Chapter One

Passion

My alarm never went off.

Not because I forgot to set it.

Because apparently electricity was a luxury, and PECO had decided I was no longer on the VIP list.

I opened one eye and stared at the ceiling of my tiny bedroom, listening to the silence.

No refrigerator humming.

No box fan rattling in the corner.

No cheap digital clock blinking red numbers beside my mattress.

Just quiet.

Broke quiet.

I slapped the light switch on the wall.

Nothing.

I slapped it again, harder this time, because sometimes appliances needed to know you had attitude.

Still nothing.

I laid there for three seconds, staring up at the brown water stain spreading across my ceiling like it was trying to become modern art.

Then I laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Because if I didn’t laugh, I was going to cry, and I had a strict personal rule.

No crying before eight in the morning.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “We doing this today.”

I rolled over and grabbed my phone from under my pillow.

7:41 AM

My first class started at nine.

Across town.

I shot up so fast my bonnet slid over one eye.

“Damn!”

The room was cold, dark, and smelled like rainwater and cheap vanilla incense. My one-bedroom project rowhouse apartment had personality, if you wanted to call it that. The walls cracked when they felt like expressing themselves. The kitchen sink coughed before giving me water. The bathroom tile was two different colors because maintenance had clearly given up halfway through caring.

And my living room window had plastic taped over it because every winter, the cold air came in like it paid rent.

I stepped out of bed and landed right in a wet spot.

My sock soaked instantly.

I froze.

Looked down.

Looked up at the ceiling.

Then closed my eyes.

“Lord, I know You see this.”

The leak had gotten worse overnight. A plastic bowl sat in the corner catching drops, but apparently the ceiling had expanded its business. Now half the floor wanted to be a swimming pool.

I snatched my sock off and tossed it across the room.

It slapped the wall with a sad little plop.

That almost took me out.

I stood there laughing with one bare foot on the cold floor and one sock on, broke as hell, late as hell, power off, ceiling leaking, and tuition due in two weeks.

My life was really committed to being dramatic.

I moved fast because standing still made me think, and thinking too long made me feel.

I brushed my teeth with bottled water because the bathroom sink had been acting funny since Tuesday. I washed up with a cold rag and pure anger. Then I pulled on black leggings, an oversized gray hoodie, and my cleanest pair of sneakers.

Cleanest did not mean clean.

It meant the least disrespectful.

My stomach growled while I was stuffing my laptop into my backpack.

I ignored it.

It growled again, louder this time.

“Girl, hush,” I told my stomach. “We all suffering.”

I opened the refrigerator out of habit.

Then remembered there was no power.

Inside was a half-empty carton of eggs, one slice of cheese, a bottle of water, and leftover Chinese rice that had been in there long enough to start applying for citizenship.

I closed the door.

“Absolutely not.”

My phone buzzed in my hand.

SHAY: You up?

I typed with one hand while trying to find my other sock.

ME: Unfortunately.

SHAY: Why you say it like that? 😂

ME: Power off. Ceiling leaking. I stepped in water. I’m late. My fridge unemployed.

SHAY: Not your fridge unemployed 😭😭😭

ME: It clocked out overnight.

SHAY: You need me to Cash App you?

I stared at the message.

My pride rose up immediately, stretching like it had been waiting on its moment.

I loved Shay. That girl had been my best friend since freshman year of high school, back when I had braces, a bad sew-in, and thought clear lip gloss was a personality trait. Shay had seen me at my worst and still chose to love me loudly.

But I hated needing help.

Hated it.

I typed back.

ME: I’m good.

She responded before I even locked my screen.

SHAY: You always “good” and be one inconvenience away from eating sleep for dinner.

I smiled even though my chest felt tight.

ME: Sleep got protein.

SHAY: I’m coming over later.

ME: I work tonight.

SHAY: Then I’m coming to your job.

ME: Please don’t come in there acting loud.

SHAY: I am the atmosphere.

That made me laugh for real.

I grabbed my backpack, my keys, and the stack of overdue bills I kept on the counter even though looking at them felt like emotional abuse.

Right before I opened the front door, I saw the folded pink paper lying on the floor.

It had been shoved underneath overnight.

My stomach sank.

I didn’t have to open it.

I already knew what it was.

Still, I picked it up.

FINAL NOTICE OF PAST DUE RENT

Seven hundred and eighty dollars.

Due immediately.

Legal action may follow.

Eviction proceedings.

All the bold words they used when they wanted fear to jump off the paper and choke you.

For a minute, I just stood there.

The apartment felt smaller than usual. The air felt heavier. The silence pressed against my ears.

I was twenty-four years old, enrolled full-time in college, working at a grocery store, picking up weekend shifts at a diner, and still losing.

Every time I paid one bill, three more came out the shadows like cousins at a cookout.

I folded the notice carefully and slid it into the front pocket of my backpack.

Not because I wanted to keep it.

Because throwing it away wouldn’t make it disappear.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Miss Loretta from next door was already standing there in her flowered robe, rollers in her hair, holding a mug of coffee like she was the queen of Section 8.

She looked me up and down.

“Baby, your lights off?”

I blinked.

“Good morning to you too, Miss Loretta.”

“I’m asking because mine on.”

“That’s beautiful. I love that journey for you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get smart with me before I’ve finished my coffee.”

“You started it.”

“And I’ll finish it too.”

Miss Loretta had lived next door longer than I’d been alive. She knew everybody’s business, everybody’s mama, everybody’s baby daddy, and probably a few people’s passwords. She was nosy, but she was also the kind of nosy that noticed when you hadn’t eaten.

Her eyes dropped to my backpack.

“You get another notice?”

I looked away.

“No.”

“Passion.”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Mmm.”

That was all she said at first.

Just mmm.

Somehow that was worse than a whole lecture.

“You want some toast?” she asked.

“I’m okay.”

My stomach growled so loud it answered for me.

Miss Loretta raised one eyebrow.

I looked down at myself.

“Traitor.”

“Come on,” she said, turning toward her apartment. “And don’t come in here talking about you okay. Pride don’t put butter on bread.”

I followed her inside.

Her apartment had the same layout as mine, but hers felt like home. Plastic-covered couch. Fake flowers on the table. Family pictures on every wall. Gospel music playing low from a battery-powered radio. The smell of coffee, bacon grease, and lavender cleaning spray.

She handed me two pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin.

“I said I was okay.”

“And I said eat.”

I took it.

“Thank you.”

“You welcome.”

She watched me take a bite like she needed proof I wasn’t about to faint in her hallway.

“You still going to class?”

“Yeah.”

“You better. Don’t let this place swallow you.”

The toast turned thick in my throat.

I nodded.

“I won’t.”

Miss Loretta softened.

“You know, needing help don’t make you weak.”

I chewed slowly, pretending the toast required all my attention.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You hear people say it, but you don’t believe it.”

I looked at her.

She pointed at me with her mug.

“You so busy trying not to be like everybody else that you forget even strong people get tired.”

That hit somewhere I didn’t want touched.

So I made a joke.

“Miss Loretta, it is too early for emotional damage.”

She smiled.

“And you too grown to keep dodging wisdom with jokes.”

“Barely grown. I still ask Google how long to boil eggs.”

“You ain’t got no electricity to boil nothing.”

“See? Emotional damage.”

She laughed and waved me toward the door.

“Go on, girl. Before you miss that class.”

I backed into the hallway.

“Thank you for the toast.”

“And Passion?”

I paused.

“If things get bad, you knock on my door.”

I swallowed.

“I know.”

But the truth was, I probably wouldn’t.

I had gotten too used to surviving quietly.

Outside, North Philly was damp and gray.

Rain misted over the block like the sky couldn’t decide if it wanted to cry or spit on us. The rowhouses lined the street shoulder to shoulder, some with boarded windows, some with flowerpots on the steps, some looking one strong wind away from giving up.

A man sat on a stoop in slides and a winter coat, smoking a cigarette like weather was optional.

A group of boys passed by laughing too loud for this early in the morning.

Somebody’s car alarm screamed from around the corner.

Home.

Ugly and alive.

I pulled my hood up and hurried toward the bus stop, eating toast while walking.

The bus was at the corner.

The doors were closing.

“Wait!” I yelled, breaking into a run.

The driver looked directly at me.

We made eye contact.

Soul to soul.

Then he pulled off.

I stopped on the sidewalk, breathing hard, toast in one hand, dignity in the gutter.

A man on the stoop laughed.

“SEPTA don’t love nobody, sweetheart.”

I pointed at the disappearing bus.

“That was personal.”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

I wanted to be mad, but he wasn’t wrong.

I checked the time.

If I waited for the next bus, I’d be late.

If I walked six blocks to the train, I might make it sweaty and irritated.

I chose sweaty and irritated.

That was basically my brand.

By the time I got to campus, my hoodie was damp, my stomach was still complaining, and my phone battery was at fourteen percent. I slid into the lecture hall with three minutes to spare and dropped into the seat beside Tasha, a girl from my social work program who always smelled like cocoa butter and had color-coded notes.

She looked at me.

“Rough morning?”

“I don’t know what gave it away. The wet hoodie or the spiritual exhaustion?”

She laughed quietly.

Professor Bernard started class before I could say anything else.

I opened my notebook and forced myself to focus.

Social Welfare Policy.

Community resources.

Poverty cycles.

Housing instability.

I almost laughed.

There was something real funny about sitting in a classroom learning the academic terms for the life currently beating my ass.

Housing instability.

Food insecurity.

Economic hardship.

They sounded so neat in textbooks.

Clean.

Professional.

Like they came wearing blazers and sensible shoes.

But in real life, housing instability was a pink eviction notice in your backpack.

Food insecurity was pretending toast was breakfast, lunch, and emotional support.

Economic hardship was calculating whether you could put three dollars in your gas tank even though you didn’t have a car.

Professor Bernard asked a question about systemic barriers, and my hand went up before I could stop it.

She nodded toward me.

“Passion?”

I cleared my throat.

“I think sometimes people talk about poverty like it’s just about money, but it’s also about time. Energy. Mental space. Like, it’s hard to plan five years ahead when you’re trying to survive the next five hours.”

The room got quiet.

Professor Bernard studied me for a second.

“That’s an excellent point.”

I looked down at my notebook.

My face warmed.

I hated when my truth slipped out sounding like a discussion post.

After class, Tasha walked beside me into the hallway.

“That was deep.”

“That was unpaid therapy.”

She smiled. “You good?”

There it was again.

That question.

I adjusted my backpack.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Tasha didn’t push.

Most people didn’t.

That was the benefit of being funny. People assumed if you could make a joke, you weren’t breaking.

My phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Rent due immediately. Call office today to avoid further action.

I stared at the message until the words blurred.

Tasha’s voice sounded far away.

“Passion?”

I locked my phone.

“I gotta get to work.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Capitalism misses me.”

She laughed, but I could tell she was worried.

I didn’t give her room to ask anything else.

I left campus, caught the train, then walked to Fresh Stop Grocery, where I spent the next six hours scanning food I couldn’t afford to buy.

By four o’clock, my feet hurt.

By five, my back hurt.

By six, a customer cursed me out because his coupon expired in March and apparently that was my personal failure.

I smiled through it.

Because customer service was just acting with less applause.

When my shift finally ended, my manager asked if I could stay another hour.

I wanted to say no.

My body begged me to say no.

My rent notice screamed yes.

So I stayed.

By the time I clocked out, the sky had turned dark and the rain had gotten meaner.

I stood under the grocery store awning, staring at my phone.

Seven percent battery.

One missed call from the landlord.

Three texts from Shay.

One email from school reminding me about a balance on my account.

I closed my eyes.

For one second, I let myself feel it.

The fear.

The exhaustion.

The anger.

The unfairness of trying so hard and still being behind.

Then my phone buzzed again.

SHAY: I’m outside your job. Don’t argue.

I looked up.

A beat-up red Honda sat by the curb with music blasting loud enough to make the windows shake.

Shay leaned out the driver’s window, lashes perfect, hair laid, lips glossy, attitude fully charged.

“Girl, get in before you melt!”

I walked over and opened the door.

The smell of hair spray, strawberry air freshener, and fries hit me immediately.

I climbed in.

She shoved a paper bag into my lap.

“Eat.”

I looked inside.

Burger.

Fries.

Apple pie.

My throat tightened before I could stop it.

“Shay—”

“Nope.” She pulled into traffic. “Don’t start that independent woman speech. I ain’t in the mood. You can be strong after you chew.”

I stared out the window so she wouldn’t see my eyes watering.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you because you feed me.”

“That’s love.”

I picked up a fry and ate it.

Hot.

Salty.

Perfect.

For the first time all day, my body relaxed.

Shay glanced at me.

“So what happened?”

“Power off. Rent notice. Ceiling leaking. Bus betrayed me. Customer yelled about a coupon from the resurrection.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“You need to move.”

“With what money? Hopes and vibes?”

“You need a blessing.”

“I need seven hundred and eighty dollars, a maintenance man, and for my professor to stop assigning books that cost more than my electric bill.”

Shay shook her head.

“You too smart to be struggling like this.”

“That’s not how poverty works, beloved.”

“I know. I’m just mad for you.”

That made me quiet.

We drove through Philly with the rain sliding down the windows, blurring the streetlights into yellow streaks. People hurried across sidewalks. Corner stores glowed. Sirens cried somewhere in the distance.

The city looked tired too.

When Shay pulled up outside my apartment, she didn’t put the car in park right away.

“I can help you with something,” she said.

I shook my head.

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me say what.”

“Because the answer is no.”

“Passion.”

“Shay.”

She sighed dramatically.

“You so damn stubborn.”

“I prefer financially traumatized.”

“That too.”

We both laughed, but mine didn’t last long.

I looked up at my building.

Dark windows.

Crumbling steps.

The hallway light flickering like it was trying to contact the dead.

“I’m gonna figure it out,” I said.

Shay’s voice softened.

“I know you are. But you don’t always have to figure it out by yourself.”

I nodded because it was easier than arguing.

Then I grabbed my backpack and the rest of the food.

“Thank you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I stepped out into the rain.

Before I shut the door, Shay leaned over.

“And Passion?”

“What?”

“If that landlord say something crazy, call me. I got time and hoop earrings.”

I laughed.

“Goodnight, Shay.”

Inside, the building smelled like damp carpet and old smoke.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking under me. When I reached my door, another notice was taped to it.

This one wasn’t folded.

This one wanted everybody to see.

PAST DUE BALANCE MUST BE PAID WITHIN FIVE DAYS.

Five days.

I stood there in the hallway, staring at it.

Somewhere downstairs, a baby cried.

Somebody argued behind a closed door.

A dog barked.

Life kept moving.

I pulled the notice off the door and went inside.

My apartment was dark.

Cold.

Quiet.

The bowl in the bedroom was still catching water, drip by steady drip.

I set my food on the counter and lit the last candle I had.

The tiny flame flickered, throwing soft light over the cracked walls.

I sat on the floor beside my mattress, pulled out my notebook, and opened my laptop even though it had barely any battery left.

I had a paper due by midnight.

Because life didn’t stop just because yours was falling apart.

I stared at the blank document.

Then at the eviction notice.

Then at the candle.

My eyes burned.

No crying before eight in the morning.

It was almost ten at night.

So technically, I was allowed.

One tear slipped down my cheek.

I wiped it away fast.

Then another came.

I let that one fall.

Just one.

Then I took a breath, placed my fingers on the keyboard, and started typing.

Because I didn’t know how to quit.

Because quitting would mean this place won.

And I refused to let these cracked walls, overdue bills, or dark rooms be the end of my story.

My name was Passion Monroe.

And even if life kept trying to humble me…

I was still here.