Page 31 of Forbidden Heroes

One nasty fall changed everything about a year ago. My father was disabled on the job, and a crafty, underhanded lawyer found a few ridiculous loopholes that left my father with no workman’s comp. Regardless of the years he dedicated to his job, he was shuffled off, no longer a company problem. When that happened, my father went downhill fast and, as a result, the dynamics of our family reversed. Instead of my parents helping me get through college I’ve been helping them scrape by with as much money as I can make while tending to my studies. It’s been a hellish eleven months that have driven me to the edge of quitting more than once. No matter what I say or how bad it gets, my parents won’t hear of it. But if the money issues don’t change, and fast, the choice will be made for me.

I curse under my breath, causing the girl ahead of me to narrow her pretty fake lashes at me in a scowl.

“Sorry,” I offer with a forced smile I’m not feeling. Fact is, I’m freaking out inside. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I know someday…someday things will be better. But that day isn’t today.

“Rosa.” The barista, a guy about my age with an eye for my cleavage, calls my name, and I pull a few wrinkled bills from my wallet—there’s not much more where that came from—and pay for my meager breakfast of plain hot coffee with two sugars and snag a daily newspaper off the morning stack piled by the register. The first will help fight off Maine’s oddly cold spring while the other hopefully helps me land some kind of job so I don’t find myself out on the streets. I’ll take just about anything at this point and if it’s not soon, I’m not sure what I’ll do.

By a large menu chalkboard there’s a bowl of fortune cookies for the taking as a little token of appreciation for a patron’s return business. I snag a couple with my coffee. Why not, right? Maybe some cookie maker can enlighten me with a magical foretelling of the direction my life will take and I won’t have to guess so much.

A brisk wind swarms my exposed arms, stinging my already chilled skin. I curse myself for not grabbing something heavier before I left my apartment. I’d been in a hurry to get out the door so I could have a decent chance at getting something worth my efforts in the wanted section of the newspaper besides the dog walker and cat sitter positions.

I rub my arms. I swear, it seems like the days are getting colder rather than warmer as spring sets in, and I suddenly miss the warm Georgia days of my childhood.

I emerge from Blackthorne University’s small café with the rest of the morning crowd getting ready for a long day of classes and the inescapable hours of cramming for coming exams. I have all that too, but classes are the last thing on my mind as I snag my usual table under a whimsical willow tree with low, swaying branches. For a fleeting moment I welcome the sunshine as it fights against a coming storm.

Around me the changing seasons seems to be cranking up everyone’s energy while I can’t help but focus on the fact I might lose everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve. Within another few months I can have my bachelor’s and then work on my master’s, which will take another four years. Less if I really push myself but that would leave little time to work and make the money I need to stay in school in the first place.

A stabbing ray of envy hits me square in the chest as I watch a group of women my age stroll by without a care in the world in their eyes before I have a chance to deflect it.

Trying to keep my heart from my sleeve, I shut down all the panicking emotions. With a little more force than I intend to apply, I flick open the newspaper and start circling a few wanted ads, but I don’t see anything right off that will give me the kind of fast cash I need to pay my late school fees and keep me housed for another month.

Tempted to bolt for the safety of home instead of fighting my way through life, I pull out my phone and tackle the first wanted ad at the top of the column. Wishing things were different isn’t going to change anything.

After the tenth ring and no answer I hit end.

“Hey, sweetie, find anything interesting yet?”

I draw my eyes away from the black and white print to see a smiling brunette with a matching cup of coffee to mine and a bright yellow bag that would stand out in a post-apocalyptic blackout. The girl loved her colors.

When a less-than-modest dare I issued to my best friend, Emberly, landed her in a happily ever after between two handsome professors a few months back—yes, I did the whole jaw drop thing too—I met Amber. Full of similar dreams, we became quick friends over a quart of chocolate mint and late-night action flicks after I found her on the side of the road with no gas. While she discovered how much ice cream I can hold down, I found out her sunny disposition matches her Southern California sun-kissed skin and bright smile, I also found she smiles to hide the pain of a terrible childhood.

“You know me, I never give up when a challenge presents itself.” I clutch my red pen like a sword and wave it around imperiously as if I’m some heroic knight charging into battle.

Sheesh. If only.

My first order of business would be to save me from my own life.

Amber smiles and takes a seat opposite me.

“You’ve been at this for a week. Still nothing?”

Amber and I have a lot in common. The love of pizza, romance books, and older men for starters. But I know she wasn’t raised with a Bible in one hand and an old-school Southern mother with omniscient tendencies that bordered on otherworldly that kept me and my brothers walking a fine line. To this day, I still don’t know how she found out about the time I snuck out of the house and made out with my cute neighbor in the back of his pick-up truck one hot summer night. I was barely sixteen, and he was on his way to college that fall, and some days I wonder what it would have been like to have my V card stamped that night.

I love my parents but the hardcore Southern upbringing they gave me and my brothers is a daily mental battle and one I often lose. Needless to say, it’s why I’m still a virgin.

I eye my friend. Another fact I know is that Amber is in the same boat I’m in with no rich mommy and daddy to help pay college bills either.

I peer over the paper spread out on the cement picnic table and feel my stomach roll in protest at my options. “You seem to be doing pretty well. How the hell are you affording this place? At this point I’m already considering selling off whatever little furniture I have in the apartment, so I think it’s safe to say I’m open to almost anything by now.”

My friend turns her full attention on me and takes a deep breath. The blue of her eyes turns bright and lasers in on me like she’s about to say something I’m either going to love or loathe with all my being. I figure it’s fifty-fifty knowing her, but I still can’t help the prickling of my skin.

“I have two options for you. There’s a pretty big strip club the next town over. The Insomnia. The clientele is friendly and loose with their money, and the manager is a woman with a no-nonsense persona. You could make the money you need there within a few weeks and no one would recognize you.”

I freeze, bringing my coffee to my lips and do an instant mental shot of me in transparent platform stilettos and a G-string, gyrating to some funky techno tune in front of a room full of pot-bellied men. I hold in a full body shiver. It’s not that I wouldn’t get up on stage if it comes down to it, but I was raised as the good, obedient daughter and fighting that upbringing is like going against a tsunami.

My face must have said everything I feel about that idea, because my friend rolls her eyes in a grand gesture of frustration.

“Okay, so it’s not luxurious and you might have to check a few of your morals at the door for the night, but it’s not like you have to fuck anybody, Rosa.”

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