Page 65 of Ruthless Court

“How long?”

“About two weeks.”

“I need the hours.”

“You also need skin.”

“Debatable.”

Her expression doesn’t move.

I leave with three replacement bandages, a doctor’s note, and no way to cover the missing pay.

* * *

That night, I sit cross-legged on my bed with my injured arm propped on a pillow and scroll through job listings.

Library assistant: filled.

Research aide: graduate students preferred.

Coffee shop barista: must report at five in the morning.

Tour guide: energetic and outgoing personality required.

Rejected on principle.

Tutoring pays well, but most of the postings are for calculus, physics, and organic chemistry. Nobody appears desperate for an introduction to ancient ceramics.

I widen the search beyond campus.

A Facebook post catches my attention.

COACH NEEDED IMMEDIATELY—13U BOYS BASKETBALL

I scroll past.

Then return.

The post includes a video.

Seven boys stand in a crooked line across a school gym wearing mismatched jerseys. One holds a handmade sign.

COACH RAMIREZ WAS CALLED TO ACTIVE DUTY. PLEASE HELP US FINISH OUR SEASON.

The camera moves down the row.

“We already paid for tournaments,” one boy says.

“We have practice space,” another adds.

“Our dads tried coaching, but they argue too much.”

A man behind the camera says, “We’re cutting that.”

The boys laugh.

Then the video reaches the last kid.