What an asshole, that guy.

I dumped the paper in my right pocket. I stared at him walk away from me with his head held high, and it was the worst thing I had seen.

Returning to Dr. Kelly's office, I glanced at the wall clock beside her door and hurriedly grabbed my things. "Doc, it's four-thirty!"

"Go ahead, Mary," she shouted back from inside her room.

Dr. Kelly Thompson had always been considerate of me. She knew about my condition and she adjusted to my limits. Every workday at four-thirty in the afternoon, she allowed me to go home and cook early dinner for Stuart because usually, I would go home late. I was proficient at my work anyway, and I had been working for her for more than three years now.

Stuart and I had been depending on her since we moved out of my aunt's. It was the best risk we took. At first, it felt impossible — all the amount of stress, budgeting, and responsibility; it was too much for me to take. But after a while, we managed. We were a team, Stuart and me.

Straight from Velmont hospital, I headed down to the public market to buy fresh meat and ingredients.

"But everyone knows this chicken is not at its best quality anymore. Besides, this is for my baby brother." I massaged the chicken breasts and thighs with my thumb, giving her the disappointing look I had been working on in the mirror at home. "What do you say, Mrs. Dickens," I held on the dismayed expression as I looked at her, "half the price?"

Mrs. Dickens glanced at the other connoisseurs to see if anyone was watching. Her glasses were foggy, probably from all the huffing. She put her arms on her waists and gave me a disapproving smirk.

"Fine," she said, placing the chicken in a plastic paper bag. "You're not gonna outsmart me next time, young lady."

I accepted the paper bag with a grin and gave her the money in exchange. "Great doing business with you, Mrs. Dickens. You're very kind."

I knew most of the connoisseurs here, sometimes they gave me a huge discount, and sometimes I made up a story, and my persuasion skills paid off.

In the life of a commoner, I needed to be smart. Dumb and gullible people never flourish in this type of world. I had to be quick and wary; otherwise, I would spend my whole life working for people who were quick and wary.

Nothing is free, even the intangible things. We all had to pay the price. And I learned it the hard way.

Having arrived home from the market, I put on my apron and started slicing a couple of clubs of onion and garlic. Into the boiling hot water. Added some chicken wings and breasts and some salt. The kitchen smelled heavenly.

While waiting for it to brew, I removed my as my eyes glanced at the wall clock. 5:21 PM. Stuart would be home soon. I took out my red spring notebook from on top of the fridge that contained our home expenses. My life revolved around this. To me, this was like a special code that I had to base every decision from.

My face shifted to a grimace as the numbers on every category rose in the past three months. I had to cut down my toiletries. I would break the bar soap into four small sizes this time, instead of three.

I fidgeted the tip of my pen against the table, thinking about what else I could hose down. Staring at the figures, I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself. Like any other human being, I would love to pamper myself sometimes, but God knew I never bought new clothes for two whole years now. I convinced myself I didn't need one even if most of them were torn.

The door opened. Stuart arrived. "Hey, kiddo."

"What's for dinner?" He threw his bag on the chair. "Ah, that smells so good."

"It does, doesn't it? It's chicken broth."

Removing his jacket, he sat down beside me on the dining table. "Is it ready? I'm starving."

I cleared the table immediately, not wanting him to see this again. "Uh, yeah, just a few more minutes," I replied as I kept my journal in my bag. The last time he saw this, he refused to buy lunch in his school and said he wasn't hungry. He ended up getting a mild ulcer. Glad he stopped doing that now.

"Are we having problems again?" he asked.

"Problems? What are you talking about? The only problem you're gonna have is washing the dishes when I return to Velmont," I said, walking over to the stove to get the food on the table.

He chuckled. When the food was in front of him, he helped himself like he hadn't eaten for months. "Stuart, the school's been that tiring, huh?" I asked, observing him as he ate. "You've been doing it again, haven't you?"

"What?" he looked at me with guilty eyes.

"How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much have you saved after skipping lunch?" I told him angrily.

"It doesn't matter," he continued eating, "It's for my science project anyway. I'm buying materials for it tomorrow."

"Don't worry, it's not for you," he added.

"It better be," I replied firmly, "I don't want you sacrificing anything for me. I'm your big sister. I take care of you. Understood?"

He nodded silently without looking at me.

"I met someone at the hospital today," I told him, trying to lighten up the mood. I knew I was bringing up a sensitive topic.

"Who?" he asked for the sake of conversation. His eyes were still on his bowl.

"I don't know. I never got his name," I said, "But I have his phone number."

"You're not gonna call him, are you?" Stuart grimaced. "That's just weird."

"I don't want you to get hurt," he added. He ran out of soup in his bowl. "You want some more?"

He shook his head. "Don't be silly. You love chicken broth." I took his bowl and stood up. "And you don't have to worry about me," I said. "It won't happen again."

"How could you be so sure?"

"Because I've learned. I know which type of men not to trust," I told him as I poured more soup into the bowl.

"Here," I gave it to him. My phone rang. It was Dr. Kelly. Shit. "Sweetie, I gotta take this," I told Stuart as I rushed to the living room.

"Dr. Kelly, I'm on my way now—"

"Do not return to the hospital anymore. I'll meet you at Wilford State College tomorrow at eight am sharp," was what she said.

"What about —" She ended the call right away. I didn't even get to say thank you or goodbye.

In my many years of working for Dr. Kelly, she had worked part-time in prestigious state colleges. She was the best orthopedist in town; a lot of people could attest to that.

Shortly after, she sent me the address of the college we were going to.

*****

The next morning, the usual routine at home took place. I commuted earlier than the past few days. I had never been to this particular college. Dr. Kelly used to go to universities over the years. This time it was different.

After a while, I arrived at my destination. There it was, Wilford State College. Entering the gates, it was a sight filled with awe and wonder. It was one of the biggest schools I had ever seen.

I stopped schooling after graduating from high school. Family relatives said they were willing to help us out, but I refused to be used again. It was better for Stuart and I fend for ourselves.

When I reached the lobby, I decided to call Dr. Kelly. I didn't see her anywhere. There was no answer.

As I called Dr. Kelly again, little did I know, I was wandering in the open field. The weather was sunny and cool. It was the perfect day to play outdoors. The student-athletes here thought so too — they played soccer under the bright sun.

"Go, Zac! You can do it, Zac!" screamed the group of scrawny cheerleaders at the bleachers. They were cheering the players on. They wore red skimpy uniforms. When they jumped, their panties and skin underneath would pop out, which the musical band practicing behind them enjoyed. Most of them missed a note or two; they were busy paying attention to things they couldn't touch.

Back to the field, my eyes were caught at the guy with the ball. He ran so fast like lightning, and he played like the king of the field. Many were chasing him but they couldn't outrun him. The game was intense. Then the power kicked the ball. Score. The crowd went wild.

Watching from afar, I couldn't help but put on a smile. He was good—gifted, I'd say. He was meant for the field.

I continued to stare at the guy who was surrounded by his teammates, cheering him on. One even carried him on his shoulders. My smile immediately disappeared when I noticed this wasn't the first time I saw that guy. He was the guy who dared to give me his phone number.

And when I looked at his face again to make sure, he looked at me back. Instantly I turned around and started walking with my head down. Fuck. I never wanted to see his face again. I took back what I said.

Walking briskly to the lobby, I checked my phone and saw no texts nor calls from Dr. Kelly. I called her again, however, still feeling tense about the eye contact.

"Hey..." Someone called me. I turned around to see who it was. My skills were put to the test when I had to act like seeing him did not ruin my day.

"Oh, it's you," I sighed, surprised to see him again. I put my phone in my pocket. "Hi."

"You go to school here?" he asked, wiping the sweat on his neck with a towel. He looked so fit in his attire. It was accentuating his muscles, his torso, his bulge.

"No..." I cleared my throat, looking into his eyes.

"So what are you doing here?"

I pinched my left leg to help me focus. "Uh, Dr. Kelly's here," I closed my eyes then opened it again, "Wherever she goes, I follow."

"How come you didn't call me?"

"Why would I call you?"

"I gave you my number so you could tell me when Dr. Thompson's available."

"Oh." My eyes fell back to his body. "You did not make that clear."

He chuckled. "Uh, why don't we go out on a date?"

"A date?" I scoffed, looking to my left. "I barely know you."

His confidence and charm were arguably his best asset. "Exactly. Isn't that what a date is for?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't—" I hated this, stuttering when I didn't mean to.

"I'm Zac," he reached out his hand. "Zac Johanson."

Reluctantly, I shook his hand. "I wasn't going to ask your name, Zac Johanson, but okay."

"You're Mary, right? I never forget a pretty face."

I laughed sarcastically. I managed to get back on my feet. No more daydreams. No more trances. "Is this what you do? Picking up girls and telling them what you think we want to hear?"

He looked at me confused but still, his ego was intact. "Don't you want to be called pretty?"

"I'd rather being told something I don't already know."