Author's Note: After writing a couple of fluffy Samcedes stories, it just felt like time to try something with a little more angst, and after being so intrigued with Sam's Stallionz story line, I had to go that route with this. The story takes place before "Hold On to Sixteen".
Warning: Two mentions of sex and one might be perceived as dub-con.
Stevie had taken on the duty of checking the mailbox every afternoon, once the Evans' family moved into their new home in Kentucky.
(Home. It was such a nice word. It was nice to actually say that they lived in a home, as opposed to "I'm homeless" or "I share a motel room with four of my family members".)
Stacie didn't quite grasp the family's situation like Stevie did, because she was a few years younger. She just thought she was Eloise, and that her Plaza Hotel was actually a Motel 6, and there wasn't any room service. Or money, for that matter. But Stevie understood the gist of their circumstances: their dad had lost their job and that money was tight and that everyone was pulling together to contribute something to better them as a whole. He obviously didn't have much to offer, as most businesses didn't hire ten year olds and he didn't really have anymore of his belongings to sell since his parents had taken care of the majority of that before they lost their house. In some way, Stevie had thought by doing that one small chore daily for his parents, he was maybe alleviating some of their stress, because it would just be one less thing for them to worry about. They may be in debt, they may not know how they are going to pay the electric bill, but their mail will have always been brought in by a very dutiful ten year old.
But Stevie didn't realize that there was some kind of calm in leaving the mail sitting in its box. Because then Sam and his parents wouldn't have to deal with the hundreds of bills and past due notices in there just yet.
Even though Sam's father had found a job and his mother would sometimes get called in as a substitute teacher by the local school district, things still were very tight financially. Yes, they had a little more room to breathe from month to month, but God forbid an unforeseen expense was to occur, as there wasn't much money leftover by the end of paying all of their bills.
Sam hadn't been as lucky as he was in Lima when it came to finding an after-school job in Kentucky. He managed to get a job delivering pizzas back in Ohio, because the guy who owned the small restaurant happened to go to his church, and when Sam came into apply for a delivery boy position, the owner simply gave it to him out of pity for his situation. He doesn't have any real qualifications or special skills to aid in the application process either, so that certainly doesn't help the job hunting. And thankfully, Sam does manage to find a job working at a nearby Dairy Queen after two months of scouring want ads.
But it's a really shitty job; the customers are rude, his hands are always cold, working the drive-thru window is super fast-paced and difficult to keep up with, and he can't figure out how to do that damn swirly thing with the ice cream. He has a coworker about his age named Amanda who is much too nice and willing to help him when he screws up, and by the end of the day he often feels she deserves his paycheck for fixing the messes he makes, like forgetting orders or dropping someone's ice cream cone on the floor.
The $7.68 an hour he makes doesn't go far either, but he figures every little bit counts in helping his family.
That is his primary motivation: to help his family. He isn't concerned with how undesirable his job is or if the hours are long and the benefits few and far between; he just wants to make sure they are taken care of with a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.
And then there is Mercedes, too.
Because he just wants to see her. Like really badly. Really, really, really badly.
The relationship between Sam and Mercedes may have been short, but the feelings between the two were very real. He came to this realization when he had spent the night over at her house the evening before he left just holding her in his arms and rubbing small circles on her back, as she tried to stifle quiet sobs. He wanted to tell her that he loved her before he left that morning, but his head insisted that he was young and that people his age fall in "love" much too quickly these days and move on even quicker when the relationship ends.
(His heart knew that this was untrue.)
The two had discussed maybe giving the long distance thing a try, but the feasibility of it all was near impossible, as Sam didn't have a computer or a cell phone, which pretty much depleted any possible means of communication. Mercedes had written down her address in case he ever wanted to write her and a phone number as well on a piece of paper, something he swore to himself he would guard with his life, but nonetheless managed to lose during the move.
In the three months it had been since they had last seen or talked to each other, Sam feared greatly that she had already replaced him. That maybe she had found another man, one who could give her all the things that she wanted, and more importantly, deserved.
He wasn't good enough for her.
Sam remembered telling her this the time she invited him over to her house and offered to cut his hair for him, a skill she acquired after watching her mom cut her brother's hair, when she noticed that even he was becoming annoyed by how long it had gotten. He couldn't afford to get one done professionally and he certainly didn't trust himself with a pair of shears, so Sam accepted her offer. That was something he always appreciated about her during the relationship. Whenever she offered to do something, like cut his hair, it never felt like charity or as though she was emasculating him. It was just a very matter-of-fact, "Boy, your hair has gotten way too long and it is time to trim that shaggy, hot mess,"
She was watchfully trimming his bangs, when Sam grabbed her free hand in his, and meekly said, "I'm sorry,"
"For what? Damaging your hair with these atrocious highlights?" She teased.
He paused. "You deserve someone better than me. You shouldn't have to cut your boyfriend's hair or sit at home on a Friday night watching movies, because he can't afford to take you out on a real date. I'm not good enough for you,"
Mercedes put the scissors down on a nearby table and squatted down, so she would be eye-level with the boy sitting before her. "If there's one thing my mom has always taught me, it's that I deserve to be happy and that I should find a boy who makes me happy. You, Sam, you make me happy. I have everything I could ever need," She placed both of her hands on either side of his face and kissed him.
And in that moment, he promised himself that he would anything he could to make her happy for as long they were together.
(Sam would come to find out that would only be for about another week.)
Sam believes that if she could see him now that she would see how much better he is and even more significant, how much more worthy he is of her. Because he has a house now and could maybe afford to take her out on a real date and buy her corny anniversary gifts for their three-month-a-versary.
And that's why he decides to get a second job.
With the extra income coming from a second job, there may be some more money leftover after paying the bills he can keep for himself, and with that money he can afford to buy a bus ticket back to Lima, so he can see her again. It's only about $100, but that's a lot of money to his family right now.
Just a dollar a day, he thinks, until she's back in my arms.
The job search commences immediately and it's already proven to be significantly more difficult than it was for him to find his job at Dairy Queen. If it wasn't that the place wasn't hiring, it was that he wasn't old enough to work there, and if it wasn't that, then it was that it didn't pay enough to justify sacrificing shifts at the DQ.
One Saturday morning he decides to head to the local mall in hopes that maybe some store in there will be hiring and will bring him one step closer to Lima. Sam can feel that today is going to be the day his luck in finding a job changes, so he makes sure to dress nicely in a pair of dark fitted jeans and light blue button-down shirt before embarking on his job hunt. He tries Abercrombie and Fitch first, because he knows that company hires based on appearance, and although Sam isn't a conceited fellow, he certainly knows that he's got it going on. But evidently the person in charge of hiring doesn't quite agree, because his "mouth is like totally disproportionate to the rest of his face" and he doesn't get hired. He then tries Bath and Body Works, but when he has an immediate allergic reaction to the lotion the manager places on his hand during the interview, he figures he probably won't be hearing from them anytime soon. Sam tries Hollister after that, while crossing his fingers that maybe their attractiveness standards are a little more forgiving about the size of his lips, but the manager sees the rash on his hands from the lotion, and immediately assumes he has some weird skin disease and that's "just so not hot".
He's tries every single possibility in that mall, all to no avail, and he's ready to throw in the towel. He's feeling tired, defeated, and itchy from that toxic mess in a bottle from Bath and Body Works, and he is seriously considering responding to ads on Craig's List looking for compensated prescription drug trial participants. But then he feels the hand of a woman who looks strangely like Susan Sarandon on his shoulder and he can already tell his luck is about to change. "I'm sorry, but are you a model?"
("It's funny you should ask that, because I've literally gotten turned away by every single place I've applied at because of the way I looked.")
"Um…no," He responds, slightly flattered, but still confused by the stranger's question.
"Hmm," The woman hums aloud, as she rakes her eyes over his body. He knew that wearing this outfit today would be a good idea. "My name is Margot Paulson and I'm with Sha-zam Entertainment. I'm opening up a new establishment and you fit the bill for exactly what we're looking for. Would you be up for coming in for an interview on Monday after three o'clock?" She asks, while extending her business card out to him.
"Yeah, of course!" He says enthusiastically and takes her card.
"Well, perfect. I'll see you Monday then…"
"Sam. My name is Sam,"
"See you then, Sam," Margot adds before walking away.
When Monday afternoon comes around, Sam finds himself standing outside of a building outfitted to look like a Country Western Saloon with the word "Stallionz" scrawled across the top of the door. He begins to wonder what he's gotten himself into. When Margot handed him her card, he figured she was interested in him to do some modeling work. After all, the first question out of her mouth was regarding whether or not he had any experience as a model. He thinks that Stallionz sure is a weird name for a modeling agency and even though he's never actually been inside of one of those before, he's almost positive they don't normally have an empty bar and stage surrounded by tables inside of them. It clicks in Sam's mind that is in fact not a modeling agency, but rather some sort of restaurant or club…or something. When Margot shows up and leads him to her office where she begins rambling on about how fun the work atmosphere at Stallionz is, Sam realizes what's going on.
He doesn't know why at that exact moment he doesn't get up from the chair in her office as soon as it becomes clear that this is a male strip club. Sam's parents would flip their lids just knowing he was even interviewing at a place like this, let alone working at one. But he just sits there anyways and listens to her talk about her company and by the end of her pitch, he's convinced that this is a pretty cool place to work at. "You're over eighteen, right?" Margot asks casually, once she finishes her spiel.
"I'm not actually e-" He begins.
("You're not actually eighteen. Just finish the word. Eighteen. Eight. Teen. One. Eight. You are a minor and it would be totally inappropriate and gross for you to be working at a place like this, especially as an actual STRIPPER,")
He pauses for a second to consider the offer on the table. He's barely making enough at the Dairy Queen to help his family, and he certainly isn't making enough to ever be able to go and visit Mercedes back in Lima. He's been declined at every other place he has put in an application with, and here: here is this job being handed to him. A job where he will be making shit tons of money and according to Margot, having a party while doing it the "good ole' Stallionz way".
"I'm not actually e…experienced…with this kind of thing," He finishes quietly.
Margot lets out an amused chuckle at his naïveté. "Oh, sweetie, it's not like you need a doctorate or anything to take off your clothes for an audience full of hot and bothered cougars. No, no you don't need to worry about that. I just want to make sure you aren't going to bail on a show because you have a chemistry test in the morning. So, you're eighteen?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm eighteen," Sam answers coolly, trying to hide the fact his ass is literally sweating because he's afraid of getting busted for lying.
He doesn't know why he lies to Margot, but it's too late to back out now he realizes as she is handing him the employee paperwork and inviting him to watch the special afternoon show. "Today's theme is historical men through the ages, but you know, sexier,"
He doesn't actually see what's going on up on the stage during the show, a fact that he is kind of grateful for because watching guys strip is totally gay, because all he sees is a flurry of women's hands waving and tossing and shaking ones and tens and twenties and even fifties at the performers. Sam can tell these dudes are making more in fifteen minutes than he does clocking in twenty-five hours a week at Dairy Queen.
He knows that working here isn't a good idea, because it's so fucking wrong on about every single level there is. He isn't the type of person who would actually exploit his body for money, specifically in such a tasteless manner. This is not the man he was raised to be and if he thought he wasn't good enough for Mercedes before, then he certainly isn't now.
Mercedes.
The girl that he missed.
The girl that he loved.
The girl that probably would move on and find someone new if he didn't get his ass back to Lima pronto.
And the only way that's going to happen is if he gets a second job.
(Just a dollar a day, right? That's all he needs, just a dollar a day.)
He starts the following night and he's grateful that he's kept those gold shorts from McKinley's disastrous production of Rocky Horror stashed in his dresser drawer, or else he wouldn't have had anything to wear for work.
(And it would have been totally awkward having to explain to his parents why he had to buy a pair of booty shorts, otherwise.)
He feels the anxiety and nerves begin to build in his body as he waits by the stage manager to go on stage. What's he even supposed to do when he goes on there? Drop his drawers, take the money, and walk off? Like hell he could actually dance, especially under these circumstances, too. "Hey kid, what's your name?" The burly man waiting by a microphone asks.
"Sam. Sam Evans,"
"No, you're stage name,"
He hasn't actually had time to think of one, because, well, he hasn't actually done anything in his life where some kind of pseudonym is required and why would it have crossed his mind to come up with a stripper name? He's only actually had one real nickname in his entire life and it was actually an insult aimed at his appearance by a not-so-cheery Cheerio at McKinley. "Would Trouty Mouth work?" And the man just shoots him a look.
So he begins to scan his brain for a memory, an inside joke, anything that he could potentially draw inspiration from for his name. That's when he remembers a time he was over at Mercedes' house and jokingly had said that if the two of them were to have kids one day that they would be milk chocolate babies, because she's dark chocolate and he's white chocolate. (She just shook her head and smiled.) He figures chocolate is kind of sensual sounding, and white works too, because…he's white.
And thus, White Chocolate is born.
The first time he performs it's pretty awkward and uncoordinated. He swears the song feels like it is forty minutes long, and it's fairly difficult to fill the music as the only real dance move he knows how to do is a sideways body roll. But whether it's because of the gold shorts and the way his body looks in them or the fact that these women merely feel sorry for the awkward guy on stage trying to be seductive, he still is bombarded with singles. All of which, he gladly accepts.
He tells himself he will only do a few shows, a week's worth tops, and then he will be done. He is positive by then that he will have at least earned enough money for a bus ticket and then he can go back to his normal, mundane job at Dairy Queen. But a week goes by, and he's only a few dollars shy of his goal, because Stevie needed a new pair of sneakers after a sudden growth spurt and wipes out his night's worth of tips. But then another weeks goes by and he thinks that if he could earn another hundred dollars, he could probably afford to take Mercedes out on a really nice date when he goes to see her. A few more weeks go by, and he swears that this will be his last night at Stallionz, but then he sees a necklace in the window of a jewelry store and thinks that Mercedes would really like something like that and if he only works a few more shows, he'll be able to buy it for her. Before he knows it, he's been there for several months and has no intention of ever returning to his fast food job.
And he knows that he's totally pushing his luck by working here, because one of these days someone is going to recognize his naked ass on stage and rat him out to his parents, who will without a doubt lose their shit. And the guilt of lying to them about where he is working is also kind of getting to him. (He's completely surprised when they actually believe he got promoted to manager after a month of working at Dairy Queen in order to justify his sudden increase in paycheck.) But working at Stallionz is kind of addicting, he begins to realize, as the money comes easy and all he has to do is allow women to gawk at his physique, and for an extra couple of bucks, feel his washboard stomach. It's all kind of flattering in a fucked up, twisted sort of way.
Sam gets called into Margot's office one night after a rowdy show in which all the guys dressed like Pilgrims and Indians for a special Thanksgiving performance, and he's sure he's been busted for lying about his age. He takes off his extravagant headdress as he enters her office and thinks he should just start apologizing profusely now and explain that his family is broke and that's why he lied in the first place. But then Margot tells him about a bachelorette party she's having at her house for her old college roommate and how she's looking for some of the dancers at Stallionz to do a private party. "And of course I had to ask you, Sammy, because you're my favorite of them all," She flirts, as she swats his partially exposed behind. Normally something like that would have bothered him, but he's totally used to being objectified like that by now.
And of course he says yes, because there are a couple hundred bucks easy in his pocket. (He really needs the money, too, because he gave what he saved for Mercedes away to his parents when the electric bill fell behind and it was going to be shut off it wasn't paid immediately.) Just one private party and he'll be headed to Lima in no time.
The night of the party he does his thing in his gold shorts with three other men, let's a few strange women caress him inappropriately, grinds up against the bride-to-be, and is collecting his tips for the night and putting his normal clothes back on when Margot motions for him to go upstairs with her. The other guys make comments about how they know what that means. Sam thinks he does, too, but he's really praying he's wrong.
"Take off your clothes," Margot demands when they get to what Sam assumes is her bedroom. It's decorated in various shades of red and leopard print, in a variety of different textures ranging in silk to velvet to leather. He's not surprised that this is what her "boudoir" looks like.
"Ex-ex-excuse me?" He stammers out.
"Take off your clothes," And she punctuates this statement by removing her black lacey dress she had on at the party to reveal that's she not wearing anything underneath.
He quickly turns away. This is too weird. Too. Fucking. Weird. "Margot, I don't- don't think this is a very good idea," Talk about an understatement. It was the worst fucking idea. Ever.
She walks over to her nightstand and pulls out a wad of bills from one of the drawers. "How about now? Is it a good idea now?" Margot questions, as she waves a twenty-dollar bill in his face. He doesn't respond. "And now?" She asks again, pulling out another twenty. Sam still doesn't reply. She continues to press and remove twenties from the stack until she runs out and he's left with $360 glaring him in the face.
He shouldn't do this. End of story, No ifs, ands, or motherfucking buts about it. He isn't a prostitute, and yes, he may have been willing to exploit his body before, but this is crossing a line. No. No. No. No. No. Say no. Just say no.
But he can't shake the image of those eighteen crisp twenty-dollar bills in Margot's hand right now. All he can think about is Mercedes in that moment, which is bizarre in its own right. He just wants to see her. And hold her, And kiss her, And tell her how much he loves her. And how much he's changed, And take her own that expensive date. And buy her that necklace. And maybe a matching pair of earrings.
He has to do this. He doesn't really see any other alternatives, because he's sure that the money he's earned from the party will be gone before he knows it, since unexpected bills and expenses always seem to pop out of nowhere for his family. And he's also pretty sure that if he says no to Margot's proposition than he's more than likely going to lose his job and lose even more money in the long run. Sam fears he's also running out of time before Mercedes moves on to someone else, too, and he can't stand the thought of risking that. He has too much to lose at this point. Saying no is not an option.
He believes that if somehow Mercedes ever found out about this, she'd forgive him. Because she'd forgiven him for so much already, anyway. She had forgiven him for the fact that he was lousy at texting because of his dyslexia. She had forgiven him for falling asleep during Must Love Dogs (And A Walk To Remember. And The Notebook. And Dear John. And…) during one of their many movie nights. She'd forgiven him for not being able to afford a birthday present for her. And a slew of other things, because that's the kind of person she was. Mercedes, who was so understanding would surely be able to forgive him for having sex with another woman, so he could afford to come and visit her.
(No she wouldn't.)
Sam takes the money out of Margot's hands and hesitantly begins to unbutton his jeans, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see her smirk. Because she knows that she owns him.
He's only been with one woman before and that was Mercedes. It had happened relatively quickly when considering how new their relationship was. Her parents had allowed him to come over to watch movies, their usual Friday night date, as well as their Saturday night date, even though they would be out for the evening and probably wouldn't return until after midnight. During the middle of their second movie was when Mercedes first leaned over to kiss him. That kiss lead to touching, which lead to removing one another's clothing, and then prompted Mercedes to ask if he wanted to go up to her bedroom, a setting far different from the one he was currently in, from the stuffed animals on the bed to the juvenile wallpaper adorning every corner of her room. Sam told her he was fine with waiting—waiting for a more special occasion or reason, a more romantic atmosphere, which he really wanted to give her, but couldn't afford, as was the case with most things— but Mercedes insisted that now was the right time. He remembered their hands intertwining as he entered her somewhat clumsily due to his inexperience and moving his body as slowly as possible to avoid hurting her. He could still picture her face twisting in slight discomfort at the new sensation, to which he immediately responded to by offering to stop. She mustered up a small smile and told him it was okay and that it felt amazing, even though he could see the tiniest of tears forming in the corner of her eyes. He couldn't remember why, but he thought by telling jokes about the glee club, complete with spot-on impersonations, he might be able to distract her from whatever pain she was feeling.
"Hi guys, my name is Mr. Shuester and my favorite color is vests,"
"Everything is vests and nothing hurts,"
"And this week's glee club lesson will be devoted to the best clothing item of all time: vests,"
There's an aspect of their first time together that he's tried to repress, because of how mortifying it is, which is the fact he finishes much sooner than he hoped or anticipated; a problem he has embarrassingly tried to fix, but to little success evidently. But Mercedes, who proves to be the understanding person that she is yet again, simply pushes some of the hair slicked to his forehead with perspiration and whispers, "'S okay, Sam," And presses a reassuring kiss to his lips.
The same problem occurs while he is with Margot, but she's far, far less tolerant. "So, I see stripping isn't the only thing you don't have very much experience with," And she snickers mercilessly.
When they're done, he can't help but think of all reasons of why having sex with her was wrong. He feels nothing but utter hatred for her for preying on his desperation for cash. He also hates himself more than anything for actually succumbing to her manipulation.
He wishes that he had someone to hold in that moment, like he had when he was with Mercedes, a person there to maybe replace the guilt filling the void in his chest caused by what he had just done and everything that occurred since meeting Margot in the mall. "You can go now," She says with a look of satisfaction plastered across her face, as she rolls over on to her side and pulls the crimson red sheets over her body.
Sam wants to bolt from that bed, and he thinks that if it weren't for the fact that he is so weighed down with emotions right now, he would have. He slides on his jeans, places the money in his pocket, and leaves the bedroom closing the door on everything that has happened. As he is leaving, he bumps into someone, and prays to God that it isn't one of the other guys from tonight. The last thing he needs right now is to have to explain to one of them what just happened. "Sam?" The figure asks and he begins to realize that he recognizes this person, and the pangs of guilt only increase in his stomach.
"Amanda,"
His former coworker begins looking at where he just came from in attempt to put what is going on together with a look of confusion painted all over her face. "What were you doing in my mom's bedroom?"
("Well, she just paid me to have sex with her,")
It takes him a second before he can formulate a thought and then convert that thought into a response. When he does, the only thing that comes out is, "I'm so sorry,"
And he's sorry for a lot of things right now. He's sorry for sleeping with Amanda's mother, a girl who has been nothing but nice and helpful to him ever since the two met. He's sorry for lying to his parents about where he was working. He's sorry that he ever took the job at Stallionz. He's sorry that he was never actually a good enough boyfriend for Mercedes and had gone to extremes in order to prove that maybe he was worthy of a girl like her, only to further prove in the process that he isn't. The list of things goes on and on, and he has plenty of time to think about all of those things during the long walk back to his house with his pockets full of money and a feeling of shame following close behind.
He loves Mercedes. But he knows he can't keep doing this to himself for her anymore. He has all the money he needs now in order to buy that bus ticket and pay for that nice dinner and purchase that necklace, anyways. He searches deep inside of him for that one remaining thread of dignity left that would be enough motivation for him to quit his job. It's tucked within the recesses of his heart, but he finds it. The next opportunity he has, he's done for good with Stallionz.
It's almost four o'clock in the morning when he finally arrives home and he cannot describe how much he is longing to just be in his bed and put this nightmare to rest. But when he gets home, he sees his mom sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in hand. "Sweetie, what are you doing home so late?" She inquires when she notices him come in through the front door.
He's so tired of lying, yet still makes up some story about a broken Blizzard maker and how he had stayed late to repair it. "You're so devoted to your job. No wonder they promoted you to manager," He sits down at the table and tries to muster up a small, convincing smile for her. Sam doesn't have it in him. "You know, sweetie," His mother begins, as she places a comforting hand on top of his. "I'm so proud of everything you have done for this family. I mean, you've found this great job and are working so hard at it. Not to mention, you've sacrificed so much for us, including the little bit of time you have left before you become an adult. You've had to grow up entirely too fast for someone your age," And he feels the tears begin to form in his eyes, as he is reminded of the fact that seventeen is about to come to an end. He doesn't think he's ready for eighteen. Sam's tried it out and he really didn't enjoy it.
"I'd do anything for you guys," He says, because it's true and he's without a doubt proved it over the past couple months.
With a squeeze of her hand, she tells him that it is late and that they should go to bed. Sam makes his way towards the stairs to his bedroom, when he notices that his mother isn't moving from her spot at the table and that her once proud smile is now replaced with a look of worry and concern. "Is something wrong?" He asks.
It looks as though she has something important to say, but then she stops herself and simply says that it's nothing. He's heard her say that before, like when she first found out that Sam's father had lost his job. He knows for a fact whatever she isn't telling is something. He manages to pry it out of her after some convincing about how not telling him isn't going to ease any fears or eliminate any worry. "Well, Stevie couldn't find his spelling list, so he could study for his quiz on Monday. So, we decided to clean out his backpack in case it had gotten shoved at the bottom. And as we were sorting through everything, I found several envelopes in one of the pockets, and they turned out to be our utility bill. Apparently when he went to check the mail everyday, he would stash those in his backpack, because he thought if we didn't see them, we would be less stressed. He didn't realize that by not showing them to us he would actually cause more problems, because now we're behind on payments and if we don't give the company $500.00 by the end of the week, we're…well…screwed," She finishes quickly, a look of anxiety washing over her features.
It is within Sam's capabilities to fix this situation and help his family, his goal from the start of his career endeavors. He has $360 sitting in his pocket right now, and he curses the fact that it doesn't even cover the entire cost of the bill after everything he had to do to earn that money. Sam reaches into his pocket and feels the bus ticket, expensive date, and necklace for Mercedes slip through his fingertips. "Mom, I, um, I got my cut of the earnings from the tip jar tonight, and well, um, I want you to have this," He says, as he extends the balled up wad of twenty-dollar bills her way.
"You've earned this in tips at the Dairy Queen?" She asks in disbelief.
"Yeah, I guess some people are just really generous," He's lying again. Sam hopes that one day soon he'll be able to stop.
"Honey, I can't take this. You earned-,"
"Just take it, mom," He says quickly, as he cuts her off. His words have a tinge of anger to them. He feels like he has a lot to be angry about, though.
She thanks him profusely and envelops him in a hug, and afterwards, he drags himself up the stairs to his bed where he promptly throws himself on top of his mattress. It finally sinks in that he is back to square one and has no money to call his own. That thought alone would have kept him up all night, but it's been far too long of a day for him to even think about it and his body is just yearning for rest.
He had told himself that he wouldn't ever go back to Stallionz, especially after tonight, but there's still a girl in Lima who has his heart that won't seem to get out of his head. He's come too close to the reality of getting to see her again to give up on that dream. He'll go back to Stallionz. And he'll mistreat his body for money and lie to his parents along the way. But he knows that she is worth it.
He can't think of any other person he could say that about.
His eyes feel heavy and begin to close. Just a dollar a day, he thinks as he drifts off into sleep. Just a dollar a day…
Fin.
Reviews would just be so indescribably spectacular.