I'd already asked every roommate I had. Everyone had just started the semester. Nobody had money to spare. Between all of them, I'd collected two hundred and thirty dollars. Nowhere close to eight thousand.

Then I remembered the tin box at the bottom of my dorm closet.

I'd been saving since middle school. Three years of collecting recyclables, running errands for neighbors, selling old textbooks at the end of each semester. Fives and tens, folded and tucked inside one by one.

Last time I counted, there was almost four hundred dollars in there.

I ran home and dug out the box. Opened it.

Empty.

The box was empty.

I stood frozen, turning it over and over in my hands, confirming there wasn't a single bill left inside.

Then it came back to me, slowly. Last month, my mother had come to tidy my room. She said she'd hold on to my pocket money for safekeeping. So I wouldn't waste it.

At the time, I'd actually felt relieved. I thought it would be safer with her.

Now the empty box sat in my hands, and all I felt was cold.

Four hundred dollars. Plus the two hundred and thirty from my roommates. Everything I had came to six hundred and thirty dollars.

Eight thousand minus six hundred and thirty left seven thousand three hundred and seventy to go.

I gritted my teeth and dialed her number.

"Mom, the school deadline is real. Eight thousand dollars. Just transfer it and I'll send you a photo of the receipt from here."

"Are you stupid."

Her voice was lazy, unhurried.

"Even if I had the money, why would I transfer it to you now? You'll take it and turn right around and hand it to your deadbeat father. Where does that leave me?"

"Mom," my voice was already shaking, "this is tuition for Weston, it's not—"

"Weston. All you ever talk about is Weston!" Her voice shot up an octave.

"You think getting into Weston makes you special? Think you're all grown up now? Let me tell you something, Queenie. Nothing in this world comes free. I gave birth to you. Your money IS my money. You want to use it, you'd better talk to me nicely. Don't you dare cop an attitude with me!"

I closed my eyes and swallowed the words clawing up my throat.

"Mom. I'm talking to you nicely right now. I'm begging you. Please just transfer the money."

"Without a proper invoice, how do I know any of this is real?"