Six Hundred Dollars Chapter 1

The summer after my freshman year of college, my boss at the shady motel where I worked secretly took naked photos of me.

My mom forced me to settle with him.

She said, "He’s already seen you naked. Who knows if he has videos too?"

"You might be shameless, but I still have a reputation. Your sister still has a reputation!"

Tears filled my eyes but refused to fall. I looked at her, stunned. "What if this happened to Lily?"

* * *

Before I could finish, my mom slapped me across the face. Hard.

Her face was purple with rage, her whole body shaking, as if my hypothetical question was a knife aimed directly at my little sister.

"Don't you dare curse your sister!"

I knew exactly who my mother was, but hearing her say it still felt like a claw ripping through my chest.

Before summer break started, the old security guard at my college, the one who fed the stray cats, died of heatstroke.

The school announced emergency dorm renovations. We were kicked out.

I texted my mom, asking for $25 so I could buy a bus ticket home.

New York to Buffalo. Seven hours on a Greyhound. The cheapest ticket possible.

$24.50.

She refused instantly.

"Where are we supposed to get money? Can't you be more frugal?"

"Your sister starts prep for art school in two years. We just hired a tutor from Juilliard. One lesson is $200. We don't have extra money for you."

My dad was listening on the other end. He chimed in loudly:

"Sarah, look at the neighbor's kid, Jenny. The second school let out, she got a job at the mall. I heard she made a couple thousand just in commission last month."

Then they both asked me the same question.

If Jenny can do it, why can't you?

It's only three months. Why can't you get a job?

Why?

I opened my mouth but said nothing.

Because Jenny lives in Buffalo. She goes to college there. She has a house to go back to after work.

Me?

In the massive city of New York, the only thing I owned was one-fourth of a bunk bed in a dorm room.

Oh wait, not anymore.

The school was renovating to install AC and new furniture after the heatstroke incident.

My roommates were planning a trip to Korea. They were scheming to take the train instead of flying to save the difference from their parents' budget.

My dorm leader, a local girl, got picked up by her parents for even a three-day weekend.

Everyone was excited for summer.

Everyone except me. I couldn't even force a smile.

Because I was terrified to ask my parents for money.

Before college, my mom sat me down with a calculator and a spreadsheet.

"Breakfast: one egg, one milk. Two dollars."

"Lunch: veggies and rice. Three dollars."

"Dinner: noodles and a bun. Five dollars."

"Ten dollars a day for food. That’s three hundred a month. I'll give you another three hundred for 'extras.' Six hundred total. That’s plenty."

What she didn't say was that she would dole out this meager six hundred dollars week by week.

The first week of freshman year, the RA told us we needed to pay a $200 insurance fee.

My mom didn't believe me.

"I paid your tuition. I paid your book fees. Thousands of dollars! How could there be another fee?"

Through the cracked screen of my old Android, my mom’s face was blurry, but her voice was piercing.

"Go find your RA. Go find the dean. I want to ask them personally if they really need to take this $200!"

"Sarah, if I find out you're lying to get money, you can forget about school! It’s a waste anyway. Liars don't succeed."

I had no choice. I went to the RA.

To this day, the pity in her eyes makes me want to disappear.

That $200 was just the start.

For a year, whenever there was an unexpected fee, I stalled.

But periods don't wait. It comes like a flood, staining pants and sheets.

I had to beg my roommates for pads, for a few dollars, promising to pay them back when my weekly allowance came in or when I got paid from a part-time gig.

Money was a mountain crushing the life out of my college experience.

My bank account never had more than $20.

I used the cheapest 3-in-1 men’s shampoo because it was on sale.

When everyone talked about going to concerts or hot pot, I stayed silent. I didn't even know what the inside of a hot pot restaurant looked like.

I guarded my pathetic dignity and drew a line between me and my classmates.

And now, with my face stinging from her slap, my mom was still ranting.

"If you weren't out whoring around, how would someone get photos like that?"

"You're disgusting, and you have the nerve to drag your sister into this?!"

"Sarah, you really are just like that dead old woman!"