"….you're a fly girl. Very sweet. It be a waste nobody got to appreciate you. I owned a museum I'd put you up. You be the best thing since Lisa." He meant the Mona. I told him that I was going to do some high fashion modeling and that I was signed up with the world's best agency, he said, "Then you gonna be rich." I said, "All the money goes into an account until I'm older."

"How old?" I said, "Until I graduate college." "Looks like you gonna be poor for a very long time." I agreed. He said, "I bet you'd like modeling, showing yourself off." I said, "I do like posing. All girls do; it's fun."

He held up the ounce, then he pushed it over. "Smell it." It was good. Very good. He stood up and approached me and put his hand through my hair, "Now I can see them pretty blue eyes, something only white girls got. You're nice and lean and firm. Very natural. I think I can help you out. Why don't I help you along till some money come in?" I shrugged, not sure where he, or should I say, I was going.

"How old are you?" "Fifteen." "How old was you when you met that boy, one in the bike shop?" "I was still fourteen." He said, "So you was fourteen when you took him home?

"Yes." He said, "Girls in your crowd, they all do it at fourteen?" I said, "Not most." "But you did. How come?" I said, "He's seventeen. And like, I think he expected it. And I wanted to do it. I told you. He was nice."

"So am I." The dealer reached into a shelf and took out one of those disposable cameras. "Why don't you do some modeling for me? Maybe we can work out an agreement. Give you some pot so you don't go home crazy."

I said, "You mean like the whole ounce?" He said, "That depends." "On what?"

Diary of a Rich Girl to be continued...