My morning classes passed slowly. I knew studying video game design was going to be a lot of technical classes about coding and computer science, and I’m all for that. But some of the professors could really work on their monotone delivery.

My calendar on my phone reminds me that I’ve got an appointment with my advisor in twenty minutes, which is more than enough time to hoof it over to the faculty office building. On my way, I make a quick pit stop at Randall Hall dorms to break up with some poor sap named Greg whose boyfriend is sick of him. What can I say? It’s a cool hundred bucks, and I’m really good at dumping people. I’m marketing my skillset.

“Troy Kline?” I’m greeted when I enter my advisor’s office only five minutes past our scheduled meeting time.

“Yeah, that’s me.” The pleasant buzz of an orgasm and half a joint have long since worn off, leaving me uneasy about the reason why this meeting was requested.

“Troy, glad you were able to stop by to chat this afternoon. I noticed you haven’t paid off the balance for this semester yet, and I wanted to see if you needed financial aid information?”

My gut twists, and I sink down in the chair opposite my adviser, Mary.

“I told you, I don’t like the idea of ending school with a huge debt. How long do I have to pay the balance for this semester?”

“It’s due April seventeenth. If you don’t pay by then, you’ll be dropped from your classes.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I assure her.

I’ve always found a way to pay each semester, one way or another. Last semester is when the idea of posting the ad to break-up with people for money came to me. And that got me through. I’m sure I’ll find a way to pay this semester, too.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be happy to go over options for loans with you.”

“Thanks.”

I fling my backpack over my shoulder and exit the office without a backward glance.

What the fuck am I going to do?

I have a few grand in my account from my side gig, but I was counting on that for living expenses. I’m going to have to pray a lot of people need someone to do the dirty work of dumping someone for them this semester if I’m going to squeak by.

I slump down beside a gnarled tree on the quad and bury my face in my hands.

“I’ve gotta dump this chick, but I hate the drama, you know?” some dude says from off to my left. “I know there’ll be water works and questions about why things aren’t working. It’s my hell.”

I laugh to myself and shake my head. Breaking up is easy; it’s keeping someone around that’s the trick. I couldn’t keep my parents from ditching me, couldn’t find a foster family to keep me, and by the time I figured out what my dick was for, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was giving any man the chance to leave me.

“It’d be cool if you could pay someone to break up with her for you,” the dude’s friend jokes and they both laugh.

I shove to my feet and run my hands through my unruly hair again before spinning to face the men with my best friendly smile.

“Excuse me, but it sounds like you have a problem I can help with.”

The two men share a confused look.

“We’re not trying to buy drugs,” one of them says, looking me up and down.

I’m not a drug dealer, fuck you very much. I bite back that retort and force myself to chuckle like I appreciate the humor of the misunderstanding. Sure, I’m a little rough around the edges with my messy hair and constant stubble. My jeans have holes and combat boots are a staple in my wardrobe. I don’t look like anyone’s idea of high class, but I don’t sell drugs… I do them on occasion, but I don’t sell them.

“No, I offer a...service. I’ll let your girl down gently for the low price of a hundred bucks. The break-up is taken care of for you without the hassle.”

“No shit?”

“No shit,” I confirm. “Just give me her name, a picture would be good, and where I can find her. If there’s anything specific you want me to say I can do that, but otherwise I can just feel out the situation once I’m there.”

“Yeah, hell yeah.” The guy smiles and reaches for his cell phone. “I can Venmo you the money, right?”

“Of course,” I agree and give him my information.

I breathe a small sigh of relief. I’ll work the money issue out; I always do. Most importantly, I need to keep my eye on the prize.

Being bounced from foster home to foster home, the one consistent was that they were all more than happy to toss me a video game console and encourage me to stay out of their way. I came to love the increasing complexity of games over time. I loved solving the puzzles in Resident Evil, I was intrigued with the deep storyline in The Last of Us, and I even appreciated the artistry of Journey.

And by the time I was sixteen, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wanted to create games. I wanted to learn all the behind the scenes drama, the blood, sweat, and tears that created the world I wanted to wrap myself in. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let a few thousand bucks stand between me and my dream.

I saunter across campus, basking in the buzz of energy that always accompanies the beginning of a semester. Everyone is still fired up and sure this is going to be their best year yet. They excitedly grab their friends and discuss future plans for weekend parties and student jobs that will change their life.

A small tinge of jealousy hits me in the chest. I have plenty of enthusiasm for my future, parties and otherwise, but what I don’t have is friends to share it with.

I have a good reason for keeping people at a distance, and the fact that I’m so self-aware must mean I’m emotionally healthy, right? But that doesn’t stop me from being lonely from time to time. Don’t get me wrong, there are people I chill with from time to time, but no one I’d call to bail me out of jail.

I shake off my melancholy as I bound up the steps to my Ancient History lecture.

* * *

When I get back to my apartment after my afternoon classes, I find five responses to my Reddit post. Cha-Ching. Four of the replies request standard “Don’t hurt him/her, just let them know it’s over between us”, and I message each back for details and to let them know where to send their payments. But the fifth message catches my attention.

Tom: I need you to dump this guy I’ve been seeing, and I need it to be humiliating. There’s a song and dance and a costume that I’ll pay you an extra hundred bucks for. But I need this guy to feel like an idiot.

Sounds to me like I’m the one who’s going to feel like an idiot. But for two hundred bucks, I’ll be the biggest idiot in the world.

Troy: Done. Just need a name and address and you’ll need to send me the $200 up front.