Chapter 2 2: Grace.

We're going to be homeless. A tear falls from my eye, leaving a splotch on the page of my diary, a helpless feeling settling inside of me. I'm in the closet of my parents' bedroom, a place I often come to get enough privacy to write with the use of a flashlight. I'm not expecting the door to open so suddenly and I yelp, slamming my diary closed and engaging the lock. "Mom," I say, looking up at her tear-stained face. "Are you okay? Did you think of anything?" For a long moment, she only stares at me, her expression inscrutable. "Can you come out of there so we can talk, Grace?" "Of course." I crawl out from beneath the hanging clothes and stand, letting her guide me to the bed where we sit beside each other. "What's up?" My mother buries her face in her hands. "Grace, I wouldn't ask you to do this if there was any other option. But...time is going to run out." Her voice starts to swell with tears. "This apartment is our home. I have no idea where we'll go—" "It's okay, Mom." I squeeze her forearm. "What do you want to ask me?" She blows out a long, slow breath. "Grace, you've always been kind of a tomboy, running around climbing trees, getting filthy. But you're not a child anymore and...a lot of men in the neighborhood have noticed. Your brothers have had to knock quite a few teeth out lately." "Really?" My jaw is in my lap. "Why?" "Because when some men find a woman attractive, they express it by saying crude things about their body. It's not right, but it's the way things are." She shakes her head to clear it. "My point is, you're incredibly beautiful, Grace. Appealing in ways I never was. And...I hate myself for asking this, but I wonder if that beauty might buy us some time with the landlord." My brow is furrowed, trying to decipher her meaning. I'm still reeling from the revelation that I'm considered beautiful. I don't even brush my hair most days. And my feet are usually dirty from forgetting to wear shoes. Don't women have to wear perfume and dresses to be considered beautiful? "I don't understand. How can I buy us some time?" "It might not work." My mother wets her lips nervously. "But...oh God, I can't believe I'm saying this. But some men, Grace, will forgive a debt if his...sexual needs are met. By a woman. By...you." Heat begins to thrum in my belly. If that isn't proof I've gone down the road of temptation, nothing is. I should be horrified by what my mother is asking me to do. Instead, I'm shamelessly eager. Excited. "You want me to go to bed naked with the landlord?" That's the only way I know how to describe what I've accidentally seen between my brothers and their girlfriends. Two people in the dark, jerking around and making weird sounds in the sheets. Why does the idea of doing that with William make my femininity clench tightly? "Yes," my mother whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek. "That's what I'm asking. I'm asking you to trade the pleasure of your body, your...virginity...to stop us from being evicted. We're so desperate. If there was any other choice..." She trails off and I think, really think, about what I'm being asked to do. I'm being asked to offer myself to the Lord so my family won't be thrown out on the street. I would do anything to prevent that, of course. Anything. But... "What if he says no, Mom?" I ask, looking down at my old cutoff jeans. My dirty knees. The way my breasts jut out, pointy and small. Unlike the women I see in magazines with gorgeously round bosoms. "Will he want...this?" A cynical laugh leaves her. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." She points to the door of the bedroom. "Go take a shower. We have some work to do."