“Uh . . . yeah,” I replied. I still didn’t like being called that.

“Anyways, see you next class?” she asked. “You’re gonna stick around, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Since you’re a student, I assume, I’ll cut you a deal of seventy dollars for three months.” Ryan smiled.

That was a great deal, but I didn’t have seventy dollars. But maybe I could make seventy dollars fast. I didn’t quite know how, but my parents had a lot of interesting things in our basement, things I knew they wouldn’t miss, and things I knew I could make a quick buck off of.

“I’ll have it to you next class,” I told Ryan with way too much confidence.

“For sure.” Ryan nodded. “See you soon, Adrian.”

When I got home that night I managed to avoid my parents and made it to my bedroom without them seeing my bruised face. I was big but sneaky. When I sat down on my bed, the question came to my mind: how am I going to make seventy dollars? I went to check my savings account (which was just a shoebox behind a bookshelf) and opened it up. I had thirty dollars in there. Two ten-dollar bills and a bunch of loonies and toonies.

I remembered my plan to check the basement.

I headed downstairs and searched around, hoping to find an artefact worth more than my parents’ house. But honestly, all I found were dirty clothes I hadn’t put in the wash and overdue library books from junior high. Nobody would pay much for those. I took one last look in a junk drawer and found some old gems. It was a box of records. I didn’t even think my parents owned a record player. Inside the box there was a huge variety of blues, jazz, and what looked like metal. I thought my parents had mainly been into R&B. Me? I was all about hip-hop. But I couldn’t picture either of them jamming out to metal or getting down with the blues. I thought maybe they wouldn’t need them.

I grabbed my phone, took a few pictures of the box, and posted it to a group where people bought used items. I wrote, “Selling old records for $40. Barely used.” That last part was probably a lie.

I put my phone down, and a few seconds later I heard the ringing sounds of notifications. I checked, and someone named Mel Woods kept commenting on the photos. The comments read:

Yooo! I’ve been looking for some records to play. I’m interested!

Sell me them!

I really need them!

That was fast. I went to Mel’s profile and sent her a message.

Me: Hey. I’m following up about the records you wanted to buy.

Mel Woods: Yes! I want them all!

Me: Yeah, for sure. So are you located in the North End?

Mel Woods: Yep! Right by Queen Avenue. Can we meet at Redemption House Café tomorrow afternoon?

Me: Yeah that works. How does 1pm sound?