Hard

1. Allie-2

The diner was open late most nights, even Sundays. Mondays were the only nights we got off early, and that was because Riley, the owner’s wife, said no one wanted to go to a diner when there was football on. I didn’t know about all of that, but I was grateful for the reprieves when they came.

Christel and I had finished up wiping down the booths and the floors. Now we were sitting at the counter, filling up salt shakers and napkin holders. I was exhausted. Between keeping my eyes open and trying not to think about the unfortunate reality of my life, it was a miracle that I hadn’t just crashed on the counter.

“That guy was a total d**k,” Christel said and I knew she was talking about the group of college kids from earlier.

I let out a sigh. They hadn’t left much of a tip, she told me. A buck apiece. “Yeah, what else is new?”

“Speaking of total d***s, are you still having problems with Shae?”

I scrunched up my face, wrinkling my nose. Christel had given me his table the first time he’d come in. Now she felt pretty bad about the whole thing, even though I really didn’t think she was responsible. How was she supposed to know that he was going to turn into such an abusive piece of crap?

“That bad?” she asked.

Shrugging my shoulders, I started to screw on the caps to the salt shakers I’d filled. “No, it’s really not that bad,” I lied. She gave me a look that said she didn’t buy it. Sighing again, I gave in. “He keeps showing up at my place.”

Christel gave me a dark look, clearly not pleased. “Are you crazy? You need to call the cops on him. That’s gotta at least count as stalking or something.”

We’d been over this about a million times. All the cops could do was give me a piece of paper that said he couldn’t come near me. But what good was a piece of paper if they weren’t around to enforce it? Was I supposed to wait on them every time he showed up? I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know what it was. I’d already left him. According to all the movies and books and everything else, that was supposed to be the big thing, right? But they don’t tell you how to fix it when he kept coming back.

“I told you, all I can do is get a restraining order. And that’ll just make things worse.”

Christel fell silent, returning to her napkins. I finished with the salt shakers and started putting them back on the tables. The diner had some character to it and not in that gross, greasy way that some of the other places in the area did. This place was classy. Red vinyl bench seats in the booths and matching chairs for the scattered tables. Hardwood tables, not that crappy recycled sawdust they used for the school desks and the cheap furniture you bought from mega stores. The bar wasn’t granite or anything, but it had that nice marbled texture that made it look fancy, and there were pretty glass cases for the pastries and pies.

It was a nice place and I was kind of fond of it, but I knew that I didn’t want to spend my life here. No one wanted to waste away in some diner.

“You should move,” Christel said suddenly, taking out what was left of the pies. We couldn’t use them tomorrow, so we ended up splitting them between us. James stopped taking them home with him, because he and his wife were on one of those couple’s diets.

I took my seat beside her again as she served us up each a slice of apple pie. My favorite. “Move?” I repeated incredulously.

She nodded, clearly pleased with her newest idea. “Yeah! That way he doesn’t know where you live so he can’t—”

“He knows where I work,” I interrupted, watching her expression fall. “And besides, I don’t have the money to move. I owe three months of back rent already.” And pretty soon he’s just going to kick me out. I didn’t add that, but it was true. Then I guess I wouldn’t have any choice but to move.

Christel was quiet for a long moment. We both started in on our pies. Hers was cherry. Gross. When we were about halfway through, she asked in a small voice, “How is Bree?”

Bree was only sixteen, though she acted like she was thirty already sometimes, but you couldn’t really blame her for that. We both had to grow up fast, it seemed like, and it was hard to stay a kid when you were stuck in a hospital all the time. “She’s hanging in there.”

“What do the doctors say?”

I shook my head. “Same thing they’ve been saying. ‘She needs that operation, Miss Gilson, it really can’t wait.’ And ‘How do you want to make your payments, Miss Gilson?’ Like I have any idea how I’m going to make payments.”

My sister was only sixteen, but she had a bad heart. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t done drugs, hadn’t driven recklessly and ended up in a terrible accident. She just got the short end of the stick. We found out two years ago and she started living in the hospital when things finally got really bad. These were the sort of things that a parent worried about, but we didn’t have parents anymore. I ended up with sole custody of my baby sister when she was only twelve; I was nineteen. I didn’t know what I was doing, but she needed me to be the adult. So I was.

“That’s such crap,” Christel told me heatedly. We’d been friends for a long time and she knew Bree as well as anyone. She stopped by for a hospital visit at least twice a week. “They know your situation. They should just give her the damn heart.”

“Yeah, in a perfect world.”

We both fell silent then. Neither of us were dumb. Between the tips and the ridiculously low wages, there was no way that I was ever going to save up the million dollars it would cost for Bree’s heart transplant.

Literally, one million.

Fifty thousand for the pre-op.

Eighty for the actual heart.

Seventy for the physician.

Thirty for the drugs.

One hundred and forty for the for the post op.

Six hundred and fifty thousand for the time in the hospital.

And did they factor in my rent? The cost for food and utilities? No, of course not. They didn’t think about the time Bree had had to spend in the hospital waiting for the heart or the money I had to throw at them that was supposed to go to my landlord. They didn’t think about the fact that I made about two dollars an hour and the rest was made up through the generosity of others.

The reality was depressing and not just for me. Bree knew what was happening to her and Christel did, too. That was why my only remaining friend these days nudged me, offering a small smile.

“Hey, maybe you should just sell your virginity. I heard that model’s went for, like, a billion dollars.” She winked at me. “And it’s not like you’re using yours or anything.”

She laughed a little, obviously joking, but I froze.

My virginity?

A billion dollars?

Am I crazy… or could that really work?

“A woman actually sold her virginity?” I asked, a little baffled. I really didn’t think something like virginity was worth much, truth be told. From what everyone else had told me, having s*x for the first time was sort of like eating at a fancy restaurant as a kid. Everyone makes a big deal about it, but really all you want is a cheese burger.

Sam nodded. “Oh, yeah! It was all over the news, huge scandal. She was some Brazilian model, I think. She auctioned it off online – Ink, if you ask me – and got a ton of bids. The highest was a lot of money. I think the actual number was 1.3 million. It was crazy.”

“Did she actually go through with it?”

Christel looked over at me, scrutinizing me before answering. Her small mouth tugged down in a slight frown. “Uh, who knows?” she asked and I realized that she had finally noticed my interest. Like, honest interest. She waited a beat, then asked, “You’re not seriously considering it, are you? I mean, I was just kidding.”

For a second, we both just stared at each other, eyes locked. Then I forced an awkward laugh that I hoped was convincing. “Are you nuts? Of course not!” I told her, waving off her entirely correct suspicions. “That would be, like, prostitution or something. Definitely not okay. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

Christel’s shoulders relaxed and she let out a relieved laugh. She bought it, and maybe that was only because she wanted to believe me, but that was okay. As long as she didn’t think I’d really do it. Not that I would really do it.

Would I?

She started rambling on then about nothing important. Alternative lifestyle magazines with those crazy tattoo models on them and the sexy motorcycle riding fiends she was obsessed with. I mostly tuned her out, because I’d already come up with a solution to my problems. I had a plan, I chance to give my sister the life she really deserved. A life that got her past the tender age of sixteen.

How could I turn that down?