Trapped by Melody Carlson Page A

did I get to this place?

. . . [CHAPTER 9]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
    â€œ H ere’s the deal,” Dirk tells me. “It’s $250 for each exam. So that’s $500. And for obvious reasons, I only deal in cash.”
    â€œFive hundred dollars!”
    â€œIs that a problem for you?”
    â€œI don’t know … I just didn’t expect it to be so much.”
    â€œWhat’s it worth to you to go to Stanford?”
    He has a point. Even so … “That’s a lot of money.”
    â€œTake it or leave it.” He tips his head to the door. “I got better things to do than sit here and squabble over it with you.”
    I sigh loudly. It feels like I’m climbing deeper and deeper into a black hole, like I’ll never be able to climb out again.
    â€œYou don’t have the money?” He sounds irritated now. “Why did you call me and ask me to help you if you don’t have the money?”
    â€œI have the money. I was just calculating how many hours I’ll have to work to make that much.”
    â€œWhere do you work at?”
    â€œLowery’s Drugstore,” I absently say as I finish the math, realizing that it will take me almost seven Saturdays to make that up in my back account. That won’t be until February.
    â€œOkay, kid, maybe I can cut you a special deal.”
    I turn to him hopefully. “A special deal?”
    â€œSince this is your first time doing business with me. I do that sometimes … if I feel like it.”
    â€œThat’d be great,” I say weakly. “What kind of deal?”
    â€œHalf price.”
    â€œSo only $250 for both exams?”
    â€œSure. But it’s a one-time-only thing. And don’t go shooting your mouth off about it to anyone. Understand?”
    â€œBelieve me, I don’t want anyone to know I’m doing this.”
    â€œYeah, you academic geeks have to maintain your perfect little images.” He chuckles in an evil, twisted way.
    I’m tempted to lay into him now, to point out that it’s jerks like him who make people like me (normally honest and law-abiding) do things like this. I want to scream at him — demanding to know why he thinks it’s okay to mess up the system, ruin the bell curve, and take advantage of students like me … except that I don’t want to ruin my chances of rescuing my GPA. And, after all, he is giving me a good deal. Why rock the boat? I know I’m a wimp … a lying, cheating, pathetic wimp.
    â€œSo if I cut this deal for you, you better be good to me in return. For starters, that means you can send trusted referrals my way. That’s how my business grows.”
    I bite my lip. “Well, I don’t know if I can do that.”
    He frowns. “Then just remember, GraceAnn, you owe me one. I don’t give everyone this good of a deal.”
    I nod. “And I appreciate it.” Okay, now I’m wondering what he means by that? What kind of repayment does he expect? Or is he just jerking me around … because he can?
    â€œSo you have the cash then?”
    â€œNot on me. But I can get it.”
    â€œWhen do you need the answers by?”
    â€œI need the trig ones for tomorrow.”
    â€œNo problemo.”
    â€œAnd I need the AP Biology answers for Thursday.”
    â€œYou got ’em. As soon as I get the money, you get the goods. No money, no answers. That’s how I work.”
    â€œHow do you get them to me?” I hope he doesn’t plan to come to my house to deliver them.
    â€œIt’s all done through e-mail. The program for trig is easy to load into your calculator. I send you the instructions and everything you need.”
    â€œWhere do you get this stuff anyway?” I know he can’t be smart enough to make it himself.
    He narrows his beady eyes. “No questions.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œSo where do you want me to pick up the cash? Your house? The