Page 27 of 4th Degree

“Look, I’m just trying to help. Anyone can see how stressed you are. You really can’t take an hour out of your day to do something for you?”

My shoulders drop. He’s right, of course, but I don’t really feel like telling him that training has become my respite. Physically, mentally, in every way something can be someone’s peace. Even just being in the gym makes me happier.

“I can’t tonight. I have plans.”

He quirks an eyebrow at my answer. “I’m glad to hear that. But now I’m curious to know what kinds of plans Skylar Vega makes in her free time.”

“I already told you. I signed up at that MMA gym.”

Why does he look just as baffled as the first time I told him? “How does that make you less stressed? Wouldn’t you rather go to a movie or something? Spend time with friends, instead of some juiced-up, angry guys?”

My eyes narrow in his direction, finally latching onto the part that bothers him.

“You mean, wouldn’t I have more fun with you?”

He only shrugs. “I can pretty much guarantee I’m better company.”

Adjusting the bag strap on my shoulder, my body suddenly feels ten times heavier with exhaustion. “I don’t have time tonight, Craig.” And I’m not the kind of person to apologize if I don’t mean it, but a small part of me is wondering if this is just his awkward way of asking me out, and I’m blowing it out of proportion. “I’m sorry.”

It's enough to make a relieved grin appear on his face. “Another time, I guess.”

I turn to continue toward the exit. “Yeah, sure.”

I’ve reached the doors when he calls out to me, his words sending a shiver of foreboding through my body.

“Maybe I’ll sign up at your gym. Will you be able to avoid me then, Skylar?”

It takes a textbook on anatomy to get my mind off Craig’s parting words.

Not his blatant come-on, but his comment about how everyone needs something in their lives to ease their stress. When forced into it, I can handle anything my family needs, stress relief or no, but having an outlet somewhere really does seem to make a bigger difference than I’d anticipated. I can’t remember ever thinking I needed an outlet, or assuming one would make a difference, but looking back, I don’t know how I survived without the gym. How did my brain get a break, and my body a release?

With gratitude in my chest and a smile on my lips, I settle deeper into the big chair and power on the iPad in my lap. I have an hour before my next class, then it’s straight to the gym. Thank God. I need it today.

I’m just about to dive into my anatomy notes, when I see an email notification pop up on my screen. It’s from the Bursar’s office, so I switch over to my email immediately.

Dear Skylar. We regret to inform you that due to funding changes in the university, we are unable to offer you the full amount of your academic scholarship. This change will not take effect until next semester, but at that point, the new amount of your scholarship will be…

I stare at the screen for what feels like hours. Maybe if I don’t move, I can pretend like the last minute didn’t happen, that my life didn’t just get flipped upside down.

My brain is slow, moving through the mental calculations. The new amount is about half what it was, which is still something, but it still completely changes my financial situation.

I blink away the tears forming in my eyes. I was just getting to a good place financially. While Mom’s disability check was only enough to pay for rent and utilities, the paychecks I earned from my two jobs kept us afloat otherwise. I covered groceries and clothes and every other necessary cost of two teenagers. Not to mention, the costs that come with having a disease like Parkinson’s. I can’t remember a time that I didn’t keep track of every dollar, just to keep us safe and fed and healthy.

But with my scholarship covering school and Mom’s new medical grant helping with hiring Maria, I was finally able to afford other things. I could give Joey some spending money to be a real kid, and I signed up at the gym. These past few months were the closest we’ve ever gotten to financial freedom—or whatever it’s called when you can sleep without nightmares of being evicted.

This email changes all of that.

I’m so tired. Tired of the stress and the responsibility and the constant, soul-crushing fear that one day I’m not going to be strong enough to hold it all together. Every time I think I might be catching a break, something like this happens.

But then I think of Joey. And Mom. My two reasons for always pushing through the hard times. So, I shake off my moment of self-pity and move the fuck on.

I can do this. I can figure this out.

My mind starts to fly through the numbers. I probably won’t have to beg too hard for more shifts at the café—that won’t make a huge dent, but it’s something. If I can get more shifts at the restaurant, that could mean more tips, but tips aren’t very budget-friendly so that’s not a reliable solution.

I run through my usual list of what do I own that I could sell. I don’t have a car, my phone is about four generations old, I’m never frivolous with things that I buy?—

I suck in a breath when it hits me.

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