The Slap Price: My Mother Sold My Future

1: 1

I scored a 703 on my SATs, and my mother slapped me ten times at my own celebration dinner.

She said it right in front of the relatives, smiling.

Ten bucks a slap. You eat what this family gives you, you live off this family, so don't think a high score means you can look down on your elders.

"College costs a thousand a month. You want it? Take a hundred slaps first."

I thought she was just talking tough.

That first month of school, I got so hungry I passed out in the dorm. I messaged her begging for my living expenses.

Instead, she called my cousin over.

"Rules are rules. A hundred slaps, and I'll wire the money right away."

Later, she knelt outside the hospital, begging me to sign the surgery consent form.

I set the pen down.

"Sure. Ten bucks a slap. Two hundred thousand you do the math."

1.

Nancy Cox tucked my college acceptance letter under her wine glass and beamed at everyone who came by.

"A top university. Seven-oh-one. This family's finally got some luck in it."

Warren's mother lifted a bite of fish with her chopsticks and said, sour as anything, "Zoe's a lucky one. No father and she still tests that high. All thanks to her mother, grinding herself down for her."

My chopsticks stopped in midair.

I lowered my head, scraped the last rice from my bowl, and said nothing.

That line was Nancy's favorite.

Her eyes went red on cue. She patted her chest. "Isn't that the truth? Her father passed early, and I raised her all on my own, a woman alone. Wore through I don't know how many pairs of shoes doing it."

Someone nearby asked, "Well, you'll be sitting pretty from here on. Zoe finishes school, she'll take good care of you for sure."

Nancy's smile dropped. She looked at me.

"Take care of me? She's already giving me attitude."

Every pair of chopsticks at the table went quiet.

My cousin, Warren Cox, leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. "Auntie, kids all get like this when they test high. Think they've grown their own wings."

The smell of liquor rolled off him.

Nancy yanked me up out of my chair.

"Zoe Fox, tell your aunt. How much living money are you going to want every month?"

Her nails dug into my arm.

"The school recommends fifteen hundred."

The words were barely out before the first slap landed on my face.

A sharp crack, and the red banner behind us swayed with it.

Nancy turned to the relatives, smiling. "Ten bucks a slap. You eat what this family gives you, you live off this family, so don't think a high score means you can look down on your elders."

The second one came down.

My cheek swelled up burning, and my ears rang.

Someone tried to intervene. "Nancy, it's the girl's big day. Stop hitting her."

Nancy shoved me toward the table and raised her voice higher. "College is a thousand a month. You want it, you take a hundred slaps first."

Nobody at the table was laughing now.

But nobody stood up either.

Grandma sat in the head seat, slowly shelling peanuts, as if she hadn't heard a thing.

Warren whistled. "Auntie, that's a good rule. Keeps her from forgetting where she came from later."

When the tenth slap fell, blood dripped from my nose onto the plastic sleeve of the acceptance letter.

Nancy finally stopped, pulled a hundred out of her purse, and stuffed it into the pocket of my dress.

"Take it. Today's reward."

Warren's mother jumped in to smooth it over. "Oh, come on, Nancy just talks tough. What real mother would ever want to make things hard for her own child?"

Nancy dabbed at her eyes right on cue. "If I don't manage her, who will? A girl gets too much schooling and her heart runs wild. I have to keep her in line."

My palm pressed against the crumpled hundred in my pocket.

In that moment, I was still making excuses for her. Raising me alone hadn't been easy for her. She was just afraid I'd leave home.

A waiter came in carrying hot soup, slipped, and the soup splashed across the top of my shoe.

Nancy frowned. Her first thought wasn't whether I'd been burned.

"Stand back. Don't get the acceptance letter dirty. I still have to take it over to show the neighbors at your cousin's place."

As she snatched the acceptance letter back into her purse, an old voice suddenly came from the doorway.

"Nancy. That bankbook Zoe's father left behind you still haven't given it to the girl, have you?"

2: 2

2.

The private room went silent all at once.

It was Grandma who had spoken.

Eudora Salazar stood in the doorway, leaning on her cane, her gray hair combed flat and neat, her cloth shoes caked with mud.

Nancy Cox's face changed fast.

The woman who'd been crying her heart out a moment ago now went hard.

Mom, what are you doing here? Didn't you say you weren't well enough to make the trip?

Grandma looked at my swollen face, her fingers tightening on the cane.

Zoe got into college. I'm her grandmother. Can't I come?

The maternal grandmother swept the peanut shells off the table.

You came, fine, but why bring up a bankbook? Today is a happy occasion.

Grandma ignored her and dug an old envelope out of her cloth bag.

When Joseph Salazar died, the factory compensation was split into two shares. One for Nancy to live on, one for Zoe's schooling. The neighborhood association and the factory workers' union were both there. It was written down plain as day.

Nancy shot to her feet.

The chair legs scraped across the floor, harsh and grating.

Mom, have you gone senile in your old age? Zoe was six when Joseph died. If it weren't for me, do you think she'd have lived to see today?

Lived to see today, so you could beat her in front of everyone.

Grandma's voice wasn't loud, but it pressed down over the whole table's reek of liquor.

Warren Cox set down his glass and gave a little laugh.

Now, ma'am, that's not right. My aunt hitting her own daughter, that's the natural order of things.

No one asked you to speak.

Warren's face darkened, and the maternal grandmother slapped the table at once.

Old lady of the Salazars, don't think you can push the Cox family around just because we've got no one to stand up for us. Your son is dead, Nancy has kept faith all these years, and you still have your eye on the money?

The relatives started in with their coaxing.

Not at Nancy.

They closed in around Grandma, telling the old woman not to make a scene, saying it wasn't easy for a child to get into college, saying money matters could be settled in private.

In the confusion Nancy pulled me out into the hallway.

One of the restaurant's lights had gone out, and half the wall lay in shadow.

Zoe Fox, what did your grandmother tell you?

Nothing.

Don't play dumb.

She gripped my chin, her thumb pressing into the spot she'd just hit.

The pain went white behind my eyes.

You've had your eye on that money all along, haven't you? Let me tell you, it's long gone. Feeding you, your schooling, tutoring, buying you clothes, which of those didn't cost money?

I thought of the school uniform in my closet washed pale, of the winter in my senior year when the seams of my cotton shoes had come apart.

Mom, I never asked you for that money.

Nancy stared at me like she was staring at a thief.

It had better stay that way. And when you get to college, don't get too close to your grandmother either. She's got one foot in the grave, stirring up trouble between us, her own mother and daughter.

At the end of the hallway, Grandma came out steadying herself against the wall.

She saw my face, and her eyes went red.

Zoe, come stay with Grandma a couple of days.

Nancy blocked me.

She has to go take care of her student loans tomorrow. No time.

What loans?

Grandma froze.

What about the money her father left her?

Nancy sneered.

You're so capable, you pay for her, then.

The words were barely out when she grabbed my hand and slapped that hundred dollars against Grandma's chest.

I paid her back for those ten slaps today. If the Salazars have any shame, don't come crying poor in front of me again.

Grandma was shoved back half a step.

The old envelope slipped from her hand, and out of it slid a yellowed sheet of paper.

On it was my name, and an amount.

Two hundred thousand.

3: 3

3.

The paper never made it into my hands.

Nancy bent down, picked it up, and tore it into pieces in seconds, then dropped them in the hallway trash can.

"A photocopy? Who do you think that's going to scare? If you've really got the nerve, go sue me."

Grandma's lips trembled with rage.

"Nancy, you'll pay for this someday."

"Pay for it?"

Nancy pointed at her own face.

"I was a widow at thirty. I worked all day and ran a stall at night, and I raised a daughter who got into a top university. And you're telling me I'll pay for it? If there were any justice in heaven, it should bring Joseph back to raise her himself!"

The line landed hard enough that no one could say a word.

My father's name was like an old scar, and she'd ripped it open in front of everyone.

Warren's mother hurried out and grabbed Nancy's arm.

"All right, all right, the guests are all inside."

Nancy shook her off and turned to look at me.

"Zoe Fox, if you walk out of here with her today, you won't see a cent from me for tuition or living expenses ever again."

Grandma said at once,

"Grandma will provide for you."

Nancy laughed out loud.

"Provide with what? That little welfare check of yours? Or by selling the old date trees in the yard?"

Grandma opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Reality hurt worse than a slap.

Tuition, room and board, travel costs. Any one of them could break an old woman's back.

In the end, I still went home with Nancy.

No one spoke in the car.

Warren was driving. He watched me in the rearview mirror.

"Cousin, don't blame your aunt. She's doing this for your own good. A girl with too much money in her hands out there, she picks up bad habits."

Nancy leaned back against the seat, worn out, but her voice was cold.

"Warren, once she's at school, keep an eye on her for me."

"Don't worry. I've got a high school buddy who runs a shop right near her campus."

It felt like a wad of wet cotton had been stuffed into my chest.

Once we got home, Nancy locked my ID, the household papers, and my college acceptance letter into the nightstand.

"I'll take you when the semester starts. Don't get any ideas about going on your own."

"The student loan needs my student ID and documents."

"I know."

She hung the key around her neck.

"Borrow as much as the loan allows. Whatever's left over stays here for the household. You're just a student. You won't be spending much."

In the bathroom mirror, my face was swollen past recognition.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Grandma:

"Zoe, Grandma failed you. That paper wasn't the only copy. Grandma will keep looking."

Before I could reply, the door was pushed open.

Nancy stood in the doorway.

"Who's messaging you?"

"A classmate."

She held out her hand.

"Give me the phone."

The screen was still lit.

My fingertip had just touched the delete key when she snatched it away.

The message reflected in her eyes.

The next second, the phone slammed into the wall, the screen cracking into a spiderweb.

"I told you, no contact with that old bag."

The plastic casing bounced to my feet.

Nancy grabbed the backpack off the bed and dumped everything out of it, the exam admission slip, all the award certificates.

"If you've really got any pride, then don't spend a single cent of my money."

The lock fell shut with a click.

Outside, down below, a dog barked twice.

Inside the nightstand, one corner of the acceptance letter's red cover showed through the gap.

4: 4

4.

The day the term started, Nancy only bought me the cheapest seat.

Seventeen hours.

There were no new clothes in the suitcase, just two sets of old uniforms, a thin quilt, and the half-bag of dried noodles she'd stuffed in.

The station was packed. She handed me a black plastic bag.

Three hundred inside. Make it last. Next month's living money I'll send once I get paid.

The school charges for the physical and for textbooks.

Nancy frowned, impatient.

Can't you apply for the hardship aid? Scored so high and all you know how to do is study?

Around us, the other parents dropping off their kids carried milk and fruit.

One of them heard and couldn't help glancing at me.

Nancy's voice went up at once.

A widow, putting her through a top university, and she still says three hundred's not enough. Kids these days, spoiled rotten.

Eyes settled on me from every direction.

I took the plastic bag and said nothing.

Before the ticket check she suddenly caught my arm.

Remember, a thousand a month, and the rules still stand. You want money, first send a video I'm happy with.

What video?

You, slapping yourself.

Wind poured in through the entrance and rattled the plastic bag.

Nancy looked at me like she was explaining the most ordinary little thing.

If you won't take a beating, that proves you don't need the money.

It was like an iron bar lodged in my throat.

The ticket agent was pushing the crowd forward.

Nancy let go of my arm and added one more thing.

Don't go running your mouth to teachers and classmates. Air the family's dirty laundry and I'll never live it down. If you dare send the school after me, I'll go make a scene outside your department and tell everyone how ungrateful you are.

Before the doors closed she stood on the platform, waving at me.

To anyone watching, she really did look like a mother who couldn't bear to see her daughter go.

It was already night when I reached the school.

The dorm was on the sixth floor. No elevator.

A roommate helped me haul the suitcase up and asked,

Your parents didn't come with you?

My mom's busy with work.

The lie came out so easily it made me feel pathetic.

The advisor sent out a notice: textbooks eight hundred twenty, physical one hundred, training uniform one fifty.

The three hundred from the black plastic bag lay spread on the desk like a joke.

That night I went to the dining hall window and asked if I could put a meal on credit.

The woman waved me off.

Sweetheart, the campus card doesn't do credit. Go see your advisor.

A long line of freshmen stretched outside the advisor's office.

Some were asking about scholarships, some about switching dorms.

When it was my turn, my phone suddenly lit up.

Nancy had sent a voice message.

You're at school by now, right? Slap yourself ten times and show me. Do it and I'll transfer a hundred.

The office was very quiet.

The advisor looked up.

Zoe Fox, what's the trouble?

On the screen, the message played itself to the end.

Nancy's voice came through, clear as day.

Quit acting pitiful. You want to eat, you do as you're told.

5.

The advisor's name was Maya. Maya Summers.

She didn't press me. She just shut the office door and poured me a cup of hot water.

Sit.

The cup burned my hands.

I was close to crying when Nancy's call came through.

Maya glanced at the screen.

Answer it if you want. Put it on speaker.

The second the line connected, Nancy laid into me.

Zoe Fox, are you deaf? I told you to send a video and you're playing dead?

Maya's expression changed.

I held the phone, knuckles white.

Mom, I'm in a teacher's office.

There was a pause, then a cold laugh.

Oh, wonderful. First day at school and already tattling. A teacher, is it? Go ask your teacher have I paid for your schooling or not? Have I raised you eighteen years or not?

Maya spoke calmly.

Hello, ma'am. I'm Zoe's advisor. Right now your daughter doesn't have enough to live on, and her enrollment fees aren't paid off either. The school can help her apply for temporary hardship aid, but the guardian has to give us the true situation.

Nancy's voice turned wounded on the spot.

Teacher, you don't understand, my family struggles. I raised her all on my own, and she's been stubborn since she was little, spends money like water. Give her too little and she says I abuse her.

Maya looked at the finger marks still fading on my face.

Ma'am, how did the child get the marks on her face?

The other end went quiet for two seconds.

She fell. Did it to herself.

Maya didn't call it out.

Then please pay her basic living expenses as soon as you can. I wouldn't advise disciplining an adult student by hurting her.

Nancy blew up.

So she's an adult, so what? Being an adult means she's not my daughter anymore? Teacher, don't you go turning her against me. She wants money, fine, then she follows the rules of this house.

After the call ended, Maya pushed the phone back to me.

The school has work-study positions. I'll get you registered first. You can apply for the temporary aid too, though it takes time to come through.

Thank you, Professor Summers.

One more thing. Keep your evidence.

The hot water tipped a little in my hands.

Maya's voice was very soft.

Chat records, transfer records, photos of the injuries, save all of it. Not for revenge. To protect yourself later on.

That night, she lent me five hundred.

Call it a personal loan from me. No school paperwork. Pay me back when things ease up.

I signed my name on the IOU, the pen tearing through the paper.

The first week of the term, classes, the physical, and club recruitment all piled up at once.

While everyone else bought iced drinks out on the field, I shelved books in the library, fifteen dollars an hour.

At night, back in the dorm, Nancy's messages came one after another.

Where's the video?

Playing dead won't help you.

I asked around. Your dining hall's cheap, ten dollars a day is plenty.

Send that video or I'll have your cousin come find you.

On the tenth day, my bank balance was down to twenty-seven sixty.

The cheapest rolls in the dining hall were fifty cents each, and the free-soup window always had a long line.

My roommate Bertha Manning dropped a chicken leg into my bowl.

I'm dieting. Eat it for me.

Just as my chopsticks touched the chicken, the phone buzzed again.

Nancy had sent a photo.

In it, Warren stood at the school's south gate.

The next voice message popped up.

The rules don't get broken. Slap yourself a hundred times and I'll transfer the money right away.