Sugar Rush
Vera
I checked my bank account and groaned at the dismal balance that hadn’t budged since the last time I checked two hours ago. My tuition was due in a week, and I was starting to feel anxious, waiting for my father to deposit the funds. I had been calling and texting him non-stop to get an ETA, but my calls had been going to voicemail and my texts were left on “read.”
“I have no choice but to call her.”
I called my father’s Mistress of the Month on FaceTime and drummed my nails against my desk, waiting for her to answer.
I should stop being a bitch. He’s been dating Celine for six months, and I actually…kind of like her.
Celine was a gorgeous Afro-Latina from Colombia who used to be a model in her heyday. She never made it “big,” but for some reason thought now was her time to break out on the scene.
“Hello?” Celine groaned as the camera focused on her face. My mouth dropped in shock.
“Oh, my God, Celine. What happened to you? Did you get in a fight?”
“No, I didn’t get in a fight. I had work done, babes.”
“Work done…as in…plastic surgery?”
“Sí. Your papa took me to the best plastic surgeon in Miami. I had my nose done and the skin around my eyes tightened. You see my lips?” she asked, puckering them at the screen.
“Um…yeah. They’re pretty…big,” I mumbled, touching my own full lips.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked, making kissing noises at me. She hissed in pain from doing too damn much with her balloon lips.
“Are they still swollen, Celine, or…is that the intended size?”
“This is the size, babes.”
Her lips seemed perfect before, but now she looked like Donatella Versace. I leaned closer to the screen when I noticed the bandeau top I thought she was wearing was actually fresh bandages. “Did you get your boobs done, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m a 34DDD.”
“My God,” I whispered.
“When are you going to come out and visit?”
“Probably not anytime soon since the semester is about to start. Actually, that’s what I’m calling about. I’ve been trying to reach Dad all week, but he hasn’t been answering me or returning my calls or texts. Is he around?”
“You’re in luck. He just walked in. Papí, Vera is on the phone!”
My brows furrowed when I heard him curse in the background.
That’s odd….
I became even more suspicious when it took him forever to answer the phone.
“Hi, Sugar Plum,” he greeted me with a conniving showroom grin. He looked as if he was about to sell me a lemon that was going to quit on me ten miles down the road.
Sugar Plum, my ass!
“Hey, Dad. How was your trip to Miami?” I asked cooly.
“It was wonderful. Thanks for asking. How have you been? Have you and Monica been staying out of trouble?”
“That’s a rhetorical question. Monica is always in trouble.”
He sighed. “One day, that girl will lead you astray.”
“You’ve been saying that since we became roommates our freshman year,” I said, laughing at his subtle disapproval.
“And I standby it to this day,” he proclaimed, forcing me to roll my eyes.
“Not to be that person, Dad, but this semester’s tuition is due in a week. Usually, I’d have the money by now. You didn’t send a check in the mail, did you?”
Sighing echoed through the phone, and I braced myself for bad news. Tears welled in my eyes when I overheard him tell Celine he had to take the call in his office.
“Hey, baby. You know I love you, right?”
I swallowed roughly, burying my emotions. “Yep.”
“Daddy got himself in a little bit of a financial bind.”
“A financial bind? What does that mean?” I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what he meant, but my brain was still trying to process that I was royally screwed.
He’s gambling again.
“It means…it means I won’t be able to pay your tuition this semester,” he confessed. My heart stuttered in my chest, and it took me a moment to find the words I wanted to say to him.
“Well, now I know why you’ve been ducking my calls. How long?”
“What?”
“How long have you known you couldn’t pay my tuition?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks, huh?” I said in disbelief. “So, you’re telling me you used my tuition money to turn Celine into Botox Barbie?”
“You’re sounding a little entitled, honey.”
“You might’ve been able to gaslight my mother and your girlfriends and get away with it, but you’re not doing it with me. This isn’t about me being entitled; this is about you being accountable. You’ve been paying my tuition like clockwork for the past three years, so naturally, I’d assume you’d continue to pay since we didn’t have a conversation stating otherwise. If you didn’t have the money, then the proper thing would’ve been to inform me as soon as you found out so I could figure out a Plan B. At this rate, I don’t even have enough time to apply and receive financial aid. I’ll have to drop my courses if I can’t figure something out. Fuck, Dad! You could’ve put Celine’s titties on layaway or something!”
Monica popped her head into my bedroom and mouthed, “Titties on layaway? What the fuck?”
I snorted as I attempted to calm myself.
“Baby…I’m sorry, and you’re right about everything. It’s just…a lot of things happened at once, and I had to pay back some debts, and—”
“And you prioritized your girlfriend’s plastic surgery over your daughter’s education and livelihood. I get it. I understand completely. Oh, and no shade to Celine, by the way. My problem isn’t with her; it’s with you. I have to get off now and go apply at the fucking strip club or something,” I spat before hanging up the phone. I felt something cold nudge my shoulder and had never been more grateful to see an ice-cold beer in my life. “Thanks,” I muttered.
“You want to talk about it?” she asked as we cracked open our cans. She plopped down on my bed and curled up with my pink body pillow.
“After I have one or five of these.”
“If you’re looking to get shit-faced, that’s all you had to say.”
***
“Oh, God, that burned,” I complained after slamming back my shot of Jack.
“What are you whining for? You’d think you’d be used to this by now.”
I snorted. “You’d think.”
“I don’t want to talk shit about your dad, but damn, he literally said, eff them kids.”
“Don’t remind me,” I mumbled as I attempted to ignore the Washington Wizards game that played on the 60-inch above our heads.
“Bitch, if you stare at that man any harder, he’ll break the fourth wall and give you that dick down you’re clearing begging for.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is not my type. I’m not one to judge a book by its cover, but he looks like an asshole.”
“There is nothing wrong with that. All of my best lovers were assholes.”
I rolled my eyes once #14 got into a yelling and shoving match with his opponent. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Did you contact the Payment Services Department to see if they were willing to give you an extension or let you sign up for a payment plan?”
“I did. I have to come in for an appointment to discuss it, but I need to come up with at least half of the semester’s tuition upfront. I don’t know how the hell I’ll do that without pawning off some shit. Thank God my scholarship covered my rent, or I’d be on the streets,” I complained.
Monica sighed. “Vera, you’re an angel because if my dad did what yours did to me? I’d go through his house taking shit left and right like Swiper.”
“Swiper, no swiping!” we drunkenly squealed, bumping shoulders.
“Hell yeah. I’d take the silverware, vases, cuff links, you name it—that big, fancy rug he has in front of the fireplace? Gone! I can’t believe he bought that woman some titties. He’ll feel real stupid when she leaves him and put that new body to good use on someone else.”
“Mm,” I hummed as Monica flagged down the bartender for another round of shots. I used her distraction to steal another peek at the TV screen. Hart Myers sat in the penalty box with a sourpuss expression on his face.
“I have a little bit in savings. I can spot you.”
I smiled weakly at my best friend. She was the true definition of a ride-or-die, and I was lucky to have her in my corner. She was one of those larger-than-life types of people who could only be handled in small doses unless you truly knew her. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, and her confidence was always on ten. I didn’t think we’d make it as roommates freshman year. She convinced me to go to a frat party with her the first night, and I woke up the next morning in the bushes outside our dormitory. I’d never had a Four Loko before and hadn’t expected two to put me on my ass like that.
Never again.
But I was happy to report I took personal accountability, gave her another chance, and we’d been besties ever since.
“Thanks for offering, but I’ll find a way,” I said, finally slurring my words. I plugged my fingers in my ears when a nearby table of die-hard Wizards fans whooped and hollered from a scored goal.
“Can they be any more obnoxious?” Monica complained, mean-mugging one of the guys who caught her attention. I’d bet the last of my savings that he would be leaving our apartment around 7:00 in the morning—freshly fucked, given one of Monica’s famous breakfast sandwiches, and a warning to not ask for her number.
I’m not mad at her.
“Have you considered selling feet pictures or becoming a sugar baby?”
Her unexpected question sobered me up quicker than a knife fight in a phone booth. “No, I haven’t.”
“I heard about this sugar baby app called Sugar Rush, and apparently, the girlies love it.”
“Who are your sources?” I questioned suspiciously.
“I overheard some girl in my biochem lab talking about it. She said it was quick, easy money. Allegedly, she went on one date and made two grand.”
“I don’t know if I could do that. It’s basically prostitution.”
“Sugaring isn’t always about fucking, Vera. Some of these men are lonely, and they’re looking for a beautiful, intelligent woman to make them feel like they’re sitting on top of the world. You’d be amazed what men would pay to have their ego stroked a little—no pun intended.”
“I don’t know,” I replied cautiously, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth.
“Don’t take my word for it; download the app and poke around.”
Another raucous cheer from the hockey fans nearly deafened us. I glanced up in time to see Hart Myers gliding around the rink, pumping his fist with a triumphant smile after scoring the game-winning goal.
Asshole or not. That man has a beautiful smile.
I’d made up my mind by the time we drunkenly stumbled into our apartment with Monica’s plus one an hour later. It might’ve been the alcohol talking, but I didn’t want to put off college for a semester or year because my father couldn’t make me a priority.
I took a two-minute basic training shower and flopped onto my bed butt-ass naked to air dry because I was too lazy and drunk to towel off and dress in pajamas. Instead, I snapped my charger into my phone and downloaded Sugar Rush from the app store.
“Let’s make this money,” I whispered as I entered my profile credentials.
