“All right,” Christos said. “I’m going to run to the art supply store. I need some new sable brushes. Do you need anything while I’m there?”
Not that I could afford anything. I was beyond broke. And Christos had already spent a ton of money setting up my drawing table with supplies in our studio. I couldn’t ask for more. “No, thanks,” I sighed.
“Do you want to come with, anyway?”
“No, I have to go to campus.”
“You were just there. I thought your classes were done for the day.”
“I have to take care of something with my, uh, financial aid! Some new loan papers!” I lied. I hoped Christos didn’t know the first thing about how financial aid and loans worked, or he’d start asking questions and find out real quick.
“That’s cool. Do you want a ride? We could go to Blick Art down in Little Italy after.”
“No! That’s okay!”
He frowned. “You sure?”
“Yes!”
“All right. In that case, I’m taking the Duke. The weather’s so nice, I feel like a ride.”
I was about to ask if he’d been drinking, because I didn’t want him riding his motorcycle if he’d had even a sip. But ever since that visit with his dad, I don’t think Christos had been drinking much at all. “Okay,” I said.
He pushed his Ducati out of the garage and put his helmet on. “Wanna have dinner when I get home?”
“That would be awesome.”
“And don’t forget, we need to start your painting soon.”
Oh, that. Me, nude. For everyone to see. Naked on a mountain top at night was one thing. A well lit portrait hanging in a crowded gallery was another. “Sure!” Notice the exclamation point.
“Maybe we can start tonight,” he suggested.
“Maybe?” Notice the question mark.
He nodded and smiled his dimpled grin. “Later,” he said as he revved the bike and rode off.
I envied that Christos was back to his usual carefree self. It had happened almost overnight, like all his troubles had vanished. He’d returned to being the Christos I’d fallen in love with. It was amazing what the love of a supportive parent could do for one’s confidence and self esteem.
(Subtle jab at my own parents)
Sigh.
I wished my troubles would vanish like Christos’, so I could be carefree too. Unfortunately, mine weren’t even close to free. They cost thousands of dollars that I didn’t have.
At least I had my credit card. I could now begin the time honored American tradition of sinking into a pit of debt I might never be able to climb out of.
“What do you mean I can’t pay my tuition by credit card?” I asked in horror.
The cashier, a middle aged guy with a pepper gray beard and glasses, stood behind the counter at the SDU Central Cashier’s Office. He said, “We can only accept payment by cash, check, money order, or student loan checks.”
“But I’m out of student loan money and I don’t have any cash,” I groused. “The bank won’t give me a loan because I don’t have a cosigner.” I was ready to cry and plead for mercy. I think it showed on my face and desperate tone of voice.
The cashier smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do. Have you spoken with someone at Financial Aid? They can help you explore all of your aid options in depth.”
“I have,” I sighed. “I can’t get any more loan money until next year.”
“That’s a problem,” he nodded sympathetically.
“What happens if I don’t pay?”
“There is a grace period. You have another week to pay before you incur a late fee of fifty dollars.”
Shit, I didn’t have fifty dollars to spare, let alone thousands. “What happens if I don’t pay by then?”
“You’ll incur a hold on your account.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll have to pay a $35 fee to clear the hold and make your payment.”
“You mean I’ll have to pay $35 so I can pay the $50 late fee AND my tuition?”
“Yes,” he said somewhat sheepishly.
I shook my head. Great. More money I didn’t have. “What happens if I don’t clear the hold?”
“Eventually, you’ll be subject to cancellation of your classes.”
“What do you mean? Like, permanently? I don’t want to get kicked out of SDU,” I said with feeble dread.
“No,” he smiled. “It’s not that dire. But you won’t be able to receive any credit for this term. You’ll have to retake all the classes you’re enrolled in now.”
“But they don’t offer History 3 and Sociology 3 again until next Spring! That’ll totally screw up my schedule next year!”
He spread his hands apart. “I’m sorry.”
“What can I do?” I said, panicked.
“I know this sounds harsh, but if you can find a way to cover your monthly installment payment, you won’t have anything to worry about. Try talking to your parents.”
Them. Yeah, right. They weren’t going to do shit.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asked, glancing over my shoulder at the people waiting in line behind me.
“No, thanks.”
My shoulders slumped as I trudged out of the Cashier’s Office.
I was going to find the nearest lamppost outside and wait until dark so I could start turning tricks. I was pretty sure one trick would cover my late fee and my hold fee.
I walked down the stairs outside the Cashier’s Office right as Tiffany Cum-dumb Butt-spouse walked by with a pair of her sorority hobots flanking her.
Great.
As always, she was dressed in new clothes, her platinum blonde hair was perfectly arranged, and I expected paparazzi to jump out of the bushes and start snapping photos of her any second. She exuded celebrity, even though I think the only thing she was famous for was being a bitch.
I ducked my head, hoping she wouldn’t notice me.
“Well, if it isn’t little miss Scumantha Banana Shit,” she sneered.
I wondered for the second time how she’d found out my full name was Samantha Anna Smith. She probably had spies everywhere. I had no doubt she could afford to hire the very best.
We were walking in the same direction, so I walked quickly, hoping to put some distance between us. I heard her tittering with her two minions behind me.
“Having a bad day, Scumantha?” she sneered at my back.
I rolled my eyes to myself and kept walking, doing my best to ignore her.
“Find any good jobs lately?” she jabbed.
What a bitch. She had totally gotten me fired out of spite, and we both knew it.
I turned and glared at her, “Shut up, Tiffany.”
She and her hobot friends cackled at me.
The thing that pissed me off more than anything was that Tiffany never had to worry about money, she never had to work for anything, and she was still the biggest bitch on the planet.
“Oh,” she cooed in baby talk, “did I hurt widdle Scumantha’s feewings?”
Her friends laughed heartily.
I pivoted on my heel and marched right up to Tiffany and her friends. The three of them stopped short, eyes bugging out.
“Hey,” one of the hobots muttered.
Tiffany frowned at me, “Hey, back off—”
SLAP!!
I smacked her right across the face. Her cheek was white where I’d hit it. I’d learned that trick from my mom. At least she was good for something.
“Oh my god!” one of the hobots gasped, covering her lips with her fingers.
The other hobot was stunned into silence.
Tiffany huffed a wordless shriek. Slowly, she raised her hand and gingerly touched her cheek with her fingertips.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Don’t call me Scumantha.”
I turned around and walked away, expecting her and her friends to jump me or throw knives in my back. Knowing Tiffany, her daddy probably gave her a fancy hand gun she would use to gun me down.