This is not how my life was supposed to go. I’m supposed to be a carefree college student. And if my mom were to get cancer then it should have happened when I was older and had a good job as a doctor or scientist and I could give her money to help her. I feel responsible even though I know this isn’t my fault.
“Mom, don’t worry,” I tell her, holding up her head so that she’s looking me in the eyes. “We’ll figure something out. Do they take a payment plan?”
“Not really,” she says, shaking her head. “That was one of the first things I asked. I was thinking I could get a second job.”
“And I could get a job,” I say quickly.
“No,” she says. “You’re in school. You need to focus on your studies. Your dad and I were so proud of you for getting your merit-based scholarship, so you don’t have to work and can just concentrate on school.”
“I still have time in the evenings,” I tell her, urgently, trying to make her understand how desperately I want to help. How I feel like I need to do something to maintain some power or control over this situation or I will just burst. “Or I could lessen my class schedule. Anything to help.”
“I appreciate that offer but I’m sorry to say it really won’t help,” she says.
I can tell she’s struggling to keep from crying all over again.
“They can only do a payment plan up to the next treatment and so many treatments are needed in such rapid succession that there just wouldn’t be enough time to save up any more money before the next payment became due,” she continues. “It would be an issue of one hundred thousand dollars for the first treatment and then another one hundred thousand dollars for the next treatment, right in a row. I don’t even know where I could get the first one hundred thousand dollars from. It’s not like a second job would bring in that much anytime soon. Nor any job that you could get.”
I sigh.
“No offense, honey,” she quickly adds.
“No mom, you’re right.”
I’m beginning to feel the same sense of powerlessness she was undoubtedly feeling as she was sitting at the kitchen table crying. There’s no way I could get a job that pays that much without more education— more time. I suddenly realize the dilemma. What we need is more time, which we don’t have, or a way to make a lot of money fast.
…Which I might have.
The Student Gazette seems to be burning a hole in my backpack. I think I’ve found a solution.
I know my mom wouldn’t approve– not to mention my dad– so I can’t mention it to them. I’m their innocent little girl and they would be crushed to think of me any other way. So, I’ll have to figure out a way to give Mom the money without revealing where it came from.
Maybe I can pay for the treatments directly and say it came from an anonymous donor, or that the charity group was able to give more than they’d originally thought. There’s plenty of time to figure out how to explain the money.
But once I’ve done the deed, it will be done. I’ll have the money and then I can determine how to best pay for Mom’s treatments without her knowing. It’s not like the guy who pays for me could demand his money back— could he?
He will have taken my virginity. I know without a doubt that that’s what he would want. Money can buy anything and I could sell my very first time to the highest bidder. I’m not sure how much that would go for but maybe it would be enough for one treatment and then I could do it again before the second treatment is needed.
My heart sinks down in my stomach as I realize what I’m contemplating. Prostitution. Not just once but multiple times. I’m sure I can get the highest amount for my first time but then after that I’ll still be able to bring in some money, I would think, even though I’d no longer be a virgin.
Stacy said it herself. I’m beautiful and I’m also intelligent. I don’t usually feel that way, but objectively, I am. I’ve received the highest grades in my math courses all the way through school. There’s no way I don’t fit the ad description— at least the “intelligent” part.
Maybe they’ll tell me to lose some weight as that is apparently a common complaint among the guys I date. A lot of other guys say they like my curves. And they all definitely like my face. Perhaps these billionaires only like skinny bitches.
If that’s the case, I’ll go on some kind of extreme juice cleanse if I have to. Anything to help my mother. Even offering up my virginity to a complete stranger. I’ve decided to do it, and once I set my mind to something, it’s done. I didn’t get to be valedictorian of my high school by being indecisive or lazy.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I tell her, and I swear I see some hope in her eyes, even though she has no idea what I’ve decided to do— thank God.
I leave the room to text Stacy and tell her that believe it or not, I’m going to go to The Exchange and I hope that she’ll come with me. I’m not exactly sure what’s in store for me, but one way or another, I’m about to find out.