I shuddered and flopped onto the hideaway bed I’d been sleeping on over the past two months. The mattress was lumpy, thin, and covered in questionable stains I preferred not to think about. It was one of three pieces of furniture my best friend, Aaron’s, parents had offered me when I’d temporarily moved in to their basement.

The steel-framed desk in the corner reminded me of the ones my teachers all had in elementary school. It was bulky and practical but horrifyingly ugly. A pressed oatmeal style dresser held the few outfits I’d managed to pull together during my allotted, “You have ten minutes to clean out your belongings!” which had immediately followed my glowing and exuberant, “I’m gay!” announcement.

Biggest. Fucking. Mistake. Ever.

To punctuate my misery, a shrill cry and scampering feet sounded from above. A male voice yelled, then a herd of elephants stormed across the floor above my head, which was followed by more squeals and cries and child-like yells.

I tugged my phone from my pocket, the one piece of my old life I still owned that hadn’t been confiscated by my parents, and texted my twin brother. I held my breath each time I used the device, waiting for the day Dad remembered to remove me from the family phone plan.

Thankfully, today was not the day.

Atticus: Rob a bank with me?

Asher: LOL. Hate the working man’s life that much already, do ya? What’s it been? Three weeks on the job?

Four. I sneered at my phone. Four stupid weeks. Who knew finding a job was hard? I’d spent a month after being kicked out of the house looking for anyone who would hire me. It was a desperate venture.

Finally, I’d secured part-time work at West End Pumps gas station, working for minimum wage three to four nights a week after school. I’d been at it for four weeks. A whole month. And it was long enough to decide I hated every part of this disownment to my core. Especially the shitty-ass, bullshit job which came with exposure to the cold, Southwestern Ontario winter weather, a wretched smell that lingered in your nose, annoying customers, and a ball-busting boss who barely tolerated me.

Not a single part of this new life was appealing.

And every cent I made—which was horrifyingly minimal—went toward food, personal hygiene supplies, and the two hundred and fifty bucks room and board Aaron’s parents charged me for staying with them. It was a sweet deal to live in hell’s basement.

I was never going to have enough money to pay for my last year of university. Ever. Not even close. I could kiss my degree goodbye at this rate. Adios. Sayonara. Thanks for coming out.

Atticus: I’ve been working there four fucking weeks! I’m going to be eating ramen noodles for the rest of my life.

Asher: Never tried them.