Page 52 of Personal Foul

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I’m unsettled after leaving Dylan’s, unsure what to make of anything that happened there. I want to just ignore it and move on, but my brain won’t let go of the way he comforted me, holding me and stroking my back while I sobbed into his chest, leaving a wet spot on his shirt that he didn’t even acknowledge, or the way he stood over me and softly ordered me to ask him for help when I need it.

Which would be now. I need help now. I don’t know how I’m going to pay rent for next month since Mom and Dad can’t give me any money right now.Everythingis frozen.

I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I have a little cash from my last birthday, and that’s what I used to buy some groceries yesterday. And Isabelle assumes I work during the summers like she does and that babysitting for my sister covers a lot more than it does and that between those two things and maybe loan disbursements—because she assumes I have loans like she does even though I don’t—I cover my half of our bills.

In reality, my parents cover everything.

Well, they did.

What am I going to do?

When I get to Hope’s house, she immediately hugs me, which prompts Grace to run over and wrap her little arms around our legs. The waterworks start again, the gestures of affection from my sister and niece breaking through the dam holding back my tears. Not that it’s hard to breach. I broke down at Dylan’s, after all.

This time it feels good to let go, though, and I don’t try to rein it in after a few minutes. Sobbing on Dylan provided a little bit of pressure release, but I dammed everything back up again since that’s not a safe space for me to let it all out—though it seems like he’d like it to be? Which is entirely unexpected and uncomfortable.

With Hope, though, I’m free to be myself.

She pulls me into the kitchen and turns on the electric kettle, pulling down mugs and getting out my favorite herbal tea—ginger and cinnamon. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but I can guess the answer for myself,” she says as she drops a tea bag in each mug.

I give her a watery smile and sniff, wiping my face with a tissue from the box in front of me. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Hope,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.

Eric’s entertaining Grace in her bedroom so Hope and I can talk without interruption, and I hear squeals and giggles from down the hall followed by Eric’s deeper laugh.

Hope looks thoughtful. “I can pay you for babysitting. And if you need to borrow some money until you can figure something else out, I can talk to Eric and see what we can afford.”

I suck in a breath, wanting to protest and refuse. But honestly, with only two weeks until rent is due, what other choice do I have? After a second, I nod. “Thank you. I’d really appreciate it. Mom says they’re trying to get my account unfrozen, that since I’m not living with them, it shouldn’t have been frozen to begin with. But …” I shrug, indicating that these things sometimes happen. As though I have any idea how these things normally go at all. “Once that happens, I can pay you back. Or once I get a job. I’m going to have to do something, though.”

“You should talk to the financial aid office, too,” she says, pouring the now boiling water over our tea bags. She crosses to the table and sets one mug in front of me. They’re solid earthenware, bought from a local art fair, and they always make me smile. Hope has eclectic tastes, pulling together a variety of styles and textures throughout her house, but instead of feeling messy and off-putting, it makes her home warm and inviting. Grounding, even. The weight and heat of the mug helps me to feel tethered to the earth once more instead of spinning wildly into space without anything to hold on to.

I nod. “I plan to call first thing tomorrow and set up an appointment. I’m not sure what they can do for me, though. Even if I fill out a FAFSA, I’ll have to put Mom and Dad’s income on it, which means I won’t get much of anything.”

She hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “That’s probably true. But it’s worth seeing what’s available that way at least. That way you know you’re not leaving out any of your options.”

“True.”

“I can ask around and see if anyone I know is hiring, too. You could be a part-time nanny somewhere. You’re great with Gracie, and I’ll give you a glowing reference.”

“Thanks, Hope. I appreciate it.” I’m not sure if I want to be a part-time nanny, but at this point I don’t have a whole lot of options. “I’ll ask about on-campus jobs too.”

Hope makes a face. “Those usually get snapped up right away, and I’m pretty sure they only pay minimum wage. I mean, ask, sure, but even if you get one, don’t stop looking for something that pays better.”

“I won’t.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Dylan

I’m only half listening to Andrew regaling us with tales of his conquest Friday night as we enter the student center, ostensibly because I forgot my post-workout snack again.

I absolutely didn’t. It’s in my backpack right now—a blender bottle prefilled with protein powder, plus a packet of trail mix. A nice blend of protein, carbs, and fat. But I know that Charity tends to haunt the student center at this time of day, and since we don’t have any set time to see each other today, I’ll do what I can to orchestrate a meeting.

“Thanks again, man. I can’t believe I almost missed out on that,” Andrew says, smacking my shoulder as I head for the area in front of the cafeteria where I found Charity last time.

“Sure, sure. No problem. Don’t be a dick to her, though.”

Liam and Caden let out an “Ooooh,” in unison, and Andrew goes, “Dude.”

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