The price of ambition

**Warning: this story contains themes of sex work

It’s for the greater good. That’s what she kept telling herself, at least, when she knocked on the same chipped, red-painted door she knocked on one year ago. Gosh, she was so young back then. How old was she? Eighteen. She had just turned eighteen the week before submitting college applications. That week brings back memories–salty tears streaming down her face as she realized that her middle-class family didn’t qualify for a fee waiver, the wave of adrenaline when someone responded on the app, the blast of cold that chilled her to her bones waiting in front of a stranger’s door.

She swore she would never go back there again.

The door opened, and he took in her appearance, looking her up and down as if he could see through her oversized hoodie and sweatpants. She regarded him as well, taking in his healthy glow and expensive cologne. A wave of jealousy filled her, and she wondered what it would be like to not be constantly thinking of money.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, smirking down at her.

She felt her face heat and nodded, keeping her head down. “It’s only been a year.”

A year ago, she was a bright-eyed dreamer who looked forward to getting into her dream school. She had all the grades, all the extracurriculars, all the personality and depth. She even had a spike, winning the national HOSA tournament in her specialized category of epidemiology. Despite her knowledge, she still took the risk of getting a disease from a stranger. It was for the greater good.

He took her hand and offered her a cup of coffee. She accepted it gratefully, hating how the scent lured her in. She hadn’t had a good cup of coffee since the last time she was here. At the college, if you could call it that, they had coffee-flavored tea. Something about their religion prevented them from drinking real coffee.

She still remembers the day she arrived on campus, the dread that followed right after the moment of confusion. It turns out, there are two Ranford colleges. There’s the one that is #1 in the nation for public health professions, with its beautiful campus filled with hills of green that go farther than the eye can see. Then, there’s the other Ranford college, located in the Sierra Mountains, hours away from the nearest city. They both have the exact same logo and same website layout. The fake Ranford sent a postcard directly to her home, advertising the same opportunities that were only available at the real Ranford.

He led her to the couch–they never used the bed, per her request–after she gulped down the rest of the coffee.

Smiling gently at her, he asked “Was it good? You can have another.”

The thought of another coffee made her drool, but she’s already lost enough of her self respect. She’ll only take what she needs. What she needs is to pay for her application to the real Ranford.

She shook her head at him. “I just need the money.”

He nodded, understanding. “Of course. I’ll give you however much you need.” He looked her over and tugged at the coat. “Let’s have a meal after, yeah? Wouldn’t want you to go back hungry.”

She slipped the coat off, suppressed a shiver, and nodded. Her parents aren’t the type to buy groceries.

She should have just stayed at the fake Ranford, others would say, if they knew what she was doing. Safety matters more than prestige. The only problem was, fake Ranford wasn’t just a no-name school. It was a cult.

He took everything off of her, peeling the layers off like the petals in that childhood game of love me nots, everything except for the socks. She hated taking off her socks.

Then, the ceiling became the most interesting thing in the world, and she went back to those first days of college.

When she arrived, they made her take a long shower with their specialized soap that smelled like children’s cough medicine. Afterwards, they began the purification ritual, chanting around her and the other first years in a big circle, casting out the devil within them.

She might have stayed if it stopped at that. Except, the ritual was performed twice a day. In addition, they had to pray for ten minutes before and after every meal and snack. They were required to shower after every class and ate vegetables that tasted strangely of dirt.

After the job is finished, and she was pulled out of her Ranford memories, she wondered what he’ll give her for dinner.

She felt like she was going to vomit, and stayed curled up on the couch for a few minutes after he left to clean up. Only the faintest hint of Ranford–the real one–brought any life back to her eyes. Focus on the green hills, she thinks to herself. Focus on the goal.

He gave her a fluffy green towel to clean up, and she made the walk of shame to the shower. The water hissed on as she turned the shower dial all the way to barely below scalding. She grabbed his expensive soap bar that smells like gold and rich laughs and vigorously scrubbed at her body. She went over every inch, then twice more, and finally stayed under the shower for thirty more minutes. It’s his water bill–she can use it however much she likes.

The day that pushed her over the edge far enough to go back to her empty home, she was in class. Western Religious Traditions, the class was called. Half of their curriculum was general education religion classes. The professor, a spindly man who looked like he'd never seen the sun, was going on about the church’s influence in science, and how mankind created the idea of evolution to deter people from God’s good graces. Evolution was a lie.

There’s a lot of things she can handle, but false knowledge was not one of those things. As long as she could continue her academic career, she could stand any purification ritual or prayer. It was when she realized she wasn’t going to learn anything at Ranford that she knew she had to leave. She took the first train home, back into the arms of a stranger she had met on an app.

Once she was mostly satisfied with her cleanliness–she gave up on full satisfaction–she exited the bathroom in the same baggy clothes she arrived in, only without her undergarments. The smell of a stake sizzling made her almost faint with hunger. When’s the last time she’s eaten a full meal? Once she arrived home from the train, all she could afford was a loaf of bread and a bag of apples.

He watched her approach, smiling at the hungry look in her eyes.

“You know what I like about you?” he asked in between forkfuls of steak. She stared at him, waiting for him to answer his own question. “You’re not like other girls. You’re ambitious.”

After dinner, he gave her enough money to apply to every school she wanted. The total added up to $1,000. It made her wince, but her shoulders also sagged with relief at the prospect of not having to worry anymore.

Then, he gave her a larger sum of money, causing her to finally look up at him. “I know how bad your home is. Go far away from here and chase your dreams,” he said, and smiled like a benevolent god.

She wished she could feel an emotion–gratitude, maybe, but there was nothing.

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the envelope in her calloused hands.

Three months later, sitting in a cafe far, far away from the stranger and her broken home, she received an email from Ranford. It was the real one. She triple checked.

She took a breath and wished she could share her anxiety with the strangers in the cafe with her. She’d jump up and exclaim, “It came! It finally came!”, and the strangers would crowd around her, encouraging her to open it. They would rub her shoulders and tell her that she would be successful no matter what the result was.

None of that happened. Instead, she closed her eyes and pressed the open button. After a few moments, she opened one eye just in time to catch the confetti flying across the screen.

A hollow “hah,” escaped her lips as she contemplated how she was going to pay tuition.