Lina woke to a familiar, deep ache. It started as a dull throb in her lower back and solidified into a sharp, twisting grip low in her abdomen as she tried to sit up. A warm, telling wetness between her thighs confirmed it. "Ah, for fuck's sake," she groaned into the stale morning light. "Not today. Please, not today."
She clutched her stomach, wincing as another cramp, vicious and precise, sliced through her. A personal, messy tragedy atop the financial one. It felt like a cruel joke from the universe. You're broke, humiliated, and now your own body is turning against you for good measure.
She shuffled to the bathroom, moving like an old woman. After a quick shower, she pulled on a single, soft, long t-shirt that hit her mid-thigh and a pair of panties. It was all the effort she could manage. Climbing back into bed, she curled into a tight ball, a fist pressed hard into the epicenter of the cramping. Frustrated, helpless tears welled and spilled over—tears of pure, uncomplicated physical pain. It was times like this she missed her mother most. If her mom were here, Lina wouldn't have to move an inch; there would be hot water bottles, ginger tea, and someone to smooth the hair back from her damp forehead.
When she opened her eyes again, the light in the room had changed. It was the hard, bright gold of mid-afternoon. Three PM. She'd lost half the day. The cramps had receded from a sharp stabbing to a persistent, heavy ache, a deep bruise from the inside out. A new urgency presented itself: a hollow, gnawing hunger. Yet the thought of actual food turned her stomach.
She had no money. The finality of that thought was heavier than the pain. No money for delivery, no money for the corner store, not even for a goddamn painkiller. She was broke, in pain, and utterly alone.
Mustering strength, she made her way to the kitchen. The cupboard was a bleak landscape, yielding a single, lonely egg rolling in the carton, a packet of salt, and the sad, greasy bottle of oil. It was pathetic. "Fucking fantastic," she whispered to the empty room, her voice raspy. "The grand finale." She stared at it, a wave of pathetic wonder hitting her. Where had all the groceries her mom had bought for her last visit gone? How did life whittle itself down to one egg?
She fried the egg, the sizzle too loud in the quiet. It looked pale and rubbery on the chipped plate. She'd only managed one desultory bite when her phone, charging on the floor, buzzed with a sound that was both alien and intrusive.
A text. From an unknown number.
Unknown: Lina? This better still be you. Guess who? :)
Before she could even process the curiosity, the same number lit up her screen with a call. She stared at it, Who the hell…?
"Hello?" she answered, her voice guarded.
"The lady herself! I was betting this number was disconnected." The voice on the other end was a booming, familiar baritone, laced with a confidence that felt imported from another lifetime. "It's me. It's me your favorite former classmate! Sammy! Sammy Bishop!"
Sammy. The name unlocked a floodgate of memories. Sammy Bishop, with his too-white smile and varsity jacket. He'd been the sun their high school universe revolved around; every girl, and Lina, if she was honest with her teenage self, had been no exception. It was a secret, silly crush, buried under years of reality.
The guy who'd dated, or at least tried to date, literally half their graduating class. A professional charmer.
"Sammy Bishop," Lina repeated, a real, surprised smile touching her lips for the first time that day. "Oh my god. Did you finally get arrested?"
He laughed, loud and unoffended. "Only for excessive charm, baby. It was a misdemeanor. They let me off with community service—I had to promise to stop making the other guys look bad. So, how the hell are you? Actually, wait, don't answer that. I'm doing amazing, in case you were wondering."
For the next twenty minutes, Sammy held court. He described, with great pride, how he used to get away with everything just by smiling—skipping lines, getting free drinks, talking his way out of trouble. He called it his "pretty boy crime wave" before he finally felt bad and quit. Lina listened, interjecting with, "You did not!" and "Sammy, that's horrible!", the old rhythm of their friendship—him the entertainer, her the amused audience—coming back effortlessly. It was a buoyant, meaningless distraction from the ache in her gut and the emptiness in her cupboard.
"So, that's why I'm calling! I basically decided to single-handedly revive our social lives. Big reunion tonight. At a very chic, very exclusive location. You're coming. And where's your terrifying shadow? The Bella-monster? I need a woman there who's immune to my charm."
"I'll text you her number," Lina said, the smile fading as reality seeped back in.
"Excellent! See you at eight!"
As soon as she hung up, a ping announced a new text with an address in the part of the city where the buildings gleamed: The Gilded Pearl.
Lina stared at the name. It sounded like a place with doormen who judged your shoes.
The warm distraction dissolved. The same simple, stubborn fact remained: how on earth were they supposed to get there? She picked up her phone and called Bella.
Bella picked up on the first ring, her voice thick with sleep. "Hey Lina, what's up?"
"Hey," Lina answered. "Sammy Bishop just called. There's some class thingy happening tonight."
"What? Speak English."
"We've been invited to a reunion at The Gilded Pearl by his highness, Sammy Bishop."
A beat of silence, then a low whistle. "The Sammy Bishop? As in, 'the reason our chemistry teacher got a divorce' Sammy Bishop?"
"That was a rumor!"
"Rumors are born from fire, Lina," she stated. "But how do we get there? We are a 'split-a-can-of-soda' kind of budget right now."
"That's the problem," Lina sighed. "No budget for a taxi. We're geographically and financially stranded."
"I know," Bella whispered, the word making the suffocating truth between them all the more real.
Suddenly, Bella's voice shifted. It lost its lethargy, gaining a sharp, calculating edge. "Lins. Wait. Do you still have Lucas's contact?"
The question was so left-field it took Lina a moment. "Lucas? Lucas Miller?"
"Yes, Lucas Miller!"
Lina blinked. "What about him?"
"Do you have his number or not?" Bella pressed. "You know, the guy who's been obsessed with you for years."
"Yes, I do," she replied.
It was true. Months ago, she'd been rushing in as he was walking out. They'd collided, apologized, and recognized each other in the same instant. It was a two-minute interaction full of oh-my-gods and how-are-yous, ending with a quick contact swap before they both hurried off in opposite directions. She'd assumed his old crush was a teenage relic, long faded.
"Don't you dare bring logic into this," Bella hissed, but her tone was already shifting, gears turning. "Okay. New plan. It's a classic. Lucas Miller."
"No! That's so… mercenary. And mean."
"It's resourceful!" Bella shot back, her energy infectious even through the phone. "Look, it's simple economics. We have a need: transportation and possibly sustenance. He has a supply: a lifelong devotion to you and probably a sensible sedan. It's a transaction!"
"We are not pimping out my high school crush for a ride!" Lina protested.
"We're not pimping! We're… facilitating a mutually beneficial social connection!" Bella countered, her energy infectious. "Look, it's simple. He gets to live his fantasy of rescuing Lina Johnson from her tower of sorrow. We get a night out where we don't have to stare at these four fucking walls. Everybody wins!"
"Bella, no."
"Lina, yes!" Bella insisted. "Look, we're not asking for a kidney, just a ride. He gets to be the hero, we get to be somewhere that isn't here. It's a classic win-win!"
"That's not fair! It's manipulative and shitty. We can't use him like that."
"He'd want to be used, Lina! This is his big chance! The fantasy! Picking up the damsel in distress, being her knight in a fucking Honda Civic. We'd be doing him a favor!"
Lina looked around. At the quiet. At the plate with the cold egg. At the physical reminder of her own vulnerability. Bella was right. She needed a portal out of this day.
"I hate this," Lina whispered, defeat sour in her mouth.
"I know, you morally superior cupcake. That's why you have me. Call him."
With a feeling of profound self-loathing, Lina ended the call with Bella and scrolled to Lucas's name. His contact photo was a generic silhouette. She took a shaky breath and pressed call.
It rang once.
"Lina?" His voice was clear, surprised, and unbearably eager. He had saved her number. "Hi! Wow, this is a surprise!"
She closed her eyes, pushing the words out. "Hey, Lucas. Yeah, long time. I, uh… heard there's a thing tonight? For the old class?"
"The reunion, yeah! I was just debating going. Are you… are you going?"
Here it was. The point of no return. She could almost hear Bella's voice in her ear, urging her on. "I was thinking about it. But my transportation situation is currently complicated. Really complicated." She let the word hang, vague and hopefully pathetic enough.
The pause on the other end was barely a millisecond. "I can pick you up! Absolutely. No problem at all. What's your address? I can be there by 7:30?"
The sheer, unguarded willingness in his voice made her want to throw up. He sounded like she'd just offered him a gift, not asked for a favor. "You're sure? It's not out of your way?"
"Not at all! It'll be great to catch up."
She gave him the address, the words tasting like ash. When she hung up, she texted Bella.
Lina: He's picking me up at 7:30.
The reply was instant.
Bella: AND THE CROWD GOES WILD. Operation: Go H.A.M is a go.