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My stomach growls obnoxiously loud and I realize I hadn’t eaten anything today. I'm suddenly craving greasy, fatty food, but I don't feel like going anywhere alone. Sitting up, I reach for my phone to check the time. It's only a little after seven. I decide that since Natalie took me out last night I would return the favor and treat her. Neither one of us left the apartment today, but that's because we were too incapacitated to leave.
"I’m seriously not looking forward to tomorrow," I say an hour later. I’m dreading school. I need a week's worth of sleep at this point.
We're at some tiny diner a couple of blocks away. I typically hate the smell of diners. They remind me of old people and baby powder, but every so often we find a little hole in the wall diner and it's fucking amazing. Like the one we're at now. It doesn't smell bad, and all the dishes around us look appetizing. Our food is brought out and placed in front of us. My stomach is still a mess but at least my head is fine. Natalie, on the other hand, looks torn up.
"Aubs, no one looks forward to Mondays," she says, and stuffs three tater tots into her mouth.
I stare at her in morbid fascination as she mixes up a disgusting concoction of mustard, ketchup, and a ton of black pepper. "You're so gross."
She dips a tot into the sauce and holds it out to me. "Try it."
I pull back and grimace. "No fucking thank you. Where did you come up with that idea anyway?"
"When I was high."
A chuckle rolls off my lips. As hard as Natalie parties, she’s on top of her shit. She holds down a job and is in the top of her class, not that she has much of a choice in regard to school. Her parents would rain down on her if she got anything less than a B+ in any of her classes.
"Remember that time I had buttery, salty popcorn with flan frozen yogurt? How I dipped each piece of popcorn into the yogurt and I acted like it was better than sex?"
"I can't erase the memory from my mind, even if I wanted to. It’s seared into my head for my next ten lives. You were so into it. Flaaaannnnnn." I drag out the word the way she did.
She looks like she's ready to choke me over my reenactment. Her expression kills me and I start laughing. I love being around her. All we do is laugh and have fun and live in the moment. Natalie doesn't give two shits and I find it encouraging. For the most part, I feel like I'm like that too, but I do have those few moments when I hesitate. She never does though. Once her mind is made up, that's it.
"I really don’t want to fold clothes tomorrow. Then deal with screaming babies Friday night. Ugh. Kill me now."
"Why do you do it?"
"I may hate the job at the laundromat, and being a nanny, but I have bills I have to pay. Beggars can't be choosers."
"Where I work, you could easily quadruple your week's pay in one night. I'm pretty sure I can get you a job. You'll make a ton of cash there, Aub." She hesitates. "You just have to be really open-minded before you go in, and not overthink where the money is coming from or what you're doing to get it."
"Why do I feel like there's more to your job than what you're telling me?"
She finishes the last bite of her burger and crumbles up her napkin, then throws it on her plate.
"Welcome to the real world, where everyone is hiding something just to get ahead, even if it means being devious or fucking people over. A stock trader on Wall Street isn't going to tell you his moneymaking secret. He's going to take it to the grave because he doesn’t want anyone else to have what he does, even if it is devious and he's fucking people over. Money makes the world go round."
I consider her words. She has a point.
"But how does one live with themselves lying and cheating to get ahead?"
Natalie finishes off her gross dipping sauce and then pulls her nappy hair into a messy bun. She sighs before turning toward me and looking me square in the eye.
"Listen. You want to make it? Sometimes you have to lie to Paul to steal from Pete. And if you really want to be a cut above the rest, you have to cheat on Pat and fuck his friend, Paco."
"I think it's rob Peter to pay Paul, and I don't remember anything about fucking friends."
She rolls her eyes, but smiles. "Okay, Ram Jam. Same difference. Why do you have to be a smarty pants?" She throws a tot at me. "Dirty money is still money, and I want it all."
I nod in agreement. I want it too.
"Pot calling the kettle black. You get better grades than I do," I say.
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"Sometimes I wonder if my parents pay the school."
My eyes widen. "Is that possible?"
