Chapter 2
1039 Words
Chapter 2
Ashley
I shift anxiously in the coffee shop as I wait for my Americano to be ready. I could do without spending coins on a diluted coffee, but Jess and Ryan got the frothy Italian four-dollar mugs each, and I don’t want them to know I can’t afford it. Especially Jess. She acts like being poor is a crime. I hate how she behaves like we are second-class citizens. As if she wasn’t one of us a few years ago. But she seems hell bent on eradicating the struggles of her past.
I wish I could do the same. But I’m still struggling. There’s a lot of s**t going on in my life. Another week has gone by and another bundle of bills are about to come to my letterbox. My student loan remains unpaid. But I still haven’t found a job. The disadvantage of living in a college town is that I’m forever competing with overachievers. I’ve gotten good grades throughout, but there is only so much I have to offer. Why, even a cashier post that came up a few days ago was like meat in a croc tank and was swiftly seized by a zealous science graduate.
Ridiculous.
I don’t have savings. I don’t have side hustles or anything of value to sell. The pennies Mom left me have run out. I already owe Ryan and Jess plenty and I can’t possibly ask them for cash, too. Ugh.
“Did they just hike up the price of coffee or something?” I mutter once I finally take my seat at our usual table in the corner coffee shop. I drink my small Americano slowly, missing the taste of foamy milk through each expensive sip.
“Probably,” Ryan shrugs, his tone sounding matter-of-fact. “Cafes hike up the prices on everything. It all benefits the rich.”
Jess smirks a little as she traces a polished fingernail around the rim of her large latte, the lipstick pink iPhone clutched in her other hand. “You’re rich too.”
“My dad’s rich,” Ryan corrects her bitterly, his eyes dropping to the table. He drifts a hand through the soft curls of his hair, his jaw setting itself tight. “I got into college on a scholarship.”
“Yes, because your dad is rich,” Jess nearly purrs the words, and they seem to sink into her thoughts as she stares longingly into the space in front of her.
I merely observe them, the pleasure in Jess’ tone such a stark difference from the animosity in Ryan’s. My best friend has always been in awe of Ryan’s dad, but I realize she’s been making a deliberately poor effort to hide it. I’m pretty sure her need to fund her expensive lifestyle and Mr. Stryker’s bigger-than-enough bank balance makes him a delightful prospect. The poor man. I hope she never sinks her claws into him, or he’ll be sorry.
From catching a few fleeting glimpses of him through the tinted windows of his Tesla, I can tell he flaunts the looks to fit her target demographic. Tall. Dark. And very handsome. Yummy.
“I didn’t get into college with help from my dad. Besides, wealth can get you there, but to make an impact, you need to be smart. Or, at least work at becoming smart. I can’t get people who come here and not manage to secure something as basic as a part-scholarship. How do they expect to make it out there after graduation?” Ryan mutters with a confused shake of his head.
I frown at the sheer entitlement in his voice. When privilege and intelligence mix, they create quite an ugly, snobby beast, don’t they? I despise this trait of his, of how he speaks of the ‘intellectually lesser folks’ as he so eloquently puts it. I’m not the smartest, haven’t won the best scholarships and didn’t have the luxury of a rich home coming into college; according to his claims, I am one of the lesser folks. But of course, he does not read the room. Ego is dark, so dark it blinds people to their own faults.
Good for him for being the smartest cookie. Good for him for not having to stress about internet bills and fuel costs. However, wit and wealth should not be substitutes for warmth.
I am sensitive to him not having a mother, which probably explains the empathy deficit. I can understand that he probably suffers from constant comparisons to his accomplished father and feels a perceived pressure to outperform him. But he isn’t the first only son of an accomplished father, nor will he be the last.
Does your dad never tell you any of this? I presume not.
I wonder if it’s because Mr. Stryker believes he is superior to most humans, too. I presume yes, since many successful people do.
Regardless, the whole exchange leaves me feeling more annoyed than I should be. “I’m sure they work as hard as the rest,” I snap back, tipping my mug to take a long sip so the brew shuts me up for a bit.
“Yeah... whatever.” Ryan merely grunts before placing the wireless headphones on his ears. He swipes across his phone screen before picking up his MacBook. It’s an obvious sign of dismissal and I’m used to it. I don’t need to check his phone to know there’s punk rock blasting in his ear.
Jess makes it clear she’s unconcerned about discussions on capitalism by continuing to type away on her phone, biting her glossed bottom lip sensually while she does so. I don’t think she’s aware of it, having practiced the move for so long. She says the men get off on it. More power to her.
My friends tolerate my crabby tone, and I tolerate their cocky asses. That’s our MO, and that will never change.
With a sigh, I lean back in my chair, holding my cup close to my chest while I try to figure out how to crawl out of the financial sinkhole I’m drowning in. We continue the rest of our coffee date in silence, each lost to our own thoughts.
- Writer
