“Or to perv on them,” Andie muses, as if the idea just occurred to her. “Or maybe it’s just a joke.”
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, deliberating. Sure, the ad seems too good to be true, but it could also be a lifeline—a sole buoy in the middle of a raging ocean that might be the only thing to save me from drowning.
Andie might be right—the job could very well be a joke—but if it isn’t? If itislegit, and that kind of money is actually in arm’s reach? Well, then I would be an idiot not to grab it while I have the chance.
I jolt when Andie’s hand brushes my arm, and I meet her gaze, mystified by the look of concern I find spreading across her face. “Lex, all jokes aside, you can’t seriously be considering this. I know I’m the one who suggested Craigslist, but really, I was just trying to take your mind off the shit with your mom.”
“It’s ten grand a month,” I say slowly, keeping my voice steady so I won’t break into tears. “That’s almost enough to helpMom complete her treatment, or at least get us most of the way to the finish line. Besides, nothing else on here comes close to offering that kind of money.” I throw a weighted glance at Ronnie. “Maybe it’s fate.”
“Oh, boy.” Ronnie plops down on her cousin’s lap, and props an elbow on my desk, looking up at me hard as if trying to read my thoughts. “How dare you use the undeniable power of the universe against me.” She pauses for a moment, studying my face. “We’re not going to talk you out of this, are we?”
When have either of you ever talked me out of anything?I almost ask. For a scholarship student at one of the best colleges in the country, I’m a bit of a chaotic mess. Instead, I say, “It’s at least worth investigating to see if the job is legit. Plus, if it is, I won’t have to drop out of school.”
It’s a win-win for everyone then. Mom gets her treatment, and I get my elite education that we both busted our asses so hard for. That outcome is worth sacrificing some of my time and dignity. Well, a lot of my dignity. But who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky and the guy will be cute.
Yeah, right,a voice says in the back of my head.Because cute, available, sane guys totally need to post wanted ads for girlfriends online.
I shudder. Ronnie’s right. Maybe not about the murderer part, but the guy’s probably a total creep. Regardless, this might be the only option I have. I can handle a creep for ten grand a month.
“Just promise us, if you won’t take my dads’ money, that you’ll at least look into the charity route first,” Ronnie begs.
I offer her an endearing smile and nod. “Of course.” I already planned on doing just that, but having this in my back pocket won’t hurt. A girl always needs a back-up plan.
All I can hope now is that I won’t need it.
La paciencia es la madre de la ciencia - Patience is the mother of science
Translation: Patience leads to success…or maybe I need a new plan.
WANTED: Fake Girlfriend (Newport area)
Compensation: $10,000 a month
Employment type: part-time
Job title: Lifesaver
Seeking laid-back female in early to mid-twenties (though will consider older, within reason) to pretend to be my girlfriend for a period of nine months, starting immediately. Willing to pay $10,000 a month to the right candidate. Due to privacy concerns, further information is only available upon interview.
Serious inquiries only.
The mattress shifts beneath my weight as I flop backward onto my bed and comb a hand through my water-soaked hair before propping my arm behind my head. I lift my hips slightly to adjust the towel at my waist, then reach for my phone where it lies on the blanket beside me, holding it up roughly two inches above my face as I open my email. Again. This must be the thirtieth time I’ve checked it since I woke up an hour ago, and my disappointment weighs just as heavily as it did the first time my mail app declared I have no new unread messages. Or at least any that aren’t spam or some sus “company” trying to sell me a penis enlarger. I don’t need any help in that department, thank you very much.
I blow out a loud, exasperated breath through my nose. After lunch with my parents on Friday, I thought for sure that a girlfriend would be the perfect way to prove to them I can be serious about…well, life in general, I guess. But seeing as I’m not interested in dating, I figured that, by hiring a stranger to pretend to be said girlfriend, I would have theappearanceof commitment without needlessly tying myself down to a relationship I don’t actually want. And since all I need is to make it to graduation, it would be easy enough to stage an amicable break-up once my dad is appeased and my future at my abuelo’s company is secured.
At the time, it seemed like an ingenious plan with all the reward and none of the risk. After all, it’s not like I would really have to worry about anyone at Conwick stumbling across the ad by accident—not when the majority of the student body has money to spare and are as likely to look at local job listings as they are to take public transport. Sure, there might be some exceptions to that, but the odds are mostly in my favor. And I don’t think my parents even know what Craigslist is, nor would they have cause or reason to check it.
But it’s been nearly two days since I put up the listing, and reality is starting to crush me with doubt. I don’t get it. I’m offering a small fortune in exchange for what should be a simple job, and I haven’t had a single response. How can that be? I mean, I know this is a nice area, but there are plenty who don’t come from wealth who live locally—like a server who’s grown tired of living off tips or a bartender who’s fed up with handsy drunks. Surely, my offer is better than either of those scenarios.
No, it can’t be the money that’s putting people off…so maybe it’s the wording? I know I was vague on the details, but that’s only because the last thing I need right now is another scandal blowing up in my face. If word were to get out about this and reach my father, this would definitely be the final straw. He’d cut me off faster than I can say Hallazgo.
I swipe my finger across the phone screen, pulling up my internet browser and re-reading the listing, which I’ve kept open in one of a small handful of tabs. The others vary from creative ideas for public dates to the tip-line numbers for different tabloids (I’ll need to be seen with my future fake girlfriend if this is ever going to work). I even have a template for a non-disclosure agreement ready and waiting. It’s not like I can use the family lawyer for this, but I also can’t very well have whoever responds to the ad running their mouth as soon as the nine months is over…or the interview, for that matter.
Assuming anyone answers the listing at all.
My phone starts vibrating in my hand, and my abuela’s smiling face pops up in place of the browser as if she can sense my distress all the way from Guadalajara. Pushing myself upright, I tap a finger against the green answer button, then toss the device screen-down onto the bedspread.
“¡Hola!” my abuela says as I stand and cross the few feet to my dresser, unhooking my towel and dropping it in a heap to thefloor. “Damian? Am I doing the FaceTime correctly? I can’t see you.”
