Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

Gates is there during one of the most important times in a person’s life.
“You have a strong stomach,” she tells me. “You empathize. You care. I
think the best people to help us say goodbye are the ones who’ve had to do it
themselves.”
I keep working, listening.
“You know what these families need.” She drops tools to the tray, picking
up another one. “Funerals aren’t for the dead, after all.”
They’re for the survivors.
The idea is ridiculous. Everyone will laugh.
My grandmother would have a cow.
But then, I look down at the kid, Mitchell Higgins from the name on his
file, and know that tomorrow I could be him.
If not tomorrow, next week. Next year. Five years from now, because no
matter when, it is coming.
“I know your parents want you to go to Wake Forest,” she says, “but if
you decide your life should go a different path, I’ll sponsor you.”
Sponsor me?
“You work here on vacations and give me two years after you’ve gotten
your degree,” she tells me, “I’ll pay your tuition.”