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I don’t try to hide it, but it’s also not precisely ‘above board.’ How is anyone supposed to make enough money to pay for college working some bullshit minimum wage job on campus?
Been there. Tried that.
And I’m careful.
It’s the one thing I appreciate about growing up the way I did. Head. On. A. Swivel. Always pay attention to the details. Never pay late.
Except where Aunt Rachelle is concerned. It’s easy to let stuff slide with family, to let my guard down. I shouldn’t take her for granted, and I never want to take advantage of her kindness. But at least she won’t break my fingers or bash my knee in with a baseball bat like Uncle Tommy used to do to guys who “forgot” to pay.
Mom never let me ride along again after she found out that he'd let me see.
“Hellena?” That one pencil-thin eyebrow is a jet black check mark above Rachelle’s left eye, pointed sky-high like her temper when she’s on a rant. She’s always such a drama queen about this stuff. Her “house rules”.
Her first rule has always been that I earn my keep since I showed up on her doorstep eight years ago, even though she’s pretty well off. Her late husband left her a LOT of money.
But that’s totally reasonable. I want to take care of myself. Contribute.
She can just be so nit-picky. Not that I can really complain. I love living here with her.
That’s just Rachelle.
The woman never raises her voice at me, she just says things… sharper, with those little gaps between each word so I can’t possibly miss any of them. It’s kind of cute. She’s never had kids of her own, but she likes to play Mom to me, and I can’t say I don’t enjoy it a little. Even if I am twenty-four years old and should be entitled to a couple of days of grace…
I know it just comes from a place of wanting me to be responsible, to be productive and do things the way you’re supposed to in society.
I try.
Why is it that I can hustle side gigs like nobody’s business, juggle a thousand details, but when it comes to the daily dull, I can’t seem to get a handle on anything? Routine. Class. Get good grades, get a degree, get a good job.
Be normal.
Doesn’t help that I got a late start going to school on my own dime. I’m already the odd woman out in most of my classes, being two years older than the majority of the bachelor’s students.
So take that and the little voice that’s always whispered, “Fuck normal!” in the back of my head… I can’t seem to get certain things right.
Aunt Rachelle snatches the check away from me dramatically before she sighs and waits for the other thing I always have to give her. A hug. We both chuckle softly as we do, and she pats me on my back before I grab my stuff from beside the dining room table and head for the door.
“Just two classes today?”
“Yeah, but I got…work stuff after. Won’t be home ’til late.”
“Mmhmm. I won’t tell you to be safe, but…”
“I always am! I love you!” I can imagine her rolling her eyes as I rush out the door, slip into my piece of crap car, and key the engine.
It’s only a five-minute drive to campus from Rachelle’s place, thank goodness, but parking is always a pain in the ass. I usually leave early and walk, but today, I have too much to do.
After class, that is.
The list rolls through my head as I creep along, trying to find any spot remotely close to my last class.
Meet up with Jake, bump up his in-time, call the keg guy to make sure they have the address right, confirm the dancers with Myra because she always flakes on me, pick up the snacks…
Welp. Not a spot to be found.
Back lot it is.
Which means I’ll have to huff it to class and from class. I’m going to be a sweaty mess by the time I get to the frat house to set up.
