with both coffee and weed, I’ve got a major life issue right now that I can’t figure out how to resolve, and Grant is clearly as down-to-earth a confidant as I’ll ever find. Regardless of the tarot—I might as well lay all my personal cards out on the table for him.
“All right. I’ll tell you the truth. I got kicked out of school winter term.”
“Kicked out? For what?” he asks instantly. “Because I know it wasn’t grades.”
“Well…kicked out is a strong word. I started the first week, and then had to drop out because I didn’t pay my tuition.”
“Why not?”
“Well, my parents were covering it—we’re in the top income bracket, by the way—so I get zero need-based financial aid. Now, they’re divorced, and I still get zero need-based student aid because of their incomes.”
“That sucks. Your parents just…cut you off?”
“To be totally fair, it’s my dad who pays my tuition. Even though my mom gets paid well for her job as a sex therapist, she’s still paying back her own tuition for her second Ph.D., so she’s not an option to help out. My dad works in sales and business is up and down. Lately, it’s been more down—although, I think the divorce might be affecting his work attitude which is obviously impacting sales. Anyhow, I had to try to come up with the twelve-thousand dollars for winter term on my own, which was a total fail.”
“What about student loans?”
I shrug. “Honestly, I thought about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to go into all that debt just to work on an Art History degree. I wanted to take some time to think over my next move. College is this crazy choice we make when we’re only seventeen or eighteen years old. And I didn’t want to end up like my older brother Paul, who took out over one-hundred thousand dollars and will be paying back nine-hundred dollars a month. For twenty years. I refuse to do that.”
Grant’s jaw hangs open. “That’s some crazy math.”
“I know! So, I took some time off, worked, and thought about what I want to do. But the truth is, winter term has taken a toll on my psyche. I don’t even totally feel like a student here anymore.”
“What do you mean you don’t feel like a student?”
“Well, I’ve been living in my cheap, off-campus apartment to save money, right? During the winter I would still go to the library, for example, to read and study. But sometimes people would ask me, ‘what year in school are you?’ I’d open my mouth to respond, but I’d feel like a fake, because I guess I’m a freshman, but technically I’m a no year. And if I start explaining it to people, then they have a million questions. I had to move out even though I loved my fall term roommate, April. And I don’t exactly feel like getting into the nitty-gritty of my parents’ divorce with some senior in the library who is flirting with me because he probably wants to get into my pants. Apparently, there’s a silly rumor going around that I give great—”
I stop myself right there.
Grant is cool, but I’m going to draw the line at sex talk when it’s not even eight a.m.
“Give great…what?” he asks, leaning back. He puts his feet up on the coffee table and his arms behind his head. He looks damn comfortable as he raises one eyebrow in a curious expression.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m a bad storyteller. The point is, I don’t like talking about this stuff. And it’s so stressful. I had to move off campus to a cheap apartment, only one-hundred and fifty dollars a month.” I shake his shoulder. “One-hundred and fifty a month! Do you know what kind of a box apartment you get for one-hundred and fifty dollars a month? In what kind of seedy neighborhood? I wasn’t joking about the drug dealer thing! They’re out on the corner at nine a.m. sharp!”
Grant nods and processes everything. He looks genuinely concerned. “Man, that’s messed up. Sorry about all that. Really sucks about your parents’ divorce.”
I laugh. “The funny thing is, they’re both really happy. And they’re both friends, still! Isn’t that weird? My parents are so weird.”
“Everyone has weird parents. By the way, thanks for sharing this with me. I won’t tell anyone about it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Anything?”
“Anything. Of course.”
I smirk. “Do you have ten-thousand dollars laying around in a cookie jar? I