Note: this chapter contains some strong language.

———

The following morning, Michael keeps to his word. He's awake early looking online for any job he can find. He makes numerous applications; sends off endless resumes; and waits for countless phone calls and emails.

"How's the job search, babe?" Harper asks him, entering the bedroom with two mugs. She hands one to him. "I made cocoa for you."

"Thank you." He takes the mug in both hands, slotting his fingers through the handle to warm himself. "It's ... not going great. There isn't a lot going on here in Gary, really. Everyone wants every job that's going."

"Don't worry about it," she tries to reassure him. "You'll get there, in the end." She takes a seat next to him on the bed, placing a caring arm around him. Her fingers toy aimlessly with his ebony curls. "We'll be okay for a few weeks. You only just got your pay check a few days ago."

"But what happens if I don't find a job before our money runs out?" Michael becomes anxious once again. "How are we going to afford our little girl?"

"Hey, what have I said?" She breathes a sigh through her nose. "We'll find a way." She rises from her seat, rubbing his shoulder to relax him before heading to the bedroom door. "We always do."

Once she's gone, he turns his head back around to face the laptop screen; a shaky exhalation shudders from his lips. Accepting today isn't his day, he shuts the lid of the laptop, before setting it down next to him. He lays back on the bed; resting his head on his pillow, and his arms behind his head. His legs bend, with his feet propping his lower half up on the mattress. He tries to think of a solution, but to no avail.

*

A week later, Michael is still out of luck with his job searching. Both he and Harper are gradually becoming more worried about their financial situation — they only have a few weeks before they'll need money again, and time is passing by incredibly fast.

"Excuse me." Michael presents himself at a counter at a coffee shop. "My name is Michael, and I'd just like to give you a copy of my resume — just in case you ever need somebody to help out." He feels out of place here, due to the lack of experience he has in food service, but needs must. "Thank you for your time."

He walks towards the entrance to the building, opening the door with a pang of doubt rushing through his chest. He knows already, that even this run-down beverage store will most-likely reject his offer of service. With furrowed brows and a frown, he walks away from the shop, making a bee-line for home.

As he reaches the outskirts of town, he walks down a street — one he used to live down, when he was a child. The houses which stand there are the same exact houses untouched, from when they were originally built back in the 1950s. No thought to renovate them; no care to maintain the greenery (other than house-proud husbands in their seventies who have nothing other to do in their retirement, but to groom their hedges); and the same tattered brickwork that's been there for over seven decades — these are all of the things that make this street the target for petty crime in the evenings, when the teenagers come out of hibernation from their rooms. Drug dealing; antisocial behaviour from drunken nights out; and graffitied walls are all too common in this part of town.

Michael shudders as he makes his way down the street. He never enjoys being down here, despite spending his life here as a child at not even 10 years old.

"Hey handsome," a feminine voice greets him. He whips his head around in the general direction of the sound, to see a woman heavily tanned; with filled lips and cheekbones; and a tacky pink jogging suit on. Sitting on the bonnet of her 2010 car, she gives a flirtatious wave; her bleached white teeth chewing opened-mouthed on some gum. Out of politeness, he returns a cautious wave, before hurriedly making his way past her home. As he nears the end of the street, he can't help but feel relief — this street is never enjoyable to walk down, but it's the only way for him to get home.

On the final tree of the street, Michael notices a brightly-coloured poster, pinned to the trunk with a nail. He takes a moment to pause, so he can read what is written on it.

Party for the Poor!

Are you in need of money?
Do you want to earn it without gambling your life and soul away?
Do you want an easy way to solve all your financial problems?

We are hosting a party and you're invited!
Take a slip and contact the number to accept your invitation today!

Michael glances down at the bottom of the poster, to see a collection of sticky notes stuck to it. They all contain the same contact information: a phone number, but that's all. He reads over the poster once again.

"A party for the broke?" he reads aloud, his hand running through his hair. "An easy way to solve all your financial problems?" A brief rush of adrenaline surges through his body, but it vanishes just as fast. "I couldn't possibly do this. What if it's a scam?" He continues to wonder out loud — a verbal tug-of-war between the decision of 'Do it' or 'Don't do it'. His hand slowly reaches up to take a sticky note from the poster. "But what if it isn't a scam?"

Deciding to keep hold of the number, he walks away from the poster, to continue his journey home. When he's only a few moments away from his front door, his phone rings. Slipping the phone from his pocket, he checks the caller ID: Harper.

"Hey babe," he answers, lifting the phone to his ear.

"How was it today?" she asks him.

"I handed out more copies of my resume. Hopefully somebody will be interested in me. Are you okay, anyway?"

"Not really," she responds sadly. "My brother is in the hospital. He had a motorcycle accident, but my parents can't afford the medical bills. I've said we'd help them. I think we're gonna have to get a loan or something to afford to live until you're working again."

His head buries into his hand. "Shit," he hisses, unsure on what else to say for a moment. "It's okay. We'll find a way. It'll be alright."

"Are you sure? What if the loan company doesn't accept us? They might see you've been laid off and can't pay it back—"

"Listen, Harper. I don't want you to be worrying about that. You need to stay calm and not stress for the baby's sake. She can feel that, you know." His voice has become soft, now. "I love you, and we'll do this. Help your brother. Get him fixed and then we'll work on fixing ourselves."

She breathes over the line, hoping more than anything that her husband is right. "Thank you. I believe in you, baby. Are you nearly home?"

He looks up, to see where he is. "Not far. Maybe five minutes. I'll be expecting some cocoa when I'm back," he teases, trying his hardest to remain positive.

"Of course. I'll go make it for you now. See you in a sec."

"Thank you. See you soon." With that, he hangs up the phone. His eyes close, at the realisation that he's now in a state of desperation for some financial stability. All the money he got from his pay check will be going to Harper's brother, leaving next to nothing for him and his family. His mind goes back to the poster on the tree trunk. What if it was a legitimate advertisement, and that it really could be the answer to his issues? Does he have anything to lose, by going to find out what it's all about?

His hand reaches for his back pocket. He withdraws, from it, the sticky note with the phone number written on it. With his other hand, he holds up his cell phone; using his thumb to click on the 'Contact' app icon. He presses the digits of the number into his phone, before selecting the 'Call' button. He lifts the phone to his ear; it rings three to four times, before he finally gets an answer.

"Welcome to the party. To accept your invitation, please state your name and date of birth," a low-pitched, automated voice demands from the other side of the line.

With some hesitation, Michael speaks. "Michael Jackson. Born August 29th, 1994."

"You have accepted your invitation to the party," the voice continues. "A party host will come and collect you from Jackson Street tomorrow at 6:30PM sharp. Please remember you will be given personal gamer gear when you arrive at the party." With that, the line goes dead.

To process what he has just experienced, he places his phone back into his pocket, standing a moment to evaluate what has just occurred. He has just agreed to attend a random party tomorrow evening, in which he could be given money? None of this makes sense to poor Michael, but he's too desperate to miss out on the opportunity.

Having taken a moment to reflect, he continues the short remainder of his journey home. He arrives at the front door, standing in front of it while he searches for his key. As he's about to unlock the door, it opens; revealing Harper.

"Hey, I missed you today." She steps up on her toes to kiss his lips once. "And I made you your cocoa like you wanted." She gives a worried smile — one that gives away all her anxieties; of her brother's accident; of her unborn baby's survival; and of their family's financial stability.

"Thank you," Michael returns, entering the house to find his beverage on the coffee table waiting for him. He takes it in his hand, before taking a single sip. "I needed this." He leans back into the sofa, to take in the immense comfort it provides after a long day of walking through town.

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow?" Harper questions, taking a seat by his side.

"Well actually, I'm going to a party," he tells her, his face flinching a little at her potential reaction. "But don't give me any kind of judging look; it's some weird party that was advertised on a tree trunk. I won't stay there too long, I promise."

"A party Michael? Who is the party for?"

"I don't know, but the poster said that if you go you could win money — why shouldn't I at least try to solve our problems?" The hand that isn't holding his cocoa flails in the air, as if to make some dramatic statement. "What do I have to lose, by seeing what it's all about?"

"It seems a little strange to me." Harper frowns, sitting back agains the sofa with a protective hand over her bump. "Poster doesn't say who the party is for, and you could win some money? It just seems a little ... odd."

"I have nothing to lose," he reassures her. "I'll see what it's all about, and then I'll come straight home. First sign that I have no chance, and I'll be gone. I promise, okay?"

Finally convinced, she nods her head. "Alright. But you better answer if I call you, and you better not flirt with any girls — you're a married man with a baby on the way." She chuckles, to indicate she's playing with him.

He gives her a closed-mouth smile, caressing her cheek affectionately. "As if I would ever do anything like that anyway. I'll answer as soon as I hear my phone. I'll have the ringers on and everything. Is that okay with you?" He plants a soft kiss on her temple; he always likes to make her feel safe, even at such a troubling and uncertain time in their lives.

"Okay. You can go have fun. Just don't buy any drinks. Clearly we can't afford that." She shakes her head in mock annoyance, before leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Don't worry about a thing, babe." His voice is barely louder than a mutter, now, as he can sense she's starting to feel tired after a long day of being alone. "Don't you worry about a thing."

~~

Chapter two! It's starting to get a little interesting now, perhaps? I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it!