Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“I need your help brainstorming,” I say. “Do you have time?”
“Always.” She smiles. “Let’s grab some froyo from the cafeteria and pop a squat in the grass.”
I nod and follow her into the cafeteria. Even though I haven’t been hungry all day, I make myself a frozen yogurt and pile it with cookie dough before we leave to find a quiet place in the grass. Sybil makes a whole production of it, taking out her notebook and glitter pen while intermittently stuffing her face with yogurt.
“So what are we brainstorming?” she asks.
“It’s for a creative writing assignment,” I lie.
“In Ms. Hargrave’s class?” She questions.
Since we’re both seniors, we have the same teachers for almost everything, so there really isn’t a logical explanation for what I’m asking.
“Extra credit,” I offer, feeling awful that I’m lying to her at all. “I asked for it. And now I have to write a short story, but I need to figure out how someone would make a lot of money fast. Like in a week fast.”
Sybil accepts this answer and taps her pen against the paper as she considers my question. “Well, there’s always drugs.” She snickers. “That’s the obvious answer. Or robbing a bank.”
“Yeah…” I shake my head. “Those won’t work. My character isn’t really the criminal type.”
“Well, what is the money for?” she asks.
“College,” I blurt before I can think of anything else.
“Okay. So a young woman around college age.” She takes another bite of yogurt. “She could donate her eggs. I heard you can get like ten thousand dollars for that.”
“Yeah, but probably not realistically in a week,” I snort.
“Right.” She shrugs. “Hmm… what else? Do you think strippers make that much money in a week?”
“Probably not.” I dip my spoon into the yogurt and swirl it around. “Unless it’s a really high-end club. And even then, she’d need to have the skills. Not likely to get those in a week.”
“Ugh, this is hard,” Sybil whines.
You have no idea.
We eat the rest of our dessert in silence, and I feel like all hope is lost when Sybil blurts out another idea. “Oh my God, I know. Is she a virgin?”
My stomach flips as I nod. “Yes. Why?”
“There was an article in a magazine once about a girl who auctioned off her virginity to pay for college. I remember my mother reading it in dismay, but I thought it was actually kind of genius.”
“Wow,” I murmur. “That is…”
“Perfect!” She declares. “It’s fiction, right? And if it could happen in real life, it could totally happen in fiction. I think the whole sex thing is really overrated anyway. The first time sucks no matter who it’s with.”
I nod, but I can’t seem to find the words I need to agree. Because the truth is, it’s a legitimate option, even if it sounds horrifyingly insane. The question is, how far am I willing to go to save myself? At this point, my options are either homelessness, or Loyola Academy. And if I want to stay at Loyola, it will take extreme measures. But would anyone even pay twenty thousand dollars for my virtue? It seems so archaic. There’s only one person I’d even deem worthy of giving it to. And I wonder what he would say if he knew I was considering this.
“So you like it?” Sybil interrupts my thoughts. “I think we found ourselves a winner.”
“Yep.” I force a smile. “It sounds like a winner.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
STELLA
I SPEND the rest of the week alternating between panic and uncertainty. After googling resources available for homeless teens, I promptly threw up and decided I don’t want to go to a group home or a shelter. I’ve looked into every avenue, and the only thing that makes sense is staying here at Loyola. But in order to stay, I’ll have to do something insane and potentially dangerous.
There is one solution that keeps circling around the drain of my mind, and his name is Sebastian Carter. My dark tormentor and secret savior. He’s proven that he wants me, but his sense has kept him from crossing that invisible line. The question is, would he cross it to save me? Even as I consider it, I don’t know how to feel about it. I hate that this is what it’s come down to, but I want to believe he will help me.
The only problem is that he hasn’t been around for the past two days, and I don’t know why. The administration has told us nothing, and when someone in class asked if Mr. Carter was okay, the substitute simply nodded. I need to find a way to speak with him. But how can I if he isn’t showing up to class or detention?
Luckily, by Friday, I’ve found a friend who actually can help me. His name is Patrick, and he’s the tech genius in my computer class who created the LA Underground app. When I introduced myself to him, he apologized for what happened on the app and told me to let him know if there was ever anything he could do to make up for it. I didn’t hesitate to take him up on that, and now here we are, on the verge of something completely crazy.