Page 2 of Confusing Cade
“No cap.”
“I knew things were tight, but I didn’t know they’d gotten that bad.” She paused. “Shit, what are you going to do?”
I shifted on the mattress, the springs creaking under me, and ran a hand through my tangled hair. “Just put it on the emergency credit card. Thank God I never closed it, even after all those lectures I gave myself about getting rid of it.”
“Yeah, but you’re...” She hesitated, her voice dipping into something softer, cautious, like she was stepping around broken glass. “I mean, that’s a huge charge, right?”
“Over twenty thousand.”
I let the number hang there, heavy and unapologetic as I pulled myself upright, dragging the blanket with me until it was bunched around my shoulders, a flimsy cocoon against the creeping cold of the room. My fingers tightened around the phone, and the cheap plastic case dug into my palm as I waited for her reaction.
“Got any extra substitute shifts?” I finally asked.
Kyra worked as the manager of a dive bar on a nondescript corner of our neighborhood. Smoked Aces was one of those places that somehow managed to hang on, thanks to a loyal clientele that appreciated the ten-dollar buckets of beer and signature wings. Working there was also a playtime job for her, the latest chapter in her long rebellion against her parents, who were some of the wealthiest and most connected in South Florida.
“Payroll is kind of tight,” she replied. “But maybe I can get you something next month.”
“I appreciate that, but I need another job right now.”A job that pays a lot of money fast.
Kyra clicked her teeth. “What about asking your boss for a raise?”
“Tried that last week. Things aren’t going great at the firm either. Mr. Klein said he couldn’t give me any more hours.”
I didn’t add how bad it had felt to ask—no,beg, Alex Klein for extra work. I was already working full-time there, in administration, and it was basically a no-show job. In fact, I knew he only had me on the payroll because he’d been Dad’s attorney, and he was guilty about how things ended.
But the annual salary he paid me still wasn’t much. Not with the bills I had to shoulder. A temp gig here, an Uber driver shift there... those helped, but dipping into what was left of the family fortune had become an all-too-often ritual. I knew I should have refused Lilly’s request to keep attending such an expensiveschool, but I hadn’t had the heart. Why should she suffer if I could find a way to keep up the payments?
But I haven’t found one yet, have I?
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admitted to my friend. “This sucks.”
We fell silent for another moment before Kyra said, “You could sign up for FanZone.”
I coughed, my shock hardening in my throat. FanZone? Of all the suggestions she could have made, I hadn’t expected that one. That one was achoice. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“People make a lot of money on that app. Like... overnight.”
“I don’t—”
“One of the girls at the salon was talking about it while I got my hair cut last Saturday. Her cousin in Miami made over a million dollars last year posting photos.”
“A million?”
I wasn’t surprised my friend would come up with an off-the-wall suggestion. Kyra was nothing if not creative. Also, the woman’s story had to be an outlier. That much money for a bunch of photos? No way. Not even explicit photos could makethatmuch money, right? Not with all the free porn on the internet...
“It’s the subscriptions,” Kyra added as if reading my mind. “People like the idea that they’re getting something exclusive, something premium, and they’re willing to pay money every month to get it.”
“Nobody’s going to pay any money for photos of me.” I rolled over and braced my hand on my forehead. A dull headache had started to form.I should probably end this conversation soon.It was only making my stress worse.
“You don’t have to do nudes,” Kyra said. “I mean, you could post sexy photos of your feet.”
I laughed. “Now you’re giving me the ick.”
She chuckled too. “People are so weird these days.”
Kyra was right about that. Everyone was chronically online: lonely, distant, and obsessed with social media. People hardly seemed to talk to each other anymore, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to an actual party or major event, let alone one of those vibrant, chaotic gatherings where people spilled drinks, danced badly, and made memories that didn’t need a filter. The thought alone felt foreign, like a scene from someone else’s life. Not like I was in any position to go, considering my measly bank account. I wouldn’t be able to afford tickets, or a new dress, or a trip to the salon...
“I’m not doing FanZone,” I said before we ended the conversation.
