There was no one in her class at Barrington Preparatory Academy was popular as Wendy Willery. Head Cheerleader (a close race, a narrow win over Cheryl Schwab), president of the debate club, presumptive homecoming queen, and definitely the highest rated GILF of her class. 3.9 GPA and an early acceptance to Stanford with a well-funded 529 account her parents had established to fund her full ride at college, Wendy was going into senior year at the top of the curve. She was the envy of every girl in her school. Her future was so bright, she had to wear shades.
Of course, her life wasn't perfect. There was the escalating animosity between her parents, the endless shouting and arguments. Wendy couldn't wait for senior year to be over and her escape to college.
And then there was the threat of embarrassment hanging over her head, a threat her mother seemed not to care about. Coming home from work early one day, Mom had found Daddy dressed up in her clothes, complete with wig and makeup. That started the endless shouting and recriminations.
And while so far no one at school had mentioned it, her mother had gotten drunk at the country club last night and lashed out at her father, announcing to the club that he was a nancy boy who had stretched out all her good underwear. Wendy's father had shouted the night before that he looked better in her clothes than she did, and her mother just couldn't let that go. So, she retaliated with the public humiliation.
Her father was strangely quiet when they came home, refusing to engage her mother in argument or in conversation. That went on for two weeks, and then Wendy's father disappeared.
At first, Mom said, good riddance, but when a week passed and the bank began calling about bouncing checks and an upcoming mortgage payment, worry set in. It turned out that Wendy's loving father had refinanced the house to the max and had emptied all their bank and investment accounts, before he disappeared. He'd even emptied Wendy's 529 account.
In a panic, Mom called their accountant, who promised to come by that evening, as a friend. He made it clear that the mother could no longer afford his professional services. When he came by that evening, he let Wendy and her mother know the full extent of their financial standing. All accounts had been emptied of all the money except $50 each, and further, if the husband couldn't be found, the wife was going to be responsible for the taxes on all the deferred accounts: the IRAs, the 529, and the other retirement accounts. Plus, their house was likely to be repossessed in the not-too-distant future unless the family could find the funds to bring the new mortgage up to date. Plus, the balances on their credit cards were also overdue and subject to almost 30% interest.
Wendy was crushed. No 529 meant no Stanford. Mom was crushed. How could they survive? She'd never had to work, never had a job. She'd gone from her Daddy taking care of her to her husband's care. Now both sets of Wendy's grandparents were gone and the inheritances they'd left had been in the investment accounts that were now empty.
In the end, their accountant friend made a deal with the bank -- in exchange for voluntarily vacating the property, saving the bank the time and expense of foreclosure, they would vacate the balances on the credit cards. That was the best he could do. He hinted that if Mom was a little friendlier, maybe he could help with some of the other bills. Mom declined.
The reality set in when Wendy's school contacted them about the second semester's tuition. They couldn't afford it, and they couldn't afford to live in the public school district she would have attended otherwise.
Her mother had lorded her position over their "friends" at the country club; "friends" in quotes as her mother's self-declared superiority had alienated those same "friends." No one stepped forward to help them in their distress, and humiliated, her mother refused to reach out. They relocated to the city in the next state to the east where Mom's cousin agreed to put them up while they looked for a place of their own.
That lasted less than two weeks. When her cousin (actually, stepcousin, as it was then pointed out) learned that they didn't have any money to contribute for groceries or rent, they were asked to leave. After three nights in their car (Wendy's five-year-old Toyota Camry -- all the other cars had been repossessed), they finally found a pair of beds in a homeless shelter. Their first night there, Wendy's shoes were stolen. The charity that ran the shelter was able to find an old pair of tennis shoes for her to wear, a well-worn and dirty pair. Wendy had stoically been holding back her tears at the sudden downturn in her life but having to wear filthy secondhand shoes was the last straw. She broke down and wept uncontrollably.
They'd been assigned a social worker, who helped Wendy register for the local public high school and apply for the local state college. She had less than a year to find the almost $18,000 per year that even the state college would cost, not including living expenses. It seemed impossible, but Wendy was determined to get a college degree. She'd find a job and earn the money.
School was a nightmare. The classes were disruptive, the teachers either incompetent or uninterested in their students, and in the heavily diverse student body, the spoiled white girl faced daily bullying. She was pushed and shoved, cornered, then groped and pinched almost constantly, both in the hallways and in class. She was pressed between two brutes while they talked about her possible rape. Girls appropriated her sweaters and jackets. The teachers didn't seem to care.
Her grades immediately suffered. Her books were almost unreadable, covered with obscene graffiti and filthy limericks, bad penile drawings, and graphic suggestions. In those classes where the teachers did attempt to instruct, she was constantly distracted by attacks on her person. In despair, Wendy dropped out of school and applied for a GED, which she had no trouble acquiring. The move also gave Wendy the ability to work full-time, to earn the money for her college fund.
The only job she could find near the shelter was at a fast-food joint, taking orders in the drive-thru, for minimum wage. Even working full-time, after taxes, she was barely bringing home $500 per week, half of which she had to give to her mother to help with food and clothing costs, as they looked for an apartment of their own. Then, she had to pay her car insurance and gas costs. Her tires were worn and soon she'd have to pay to replace them. At the rate she was going, her college fund would take at least two years to fully fund one year's tuition.
But then Mom met Mitch and after several dates, he offered them a room in his apartment. Wendy and her mother had to share a bed, but it was rent free, so her mother was able to allow her to put more of her take-home pay into her college fund. Wendy didn't like Mitch; he was far too smarmy with his soul patch and pastel jackets that were reminiscent of the old Miami Vice show. He thought himself way too cool, and Wendy thought he was too young for his mother. He was at least 10 years younger than her mother's 39 years. He was almost closer to Wendy's age than her mother's.
But within two weeks of their moving in, Wendy found that she had the bed to herself. Her mother was now spending each night with Mitch.
Within a month, Wendy's mom had quit the retail job she had. She explained to Wendy that she was helping Mitch with his business. Wendy asked what his business was, but her mother responded vaguely that he was in the entertainment business. She acted as his hostess when he had to wine and dine clients who came to town. Her mom told her that Mitch was paying her a wonderful salary, as well as continuing to cover their rent and expenses.
Wendy couldn't afford college when the semester started. She needed to put it off another year, while she worked in misery at the fast-food restaurant. She felt like she was moving backwards. Just over a year ago, she was starting her senior year with a bright future. Now her foreseeable future was, "Do you want fries with that?" Her 18th birthday had come and gone, unnoticed by her mother and the world at large.
Feeling dirty from the job, her hair stringy with the greasy air from the cooking burgers, her skin threatening to break out from that same grease, Wendy hated her job. But with her mother relieved by Mitch of the day-to-day expenses of living, and earning enough money for herself, Wendy was finally able to put more of her money into her college fund. But doing the math, even at a state college, she was going to miss more than a year before she could start, and then she wondered how she could afford the succeeding years.
She was sitting on her bed, adding up her deposits and teary eyed as she projected the total she could expect when tuition was due. As she threw herself on her bed with a sob, Mitch stopped at her open door.
"What's wrong, kid?" he asked, leaning on the door jamb.
Something about the way Mitch filled the doorway made Wendy uncomfortable. She sat up. "Where's my mom?" she asked.
"She's out entertaining clients." Mitch replied with a smile.
That didn't sound right. "Alone?" Wendy quizzed.
