He also implied there are other ways to pay my rent. His apartment is right next to mine, and this morning he caught me as I was leaving, reminding me my rent was due three days ago. My landlord is starting to really creep me out. Maybe I can find a local YMCA to stay at or something. I might actually be happy to lose the place, though. I have no idea how I am going to make rent in my shitty little studio apartment. The little money I had left from selling my grandpa’s house is almost gone. Because you have no other choice, I remind myself. How I think I’ll ever pull this off, I have no idea. Then when I was thirteen, my grandpa asked me how my day at school was, and out of my mouth came details of how Cody kissed me after school. I’d confessed before he could even ask me what happened to it.
When I was seven, I broke a glass case my grandpa kept a signed football in. What am I doing here? I shake my head at myself.
I’d tried to mimic a woman from a magazine I saw, but I’m not sure I got close to what I was trying to pull off. I tried my hand at a little makeup and even took the time to put some curls into my hair. I was trying to look older, but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off. I found them in a discount bin in a shop down the street from my little studio apartment, along with a simple button-up white shirt. I’m wearing simple black heels that I spent two hours practicing walking in yesterday.
The waist is starting to dig into my stomach, and I pray that the button in the back won’t pop. My stint at that size lasted about as long as my time on the team. I got it in the ninth grade when I’d joined the debate team and needed to look professional. I’m still shocked I got myself into the thing. I run one hand across my thighs in an attempt to brush away any pieces of fuzz on the too-tight gray skirt I have on. She didn’t give me a snide look like the women downstairs had done. She’s classy and elegant and was surprisingly sweet to me when I checked in. Her outfit is stylish in a way I could never put together, even if I had the money to do so. Everything about her is professional and says she belongs here. Her silky gray hair is cut short to just below her ears and she’s wearing thick-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose. I’m on the fiftieth floor of the Foster Building, trying to control my stomach as the lady ignores me and continues to work. A woman in her late fifties sits typing away at a large desk, the clicks of her fingers hitting the keys the only sound in the big, empty lobby. Glancing around the giant room, I feel completely out of place. I take a deep breath, trying to get my nerves under control. The single thought runs through my head, over and over.
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