Hot Fauxmance

Chapter 1 

Maya 

“Crap-crap-crap-crap-crap…” I repeat under my breath.

I swore to myself yesterday that I wouldn’t cut it so close again. I wouldn’t push snooze, I’d lay out my clothes the night before, I’d put my dry oatmeal in a bowl by the sink with the right amount of water next to it, all ready for the microwave, and I would leave the house at 6:45. I would get to work early.

It’s now 7:09, and I have two minutes to make the five-minute walk to my bus stop or else I’ll be late to work. Better hightail it, Maya.

Right when I’m out the door, I realize I don’t have my purse.

Some people seem to be born with a gift for knowing the exact timing of everything and never having anything out of place. Must be nice. They may as well be aliens from another planet, as far as I’m concerned.

I’m one of those people who has a gift for never having anything in order. Especially now. I’m at a place in my life where, unfortunately, any conveniences I once had have all but disappeared. Slowly, I’m working on getting back to the place I was. But I’m not there yet.

I leave the house and run to the bus stop in my heels. Goddamn you, Braxton Jenkins, you asshole, I think over and over in my head. If he didn’t ruin my life, I’d be able to fix my car, and if I could fix my car, I wouldn’t have to bear the interminable purgatory of the Philly SEPTA bus every morning. And, of course, I missed the express.

I’m hopping like a penguin to keep my shoes from leaving my feet. I hopscotch around the syringes and used condoms littering the stoop of the complex where I live in West Philly.  I’m not sure which one I’d rather step on less. Hey, at least they’re using protection.

I’m almost at the bus stop when I see the bus pull up.

“No! Wait!” I yell. I know the door is closed and I’m too far to be heard, but still.

I pull off my shoes and sprint like Usain Bolt. You need to get in shape, girl.

When I get to the bus stop, it’s just pulling away. I’m hoping to God it’s Hank, the morning driver with a soft spot for me. He says I remind him of his oldest granddaughter.

I hear the hiss of the air brakes. I’m home free.

“Good morning, Hank,” I say. “You’re my angel. Thank you for stopping.”

“Only for you, Maya. Anyone else… I have a route to finish.”

“Well, thank you. You made my day.”

“You made mine,” he says.

I sink into the upholstered seat. 7:14. The school’s not far away, just a few miles at most, but since I missed the express bus, I won’t get there until 7:58, according to the bus schedule. That leaves me two minutes to get through the crowd of students, hustle up the west staircase, and rush to the back of the building.

Good thing I spent my entire youth doing track and gymnastics. Even if you’re out of shape, there’s a foundation that you’ll have for the rest of your life. I haven’t been to the gym in an embarrassing amount of time. I can’t afford it anymore.

I can barely even afford the rent in my piece of shit apartment after the number Braxton did on me.

Shit. I forgot my book at home, and my phone’s out of charge. One more thing I forgot to do last night before bed. So during the commute on this already-bad morning, I can’t distract myself from the sorry state I’m in.

This isn’t how I imagined my life would be at age 34. I thought maybe I’d have kids, a husband, a big house in the suburbs. I’d go on yoga retreats or teach pilates in my spare time. I knew I’d never get rich from teaching, but I thought it would keep me from poverty. That was before Braxton entered my life.

Biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I’m still rebuilding. Not just my finances, either. I really thought he was the one when we first met. But that’s the thing about people who wind up ruining your life. They convince you, early on, that they’ll change everything for the better.

By the time you realize that everything you thought you loved about them was an elaborate illusion, they’ve already gotten their hooks in you, and they’re halfway done taking you for all you’re worth.

It’s not like he said in the very beginning, ‘Hey, Maya, your money isn’t yours anymore.’ First, it was to help him squeeze by until he got paid, although he was always evasive about what he actually did. Then, he needed it for an investment that he promised would pay off. Loans and credit cards we took out together that he somehow made sound like a favor to me – he’d pay the bill, after all. He wasn’t a deadbeat, he swore, and I believed him.

Some part of me I couldn’t say no. I loved him. Or at least, I thought I did.

God, how many times is the bus going to stop?

Don’t the people boarding know there might be people in a hurry when they’re moseying on, looking for change? I just pray no one needs to use the wheelchair lift – as horrible as that sounds – or I will be really late.

I wonder if I could give Hank a twenty dollar bill to skip the rest of his stops. But then I remember I don’t even have twenty dollars to give him. Payday’s in three days.

I got myself into this mess. I just need to figure out how to get out of it.

I do the math in my head every day, thinking about how I’m going to pay off the cards. I have a list of side hustles and money-saving steps I can take. It’s exhausting and expensive, being poor.

I can get a roommate. I have seriously contemplated getting a weekend job at Starbucks or putting up an ad to be a science tutor. I’m not desperate enough yet to look into multi level marketing schemes.

Toward the end of our relationship, when he really started asserting his control, Braxton wanted me to get an Only Fans. He’d bother me about it every day. ‘You’re so sexy, Maya. You may as well make money from it.’ 

But that wasn’t happening as a high school science teacher with a class of ninth-grade boys. And, if it was an enterprise under Braxton’s management, I doubt I would have seen a penny.

How old will I be when I can finally live like an adult? I’ve started questioning whether I’ll ever be a mother. With my salary, I couldn’t do it alone. And with my judgment in men, I don’t know if I’ll ever find a suitable partner.

Thank God for the kids I teach. They’re my children. They always motivate me to do better.

7:32. This trip is taking forever.

The one thing that gives me comfort is that my financial situation, in a way, is a small price to pay for being free of him. I can always win the lottery – ha! But even if I got a million dollars to go back, I wouldn’t take it. I’d rather be homeless.

It will all be okay. You have your health, you have your job, you have your life, you have yourself. You have the kids who make you laugh and give you hope every day.

I draw in a deep, calming breath. My students deserve me at my best. I know that even at my lowest moments, they still need me. Some of them don’t have the luxury I did to leave the people in their lives who abuse them. I know that in many ways, I’m lucky.

7:57. Oh, good. A minute earlier than I expected. The Holly Brookes Comprehensive School stop.

I race-walk into the school, knowing that I’ll be in my first-period class before the 8 a.m. bell.