College Money
She stepped out of her car with a sigh, clicking the lock on the door unconsciously as she stood. Taking two steps, she stopped. A man was coming towards her, a glint in his eye. She’d already pocketed the keys, but she held her heavy book bag in such as way as to make it possible for her to strike with it.
“Can I help you?” she asked coldly.
“Give me your money,” the man replied darkly.
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The snort just happened. The man looked taken aback for a moment; she doubted that anyone had ever laughed at that demand before. But he got his game face back on, taking another threatening step forward.
She held up a hand. “Look. I’m sorry that you’re down on your luck, but let’s think about this. Yes, I’m a pretty girl, in her late teens or early twenties, which is probably what you’re going after, but haven’t you thought about this?”
She gestured to the house behind her. “I’m living with my elderly parents, I drive a beat to crap sedan with no A/C that’s older than your hand-me-down blue jeans, I’m in college for a useless degree, and you’re demanding money from me. Seriously? Do you have any idea how much I have in my bank account? A dollar sixty-eight. That couldn’t buy you a sandwich and fries at McDonald’s. I only have that much to make sure that they don’t close the account or try and say that I’ve overdrawn; which they do anyway.
“You’re options at this point are to demand that I give you my car keys, or beat me up. The keys won’t happen, since they’re in the pocket of my jeans and impossible to get your hand into when you’re wearing them, let alone standing next to me. I’m wearing sneakers and it’s night, so a scream while running will get me some good attention, and I have the cops on speed dial.
“Beating me up in that case, seems the only option. But realize, please, that you don’t seem the kind of guy to kill a person. I’ve trained, since the age of seven, at three different martial arts studios. Does that mean I’m good?” She shrugged. “No, it doesn’t at all. I could be terrible. But I’d give you at least a bloody nose, which is a real bother. So seriously, dude, I’d just leave. You aren’t going to get anything from me. It’s, like, one thirty in the morning, and I’m freaking tired and hungry. So if you are going to do something, I’d like you to hurry up. Otherwise, piss off.”
She waited impatiently, arms crossed, foot tapping. After a moment, the man said, “Ah, shit,” and strode off.
With a contented nod, she watched him disappear down the street, walked up to her house, and went to bed.