The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(57)

Zelda stopped by my desk before going into the lunchroom. “You coming?”

“Can’t. I have to make some calls. Apparently there was an emergency with my roommate.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Well, we’ll be there if you finish your calls early.”

“Thanks.”

I put my phone back to my ear and replayed the first message.

Hey, Lain. It’s me. Just letting you know I had a little mishap in the kitchen. Nothing to worry about, just a small fire. Bonus, I met a hot fireman today.

I rolled my eyes and skipped to the next message.

It’s me again. So, our landlord isn’t very happy about the whole smoke damage. Don’t worry, because I have it covered, but you might want to stay out of the apartment for a while. It’s…a little smoky. But hey, you like campfires, right?

Good lord, the girl burned water. I didn’t even want to know what she was attempting to cook. For someone who planned every detail of their life, you’d think using a measuring cup would come as second nature. I dialed her number, and she picked up on the second ring.

“Did you get my messages?” she squeaked, and the background was a muffled murmur of numerous men talking.

“Yep, I got both.”

“I’m so sorry. Things got a little out of hand with the brownies. I mean, a boxed mix shouldn’t be this difficult.”

“You made brownies?” Dear lord. What the hell possessed her to use the oven?

“Attempted. They’re better off as doorstops at the moment.” She sighed. “You know how Top Chef always gets me amped. I had the day off and wanted to give baking another try.”

I put my head in my hand and stifled my groan for her benefit. No use making her feel worse than she did. “How extensive is the damage?”

“Just a little black around the stove, and part of the counter’s melted, but other than that, nothing. I closed your room so your clothes wouldn’t get smoky.”

I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. It could have been so much worse. “Thanks.”

“It should be okay by the time you get home tonight.”

“Great thanks. And leave the baking to me next time, okay?”

“Right.”

We hung up, and I inhaled deeply, trying to use Zoey’s yoga breathing to center myself. Screwed up tweets? Check. Apartment caught on fire? Check. With that out of the way, I could safely move on to my next task of the day—emptying my bank account into the healthcare system. Good-bye, paycheck, it was nice knowing you for a whole forty minutes.

The hospital had been nice enough to add me on the account so I could easily make online payments (how selfless of them). I powered up my laptop and logged into the site, clicking on the bill portion.

The amount loaded on the screen, and the yoga breaths screeched to a halt. I sat there and blinked.

No. This couldn’t be right.

I refreshed the page five times just to make sure.

No, no, no.

I’d always heard bad things happened in threes. This must be a record.

I’d just checked the other week, and I was sure that there hadn’t been that many zeroes. This would take me four years to pay off if I didn’t have any other expenses. Surely this had to be a mistake. Yes, a clerical error, because even with crappy insurance, this fee seemed exorbitant.

My shaky fingers dialed the number of the billing company, and I sat through ten minutes of crappy, static-y hold music before I was queued in to a receptionist.

“Hello, St. Vincent Hospital billing center, this is Betty, how may I assist you?” she drawled in a thick southern accent.

Okay, Betty, get ready to make it rain, because I need a money tree right about now. “Hi, Betty. I’m calling about my mother’s bill. I logged into the site, and it seems like there’s been an error in the amount due.”

I gave her my information and she hmmed and huhhed and yes, ma’amed a few times before saying, “Yes, I see the account now.”

“And do you see there is a big mistake in the amount owed?”

“I’m sorry, sugar, but it seems the new chemo treatment is more expensive than the previous one they were administering. Your insurance doesn’t fully cover it.”

My heart fell through a trap door in my chest and plummeted straight to the floor.

“Oh.” My money tree, the one Betty was supposed to fix and replenish, was on fire, burning a hole in my dwindling bank account. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep it together long enough to end the conversation.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Wish there was more I could do.”

Me, too! I wanted to scream, but poor Betty with her sweet southern accent wasn’t the one who decided my financial fate. As I learned earlier this morning, it sucked being on the receiving end of someone else’s misplaced anger. So instead of screaming at a woman who didn’t deserve it, I said, “Thanks,” and hung up the phone.

I stared at the amount on the screen until my vision blurred and my head swam with words like “eternal debt” and “starvation.” Suddenly, playing the lottery didn’t seem like a bad idea.

I tamped down the hysteria that rolled in on the perimeters of my mind, waiting to blanket all my rational thoughts. No problem. I could live sparsely for the next few years. Discounted noodles were already my best friend, besides Zoey, so why not invite Spam and off-brand cereal to the party? It was all worth it if my mom didn’t have to worry about this. She had bigger things on her plate, mainly staying alive, which was all that mattered to me at this point. The money situation would work itself out. Eventually. When I was gray.