JUST BUGGING YA
Lacey
“Lacey, can we have a quick chat?” Mom asked as I grabbed my earbuds and shoved them in my purse.
“Not now.” Dad frowned at her from the table where he was texting or doing something with his phone.
“Has to be. I’m working two doubles, and that application we talked about as a solution”—Mom gave him a forced look, trying to speak words with her glare—“has to be filled out. There’s a deadline.”
“Mom, whatever it is, text me. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave in the next fifteen minutes.” I tried not to sound bratty, but being late on my first day wasn’t how I rolled.
“I know, but there’s something we need to talk about.” She gave me the mom face, the one that suggested I couldn’t weasel my way out of this. We were talking, now. “We want you to understand a few things.” Her eyes darted toward the stairs, like she was talking about Martin, but I knew that wasn’t the case.
We were about to talk tuition, and I really didn’t want to.
“What about?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t heard her last night.
“Honey, this isn’t the right time. She has to go to work,” Dad said, offering a look.
“Lacey—” Mom started, ignoring Dad. “It’s about Martin. It’s important. And you might need some time to come up with a solution.”
“There’s more?” My spine tingled as I contemplated that this may not be about tuition at all.
“No, well, yes. Martin’s diagnosis is causing a bit of an unexpected issue,” Dad said over his cup of coffee, pleading at Mom with his stare, but she didn’t speak. “Since the new government made the health care changes, we’re not covered like we used to be. Your mom’s policy has completely changed.” He winced, and Mom continued for him.
“We have to use our savings for his treatments.”
And there it was.
“You need me to chip in?” I played along, knowing where this was going.
“We’re so sorry, honey. We know the base amount of his first surgery, and treatments will be almost all our savings for you to go to school next year.” Dad’s voice cracked a bit, not like he would cry, but he was visibly upset. “We wanted to be able to help you kids through your schooling so you didn’t have loans like us. But we won’t have the money to cover everything, and Martin’s health comes first. Grandma has already paid for all those years of private school for you two. She can’t do any more.”
“We’re so sorry.” Mom hugged me.
“Guys.” I forced myself to be cool. “Martin has thyroid cancer. I’ll figure out school. I don’t care. I’ll skip a year if I have to. I’ll get a student loan. Whatever. You’re right, though; there are deadlines for applications. I’ll look into it today. No biggie. It’s just money.” I pulled back, feeling my future crashing and burning, but forcing that firm smile on my face. “Let’s focus on him. When he’s better, we’ll worry about school.”
“You’re such a good kid,” Mom said, then sighed into my neck. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, and I want to help Martin through this. Whatever we need to do, we’re a team. Let’s just concentrate on the most important thing here. We’ll talk more later, but for now, I have to run and get to my first big day back at the office.” I pulled away and grabbed my bag, turning to leave. “Love you!” I waved and closed the door.
It was lucky I’d had the night to think about the whole financial situation. Telling me the day of my first shift was shitty, but I got why. They needed me to know sooner so I could solve it faster. They trusted me to figure this out on my own.
As I clicked along the sidewalk, I prayed the brave face I was sporting would last throughout the day. I was going to need it.
I daydreamed on the subway, running numbers. My tuition and books cost around fifty thousand a year. My scholarship covered ten thousand. Martin’s surgery and treatments must be close to that, or more. I didn’t know the amount but feared Mom and Dad might have to dip into our school savings. And if that happened, I had only about seven thousand dollars left from last year’s spending money, which meant I needed to come up with a minimum of thirty-five thousand dollars if I was going to finish the year off debt-free.
That was a big number.
A daunting number.
My summer job might net me about fifteen thousand, so I needed to find a second job that I could do around this one.
Another challenge.
I pushed it to the back of my mind and tried to stay focused. My first day was going to be challenging enough without adding this stress.
In the elevator, I tried to smile and pretend I was fine.
“Lacey!” Hennie, my friend and fellow intern, squealed and hit the main floor running. “I missed you.”
“Hennie!” I hugged her back tightly. “I missed you too.”
I clung to her a little longer than I should have. But she smelled like cookies and hugged so warmly, it was nice to be held by someone like her. Especially after yesterday and this morning.
“How was the year at Harvard?” I asked.
“Good. Hectic. You?” she questioned as she struggled free from me.
“Not bad.” I tried to maintain the smile on my face, but the truth was still ripping my heart out.
“Awesome, I’m glad it’s over. It was hard, but I got through. You excited to be back?” She beamed.
“Yeah.” I nodded, but I couldn’t last another second. I needed to talk to someone or I was going to burst. “That’s a lie. I just found out my little brother got diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I don’t even know what to say about it. I’m honestly still in shock.” Tears welled in my eyes.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. When did you find out?” Her face paled.
“Yesterday.” I sniffled.
“Lacey. Jeez. That’s rough. Isn’t he, like, seventeen?”
“Yeah. Almost eighteen. He’s a kid. But it’s hereditary.”
“Well, not to be one of those people who can’t let someone wallow, but his being a kid is actually on his side. He’s young and strong. And thyroid is one of those cancers people recover from. Early detection and all. One of my uncles had it. He lived, and he was a smoker.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t bother telling her it was how my grandpa died. “Anyway, I don’t really want to talk more about it. It’s stressing me out hard. But if I seem off, you should know why.” I changed the subject. “Are you excited to be back?” I couldn’t do the brother-cancer thing all day or I would end up in the bathroom crying nonstop.
“I am. Are you?” she asked again, blushing. “I mean—”
“No, it’s fine. I am. I need all the money I can get. I might have to see if there are weekend jobs or find a waitressing shift for after work.”
“Oh my God, why?”
“Martin’s cancer. My parents are going to have to use my tuition money, and I don’t have enough in savings to front it on my own.” Tears started to build again.
“Oh, no.” She winced. As a person who needed financial aid, she understood how much college cost and how much of a burden the financing was for us. “What about a student loan? The deadline hasn’t passed yet. I’m pretty sure the deadline is end of June; you still have a few weeks.”
“I’m considering that, but I don’t know if I’ll get the full amount for NYU. I mean, it was fifty-something thousand last year for everything. And then I have to graduate with a massive loan, making just enough money to live on my own, not including a loan repayment.”
“Right.” She folded her arms over her chest, gripping her cardigan. “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure this out. And if you need help, you know I’m in. I’ll do anything you need. With our combined business savvy, we can come up with an out-of-the-box solution to your troubles. It’ll be just like finding a way to sell Mr. La Croix’s latest crazy venture to the masses.”
“Thanks.” I sighed, a bit defeated and still ashamed that I was even considering my problems when my brother’s health was at risk. “Anyway, we better get to work. I imagine our responsibilities will be a lot heavier this summer.”
“You know how he likes to add a little every year.” Hennie laughed. She knew Mr. La Croix almost as well as I did. We had spent every summer since grade eleven as interns or working here in some way. She got in through school—a scholarship student with remarkable grades. And I got in through Marcia, my bestie.
“That he does.”
“Good to see you again.” She reached in and hugged me once more, letting me linger.
“You too.” I squeezed and forced myself to let go.
Hennie was my kind of people. Nerdy, funny, smart, and down-to-earth. She was the sort of friend I enjoyed getting in some downtime with, away from Marcia and the girls. Plus, Hennie got how hard it was being average and surrounded by a bunch of rich kids. She got life. Being with her was just easy. Sometimes we didn’t even talk, just sat in relaxing silence.
“See ya in a bit.” I left her at the financial department and headed for the section I worked in, ready to devote myself to fetching coffees like a boss while everyone used my ideas and pretended they were theirs. Internship had its moments. At least Mr. La Croix saw it all. He knew.
When I got to the Monday-morning session we always had in the large conference room, Mr. La Croix was already at the head of the table, smiling wide. “Lacey, good morning.” He beamed among his group of people, all busy preparing for the morning meeting.
I forced myself to beam back. “Good morning, Mr. La Croix. Can I get you all some coffee?” I asked the same of everyone, offering smiles and waves at familiar faces.
“No, no, come and sit.” He motioned for me to take a seat across from him as everyone else got comfortable. “I wanted to talk to you this morning about a couple of ideas.”
Excitement brewed in me, lifting my mood considerably. “Okay. I’m ready when you are!”
“We have a new project this year, one we’re pretty excited about.” Mr. La Croix was bursting with his usual giddiness, something he did every time he found a new investment opportunity. “It’s a start-up by a couple of young moms in Jersey: a protein bar that helps bowel movement and provides all kinds of nutrients and actually tastes good.”
“Okay.” I wrinkled my nose when he said the word bowel and then sort of just held that expression, a little grossed out but still intrigued.
“NASA is interested.” He said it like this was really amazing.
“And you want me to help with the marketing?” I was lost.
“Right. The name the women have given the product is Mom Bars.”
“Oh.” I tried not to grimace again.
“Exactly.” He laughed, as did the handful of other people at the large table. “We’re in the midst of researching some of the other products that this bar is competing with. There’s a cereal called Holy Crap.”
“Jeez.”
“And some Bowel Buddies.”
“Oh, wow.” I sat back. “So you want me to come up with a new name that puts a different spin on the product?”
“No.” He grinned. “Not just a name.” His eyes danced and darted around the table to his other employees. “We have a few things we need you to secure on this project.”
“Okay.” I tried not to sound leery. Or at least as leery as I felt.
One of the ladies leaned in. “We need you to come up with a name, a marketing package, and an angle to appeal to your generation. There aren’t any other millennials here, but you have a finger on the pulse of the young women who could be influential in shaping the campaign.”
“You want me to manipulate my friends into eating and promoting the bars on social media?” Was I above that?
“Not in so many words . . .” Mr. La Croix laughed. “I’ve been trying to get Marcia into them; I even started serving them at the breakfast bar at the country club and a few hotels. But no one seems interested. NASA backing a product that keeps astronauts healthy just isn’t as big of a deal as it used to be. People in my day would watch the astronaut eat it and think, ‘Hey, I need that.’ Nowadays, people want the endorsement of someone just like them—someone they can relate to.”
“Yeah.” I tried to go easy on him. “Didn’t we all read that they cut funding to the space programs? And I know most of my friends, Marcia included, might not care about NASA at all. They would go for a makeup brand first.”
One of the guys grabbed something from a basket. “Which is why we need you. This product needs a rebranding. Those young moms have a sound idea, and the recipe is genius.” He slid a packaged bar across the table to me. “Try it.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about Holy Crap or Bowel Buddies as I lifted the little package. “I’m not really a granola-bar kind of girl. I mean, didn’t Dr. Oz say they’re all like candy bars and kids shouldn’t eat them?”
“Don’t put that on the marketing campaign,” Mr. La Croix teased, but it didn’t stop the whole room from staring and waiting. A needle dropping to the floor would have echoed in the office as they paused.
I crinkled the wrapper, noting the sound of it as I peeled back one corner. A brown bar revealed itself. “Chocolate coating.” I smiled, feeling like a hot spotlight was bearing down on me. I’d never eaten a single thing in my life under such scrutiny and pressure.
Forcing myself, I swallowed hard, trying to lube my tightened throat as I parted my lips and lifted the exposed corner to my mouth. I needed this. I needed it badly. Being part of the team that marketed and sold this would secure my place here, and it might also be my answer for the summer finances situation. If I succeeded, I could possibly convince Mr. La Croix that I could finish my last year of school later and stay on as a full-time employee.
Every set of eyes widened as I prepared to take the first bite, making me think I was being punked and the bar was going to taste terrible.
I closed my eyes, likely making a terribly unattractive expression as I placed it between my parted teeth and bit down.
The sweetness of the chocolate was nice. The bar was fudgy and soft. Coconut and something else, a nutty flavor I couldn’t place, filled my mouth. Sweat formed on my brow and upper lip as I opened my eyes and nodded. “It’s good.” The chewing wasn’t hard. My jaw didn’t tire. I didn’t lose any of my teeth or tear a gum. Best of all, it didn’t taste like crap.
“You like it?” He smiled wide, sitting back and sighing. “Good! You can’t taste the crickets?”
“What?” I asked, feeling the chocolate coating my teeth as Mr. La Croix handed me a water to wash it down.
“The crickets. They’re ground to a flour and used as a supreme protein source. Incredibly sustainable and have the added benefit of no pollution or resource demands. They’re the future, honestly.”
“What!” I asked again, this time standing up and knocking my chair to the floor. “Bugs?” I shuddered, feeling a similar tightening in my throat and souring in my cheeks. It had only been one day since I’d last tasted my own bile. Was this something I would have to get used to from now on?
Turning, I bolted from the room. I crashed into the bathroom but didn’t make it to a stall. I lost my stomach all over the linoleum floor.
What an amazing start to the workweek, puking my new job—the only obvious solution to my current problems and future success—all over the damn place. While some poor person would be forced to clean up this mess, I suddenly had a slew of others that a mop and bucket simply couldn’t cure.