My boyfriend and I both thought the other was a secret rich kid slumming it. On the surface, we were partners in crime, hustling for every penny, but secretly, we were both eyeing the other’s imagined trust fund. It wasn't until two actual high-society campus alumni announced their engagement that the penny dropped. We’d been wrong. Turns out, we were both just flat-out broke. So, we immediately decided to break up and split our side gigs. He got the gig handling errands and shopping runs. I took the job of covering classes and writing papers for students. And we agreed to use up the remaining eight condoms we had in one go. From then on, it was back to our own corners, hustling hard, and no hard feelings. 1 The day Ethan Hayes, heir to the Hayes fortune, and Chloe Fitzgerald, heiress to the Fitzgerald empire, announced their engagement, they flooded every campus group chat with cash links. Thanks to my lightning-fast concert ticket buying fingers, I snagged an easy eight hundred bucks. "Score! Just grabbed a whole month's rent money." I bragged to my boyfriend, Ryan Black, when it suddenly hit me. "Ryan, wait, you're not that Hayes guy, are you?" He was mid-forkful of BBQ chicken when his hand froze, his expression changing. "Fiona, so... you're not the Fitzgerald heiress?" I shook my head. He slowly pulled his fork back. "So, is your scooter really called 'Maserati'?" I nodded. "Yeah! Don't you think it's adorable and classy? It totally has that Maserati vibe." Then, a sudden realization dawned on me. "And that Porsche key fob you carry—is that... not a key?" He hesitated. "That’s just a lighter." Wrong. All of it. Wrong. We just stared at each other. It turned out we'd both been operating under the assumption that the other was a secret billionaire playing poor. Those "abstract" moments weren't clever attempts to mask wealth; they were just genuinely broke moments. To break the crushing awkwardness, I took a huge bite of ramen. And accidentally lodged a piece of chili flake in my throat. "Cough... cough..." It felt like fireworks were going off behind my eyes. The quick-witted waitress rushed over with a soda. "The special doesn't include a drink, that’ll be five bucks extra." I frantically waved her off. "No, thanks!" Ryan frowned. "Just drink it, my treat." "No way. Your five bucks is just as important as mine." I chugged an entire jug of free water until the chili flake finally dislodged. The waitress who watched the whole thing looked like she was in pain. Suddenly, I felt a little self-pitying. 2 "Ryan, it's my birthday today." "And you brought me to eat this half-price special we had to share." I could forgive that it didn't include the famous cheesy fries advertised on the poster. But even the food that did arrive had to be split down the middle with the other couple we’d bundled the deal with. Four meatballs on the plate? We got two. One bowl of pasta? We split it. I was forced to use one of those embarrassing tiny "kids' cups." Ryan reached out his long fingers and delicately wiped my chin with a handkerchief he always kept in his pocket. "Fiona, for my birthday, you bought me a latte. It was one of those BOGO deals." He completely dropped his usual subservient, ‘yes, darling’ attitude. He was keeping score. Well, damn. He didn't love me; he loved the imaginary Fitzgerald heiress. In that case, I wasn't holding back either. I held up both hands, wiggling all ten fingers. "You have, like, twelve 'babes' in your contact list. I don't have enough fingers to count them." Ryan looked horrified. "You know perfectly well those are the actual babies I babysit at the after-school center!" I covered my ears, refusing to listen. He got defensive and started listing my 'Ten Sins.' "Fiona, you made me eat cilantro-flavored instant noodles for ten days straight, just so you could get a free ramen bowl." "I hate cilantro." I felt a little guilty, but not much. "So what? You didn't have to use the seasoning packet!" Ryan’s eyes were bloodshot. "Last year, you bought me a parka." "You insisted I wear it when it was cold, then take it off for you when you got cold." "The problem is, you wore just a sweater in the dead of winter and started complaining the second we left the classroom. I had to stand there freezing my butt off!" That was only because I could only afford one parka. And I bought it for you without hesitation! I got fired up, too. "Every time we got those cheap lemonade drinks from 'Icy Brew,' you'd take huge gulps and swallow all the lemon seeds." "You licked the yogurt lids clean, and you used the empty hot sauce packets to dip your bread!" ... After going through all our old complaints, I had a sudden epiphany. It was all poverty's fault. When we thought the other was a secret rich kid, these moments were cute quirks. But if we were both genuinely poor, it was terrifying. His unconditional devotion came with an invisible no financial conditions clause. Even if he gave me the world, we'd have no place to live after graduation! I blurted out, "We're done! Break up!" Ryan was stunned. "You're dumping me just because I'm broke?" No, it's because we're both broke. But I didn't explain. I just repeated: "We're breaking up." We immediately divided our hustles right there. The errand running and shopping gigs went to him. The class covering and homework writing jobs went to me. Since the campus market was huge, we even signed a "Post-Breakup Professional Cooperation Treaty." We promised not to sabotage each other's business out of spite and to share good money-making opportunities. As for streaming subscriptions, we agreed to alternate days until the end of the month. Same for our shared dining hall card. 3 This led to us still eating together in the dining hall for two weeks after breaking up. My roommate was puzzled. "Is your breakup really this amicable?" I replied: "You just don't understand the struggle of the truly broke." On the very last day of the month, after draining the last penny from the dining hall card, I suddenly remembered the box of condoms we’d bought. Ryan's nose was red, and his ears were flushed. "Should we... use them all up?" I checked. There were eight left. My face felt hot. "I don't think we should..." Ryan, for the first time since the breakup, stood his ground, grabbing my hand. "I can handle it." But he was young and naive. Three hours in the cheap motel room wasn't nearly enough. We had to book the room for the entire night, an extra two hundred dollars. I got angrier the more I thought about the wasted money. I adamantly refused to let Ryan sleep, insisting we had to "work" until we got that two hundred dollars' worth back. That is, until... I collapsed with shaky legs during gym class. I instantly regretted my frugality. I shouldn't have been so cheap as to use up all eight in one insane night. My back and legs were sore for three days; I could barely jog. Catching sight of Ryan’s dark eyes across the field, a memory flashed through my mind: that night, the fierce possessiveness in his eyes as he leaned over and gripped my ankle. His sharp abs, his defined collarbone, and his burning breath. The day was too hot; it made my mouth dry. I shook my head frantically, trying to dispel those lingering, sensual thoughts. An ex-boyfriend? I didn't have time for nostalgia. The hustle was the priority. My "paralyzed" dad, my "frail" mom, and my grandmother with "osteoporosis" were all counting on me. I couldn’t afford to add to my burden. It would crush me. 4 After ending the relationship, I poured all my non-academic energy into making money. Covering classes and writing papers was just my baseline. I also started bulk-buying fruit, doing gaming companionship, and offering laundry services... College students were simply too lazy. I couldn’t not make money. The profits were endless. My only problem was the lack of time; I wished the day had 25 hours for hustling. My club president, Jessie, noticed my relentless work ethic and took pity on me. "Sweetie, you're only making peanuts." She scanned me up and down and nodded. "You've got decent looks." "I'm going to show you how to earn the big bucks." I clutched my chest. "Jessie, I only do artistic stuff." Jessie laughed. "You wish! You wrote 'None' in the special skills section of your club application." Me: "..." That’s how I discovered Jessie was a minorly famous Cosplayer. She booked a commercial gig for me, taught me how to do my makeup, and styled my hair. Luckily, the character, D.Va, was one I knew well, so I didn't need to cram. On the day of the event, my limbs were stiff as I awkwardly posed for photos. Then I turned and saw Ryan. He was wearing the matching couples’ cosplay outfit, dressed as my CP (romantic pairing) character, Genji. The CP fans went wild, constantly urging us to take photos together. Ryan and I had to grit our teeth and pose, our eyes devoid of affection, filled only with the determination to outshine the other. A fan held up a sign: "GenVa 99, Never Break Up." As a cosplay newbie, I hadn't seen this level of fanaticism. Ryan blushed and quietly leaned closer. I shoved him away. "Don't you dare try to steal my spotlight!" Jessie had told me the event organizers gave separate bonuses for excellent solo shots. Taking joint photos would only ruin my chances. Seeing the fans absolutely losing it over our pairing, I decided to pull out the big guns. I touched the headband I was wearing. "Do you know why my angelic headset is attached with metal wire?" "Because he's actually dead, and mine is just a prop." Fans: "Stop cutting us! We beg you!" I kept twisting the knife: "Do you know why he's always young in every game? Because he died young." Fans: "Nooooo!" "Boohoohoo! How can such a beautiful mouth say such cold words, sensei?" The CP shippers were shattered and quickly dispersed. Ryan whispered in my ear: "Who was the one who loved taking selfies in my arms? Now you can't even stand a joint photo." Perfect. He still didn’t know about the bonus. I remained silent, focusing only on my solo shots. Thanks to my effort, I finally got the one thousand dollar bonus. Ryan had left early. After the event, I learned he’d been scouted by an agency for his good looks. I was indignant. "Why him and not me? I'm good-looking, too!" Jessie rolled her eyes. "Hollywood isn't short on beautiful women. It's short on beautiful men."
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