Dinner Party

Hello fellow sentient organisms! Boy, it’s been a while. This one’s still in the early stages of development, and not my typical story type, but it was fun to do. I wrote it for a class I’m taking now, and is based on a conversation that took place at the dinner table a few weeks ago (it’s probably for the best that you don’t ask). So without further ado, enjoy!

If there was anything anyone knew about Mrs. Tucker, it was that her potato salad was to die for, and that her husband made a killer steak. They were hot items at every potluck, dinner party, or picnic, each of which the couple attended and collaborated often. Their son, Hank Tucker, was just as social as his parents, easily drifting between groups to charm his way through a conversation, and leaving party-goers feeling flattered and at ease. The family was friendly with many, and well-acquainted with everyone they knew. They hardly ate dinner alone; food was better in good company, after all.

This evening was just like any other. Their plates cleaned, guests lingered at the table, comfortably stuffed with kidney bean casserole and pork chops, bursting at the seams with merriment. Mr. Tucker had popped the cork on a Merlot, and red wine filled the glasses of every eligible individual.

Charlette and Harrison Young were regular guests at the Tucker’s, though they seldom brought their eldest daughter, Allison, along with them.

“And then I said,” Charlette relayed with flourish, “I’d have to sell everything I own to even consider the prospect!”

The gathering broke out into chorus of laughter.

“Really, though,” Harrison elaborated when the laughter quieted, “it costs an arm and a leg to live in New York, let alone go to college there.”

“Cornell is such a great school. I’d love to go there,” Allison added, “but it’s just too expensive.”

“You know,” Mrs. Tucker chimed, “you could try for a scholarship or two. You’re a bright girl; surely you can find something.”

“We’ve checked into several, but none of them cover enough. I think I’m going to consider a school closer to home, anyway. Less money to spend on gas.”

Laughter bubbled forth again.

“Now that I think about it, I think I have an idea,” Hank contemplated seriously, digging around in his pockets. His parents watched, amused, as he drew out a sheet of paper that appeared to have been clipped from the newspaper’s “Help Wanted” page. He passed it to Allison.

“It’s what we did to pay for my college,” he suggested nonchalantly, “but it’s not for everyone.”

Indeed, the slip of paper, boldly proclaiming Wanted: Healthy Organs, was not a moneymaking venture for the weak at heart.

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