“Yeah, it’s great,” Trina added. Adam nodded in agreement.
“You guys are too nice,” Talia said, casually waving one hand. “I just hope we raise a decent amount this year. Last year’s charity was the Muscular Dystrophy Foundation, and we only raised two hundred thousand for them.”
My eyes almost popped out on stalks. I never thought I’d hear someone use the word ‘only’ to describe two hundred grand.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, smiling diplomatically. “I mean, everyone loves elephants, right?”
She winked. “Let’s hope they show that love with their wallets,” she said. “Anyway, did anyone come over and explain the donation lottery system we’re doing this year?”
I shook my head. “No, not yet.”
“Oh. Because we didn’t raise much last year, we figured we needed a system to encourage more donations. So we’ve set up a lottery. Whenever someone makes a donation, they get a number,” she said. “In an hour or so, I’ll pull one number out of a random dispenser, and whoever’s number gets picked wins five percent of the total donation sum. The other ninety-five percent goes right to the elephant charity, obviously.”
“How does that encourage donations?” Adam asked, furrowing his brows.
“Well, say we only raise the same amount as last year—two hundred thousand. If someone has donated two thousand, and they end up winning the lottery thing, they’ll get five percent of two hundred thousand. That’s ten grand. So they’re getting their entire donation back plus an eight grand bonus.”
“Oh, I get it now,” Adam said, nodding slowly. “It’ll encourage bigger donations, too, because the higher the final sum is, the bigger the lottery win will be.”
“Exactly!” Talia said. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Also, we’re giving the winner their prize in cash. So they can still claim their donation on their taxes as a charity deduction from the card transaction, even though they’ll technically get it all back.”
“Smart,” Trina said.
Talia held up the credit card terminal. “So do you guys want to donate?”
“Sure,” we said in unison.
She beamed. “Okay, so the minimum we ask for is a thousand, but if you want to make a bigger donation than that, go ahead! The bigger the better.”
My smile faded, and my hands started to feel clammy. I had no idea there would be a thousand dollar donation minimum. I was only planning on giving fifty dollars, which was all I could reasonably afford.
I still had some of the scholarship stipend in my bank account, along with some savings from my old weekend job in Silvercreek, but after the last few days, it was seriously dwindling.
My mom’s car broke down on Tuesday and needed several hundred dollars’ worth of repairs, which I offered to pay for when she called to tell me about it, and then she fell ill with a bad case of gastro on Wednesday. She felt so sick that she thought it was something more serious, and she went to the emergency room. After a series of tests, she was given the gastro diagnosis and a three thousand dollar medical bill.
I felt awful, firstly for not being there while she was sick, and secondly because I knew there was no way she had three grand in her bank account to cover the hospital bill. So I paid it for her.
Even if I hadn’t done that, there was no way I could drop a thousand dollars at a charity gala. I just couldn’t risk it. There would always be another bill, another car breakdown, or another emergency in the future, so I had to keep as much money as I could squirrelled away just in case.
Talia seemed to realize her faux pas at the sight of my blanched face, and her eyes widened. “Oh! I should’ve said you can donate whatever you want,” she said. “Sorry, Laney, I keep forgetting you’re one of the scholarship kids. I mean, that dress… that face… You look like a freaking queen!”
“It’s okay,” I said, forcing a smile. I knew she didn’t mean to make me feel bad, and I knew she didn’t mean to imply that non-wealthy people were less attractive, either. She was just a bit awkward with the way she worded things because she’d grown up in a gilded world and hardly ever interacted with anyone below her social class.
“I’ll cover Laney,” Trina said, whipping out a black and gold credit card. “One thousand for me, and one thousand for her.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered, tugging on her arm. “That’s way too much.”
She leaned closer to me and murmured in my ear. “I hate to sound like a spoiled brat, but a thousand bucks is nothing to my family. So don’t worry about it,” she said. “Besides, it’s for the animals, right?”
I smiled weakly, knowing she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Put me down for five thousand,” Adam said, pulling out his own card. “I love elephants.”
Talia made the transactions, and then she reached into her purse for a little raffle ticket booklet. “Okay, Trina, you’re 83,” she said, handing Trina a strip of paper. “Laney, you’re 84, and Adam, you’re 85. Make sure you hold on to the tickets!”
She went off to solicit more donations, and we returned to people-watching on the edge of the ballroom. Several more students came up to me to hang out and apologize for being mean to me over the last week, and before I knew it, I felt genuinely accepted by everyone, just like I did on my first day at RFA.
That feeling vanished as soon as I saw Hunter step into the ballroom, trailed by his friends.