Chocolate Dove by Cas Sigers

which is about three hundred dollars. I’m not living like that. I have been given a great opportunity that most would kill for, and so have you. Squander it if you want, but I’m not, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.” Lucia grabbed the big bottle of homemade carrot juice and motioned. “May I?”
    Basra nodded. She finally got to see a side of Lucia that wasn’t the money-loving party girl she so casually displayed. Even though they’d been roommates for seven months, Lucia never talked about her family, and since Basra wasn’t one to pry, fashion, modeling, and men were the bases of their conversation.
    â€œI don’t judge you,” Basra said.
    â€œEven if you did, I wouldn’t care. The juice is good,” Lucia commented as she walked toward the back.
    Basra realized that her and Lucia’s missions were very similar, and until that conversation, she saw Lucia as being the weaker female in the apartment. But now she pondered the strength and determination of Lucia’s mind, to go daily without caring about what people thought.
    â€œI could never do that,” Basra whispered as she watched Lucia stroll toward the back.
    It didn’t change her mind about sleeping with men for sex, but she understood Lucia’s desire to create a new generation of wealth, and there was a piece of her that admired that.
    School was starting in a month and Basra knew she didn’t want to wait another semester before enrolling full time. She had a few classes under her belt, but was anxious to delve into her major at Saint John’s University. Although she had a little money saved, she went to the school that week and applied for financial aid. While there, Basra also got information on a few grants. She went by the Fashion Institute and even got some information for her baby sister. She didn’t have enough money in the bank to do half of the things she wanted, but with a few thousand saved, she felt empowered. Her dream was becoming a blueprint. But, unfortunately, the plans she made that week only increased her desire to get more money. Basra applied for three jobs, all at high-end restaurants, one referred by a friend in the building, who bragged about making over one hundred dollars in tips every night. Sure that sounded like a lot of money, but it was nothing in comparison to what Basra knew she could make. Yet she felt she was on the right path, one her family would be proud of and that mattered. Thursday evening when her sister called, Basra couldn’t wait to talk to her about her new American look and the FIT visit. But Amina was not in the mood for lighthearted gab.
    Her first words were, “They’re bulldozing the home next week.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Basra questioned with panic.
    â€œThe land is being used to build a plant. Everyone complained but there is nothing that can be done. Remember Mr. Gaalid? They burned his house.”
    â€œWhere are you going to go?”
    â€œMe and Khalid are going to Mogadishu to stay with Abukar until we get another place. Dad got a job in Ethiopia for the next three months and Mom ...”
    â€œMom what? What’s wrong?”
    â€œShe just cries all of the time, Basra. She doesn’t want to leave the neighborhood and she doesn’t want the family to become broken. I don’t know where she’s going to go. She won’t come with us to Abukar’s house. She said there’s not enough room and she doesn’t want to be a bigger burden than necessary.”
    Amina began to cry and Basra spent the next hour trying to figure out a plan of action.
    â€œIt’s going to be okay, I promise,” Basra expressed.
    â€œNo, I don’t want to go there. Can’t I come there with you? I can stay with you and apply for my visa.”
    â€œYou can’t leave Khalid right now.”
    â€œI can bring him,” Amina suggested.
    â€œI can’t