn’t trust reality. He froze. Shoulders tensed, jaw clenched. It was like watching someone’s game face crack in real time.

I let out a low whistle, barely able to wrap my head around it. For a second, I wondered if the universe was playing a prank on me. My luck had never run this hot before—felt almost dangerous.

When he saw the winning ticket in my hand, jealousy flashed across his face. He just stared, silent, calculating. Then, out of nowhere, he demanded I hand it over. My brain short-circuited—was this really happening?

His tone was icy, and his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he wasn’t my roommate—he was a stranger, sizing me up like I was standing between him and a payday. My stomach dropped. The air in the room felt thick, like all the oxygen had been sucked out.

I stared at him, wide-eyed. Seriously? How could anyone be this shameless? My mind spun, looking for the punchline, but it never came.

My mind raced, replaying the night before. Was he for real? Was this some twisted joke? But Carter’s face was stone, lips pressed into a hard line. He wasn’t kidding. Not even close.

But he didn’t even blush. He said, “Mason, I bought your ticket, so it’s mine. Don’t you think you should give it back?”

He crossed his arms, tapping his foot, acting like this was the most reasonable request in the world. The entitlement in his voice made my skin crawl. I felt a flash of anger, then disbelief.

Carter tried to look calm, pushing up his old, rust-flecked glasses again.

He always did that when he was bluffing—old nervous habit. The glasses sat crooked on his nose, something I used to find funny. Now, it just made him look petty.

I paused, then snorted. “I picked the numbers and scratched the ticket myself. How’s that make it yours?”

I kept my tone light, but there was an edge there. I wanted him to hear how ridiculous he sounded, to feel even a little embarrassed about this.

Carter stood his ground, not a flicker of shame. “Mason, you’re something else. I treated you to dinner, I paid for your ticket—if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even have it.”

He sounded like he was reciting a grocery list of favors, like every tiny gesture was a debt I owed. The logic was so warped, I couldn’t help but let out a sharp laugh—the kind that bounces off cinderblock walls and makes the whole room feel smaller.

His logic was so ridiculous I just stared at him, speechless. I felt like the guy I’d lived with for three years had been replaced by a total stranger—one who was kind of scary, if I was being honest.

All those late-night talks, the shared pizza, the dumb arguments over who got top bunk—felt pointless now. The guy in front of me was just cold, transactional, like none of it had ever mattered.

He always bragged that his dad was a shareholder in a bunch of companies. I used to think Carter’s family was loaded, but really, his dad just dabbled in stocks. In the dorm, Carter hid his snacks, paranoid someone would steal them. Everyone knew he was stingy—so cheap he wouldn’t even buy new glasses.

The glasses, though, were a running joke. He’d rather squint at the TV than spend a dime on a new pair. Looking back, it all made perfect sense.

Getting the internship was the only reason he’d ever treated me to a meal off campus. Otherwise, getting him to buy dinner was like pulling teeth. Even then, he only ordered the cheapest appetizers. I couldn’t take it, so I ordered a couple of beers—and ended up paying for them myself.

I remembered the way Carter’s eyes darted to the menu prices, the way he grimaced when I ordered drinks. He forced a smile, but his wallet never left his pocket. Typical Carter, always keeping score, always calculating.

I’d gotten used to his penny-pinching over the years. But now, seeing him try to claim my ticket with zero shame, I was done. I shot him a sharp, mocking smile.

I leaned back, arms folded, letting the silence stretch between us. My patience had snapped, and I wanted him to feel it—really feel it.

“Carter, you’ve really outdone yourself. By that logic, if I robbed a bank, would you be the criminal just because you bought me dinner?”

My words hung there, half-joking, daring him to say something. I watched his face twist, all that fake confidence draining away.

His face changed instantly. He swallowed hard, eyes bulging behind those bent glasses. For once, he looked rattled.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like a fish gasping for air. For the first time, I saw a crack in his confidence—a flicker of doubt, finally.

I pointed at his phone, fixing him with a glare. “Check your Venmo history. I paid you back the two bucks as soon as we got back. You took the money fast enough—now you want to pretend it never happened? Or are you just still buzzed from last night?”

I let my words bite, making sure he knew I wasn’t letting this go. The accusation hung there, heavy and obvious.

At that, his shock faded and he tried to look calm again, but he was clearly rattled. He said, “Sure, I got your transfer last night. So what? I’ll just give you back the two bucks, and you hand over the ticket.”

He tried to sound casual, but his voice cracked on the last word. It was a weak play, and we both knew it.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Last night, I’d left that note in his Venmo thinking it was overkill—roommates shouldn’t have to worry about this kind of thing. But now, it was my best proof.

We’d always just split bills, no receipts, no drama. This was the first time I’d ever needed a paper trail with someone I called a friend.

I shook my head. “You might want to check again. Yesterday in the store, I used your phone to send myself a note. Then I Venmo’d you as soon as we got back. You were quick to accept, but you conveniently forgot about the message?”

I could see the panic flicker in his eyes, his fingers twitching as he grabbed for his phone. For once, he was the one scrambling.

He snatched up his phone, tapping frantically at the screen. That note sat there like a thorn: “Carter paid $2 for Mason’s lottery ticket.”

His hands shook as he tried to delete it, muttering curses under his breath. The desperation was almost sad.

I sneered. “Don’t bother. The record’s on both our accounts.”

I couldn’t help but smirk, watching him realize he was cornered. For once, the facts were on my side, and there was nothing he could do about it.

His finger hovered, then stopped. He realized I had the record too. For a split second, I saw the realization hit him—he looked lost, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

His shoulders slumped, and he stared at the floor, the fight draining out of him. For a second, I almost felt sorry for him—almost, but not quite.

He tried to pull himself together and kept arguing. “That note doesn’t count. I doubt it’s even legally valid.”

He tried to sound tough, but his voice wobbled. The tough-guy act was gone, replaced by a weak, desperate edge.

Watching him scramble, I rolled my eyes.

I turned away, pretending to dig through my backpack just to put some space between us. I couldn’t believe we were even having this conversation.

“Carter, you’re really showing your true colors. If you’re that desperate for cash, go pick up a shift. If you’re not sure about the law, ask a lawyer—don’t play dumb here.”

I let my words settle, hoping he’d finally get the message. I was so done playing nice.

He knew the ticket was mine, but he kept playing dumb. When I refused to budge, he suddenly shifted tactics, twisting his mouth into a calculating smile.

It was the kind of smile that never reached his eyes, all teeth and no warmth. I braced myself for whatever angle he’d try next.

“If I hadn’t taken you to buy tickets, you wouldn’t have had the chance to win at all! At the very least, you should split it with me. Have a heart?”

He sounded almost reasonable, like he was doing me a favor by asking for half. The switch was so quick it gave me whiplash.

I stared at his fake smile, remembering how, just last night, he’d been pounding his chest at the table, promising to introduce me to his company. Now, with the money on the line, he was pulling out every trick.

The memory stung. For a second, I almost laughed at how quickly people changed when money was involved.

I shook my head, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. “I was actually planning to give you a cut as a thank-you, out of friendship. But after today, I see things clearly. Giving you something would be a favor; not giving you anything is my right. And now, I don’t feel like doing you any favors at all.”

My words were cold, but I meant every one. The line between generosity and obligation had never felt sharper.

There was less than a month until finals, and next semester, everyone would be off interning in different cities. Suddenly, I felt relieved. What did it matter if I burned this bridge? Someone like him—I should’ve cut ties a long time ago.

I felt a weight lift off my chest, the kind that comes when you finally see someone for who they really are. The end of an era, and honestly, it couldn’t come soon enough.