Chapter 3

For pads, all I could afford was the cheapest kind, the loose ones that came ten to a pack, stiff and uncomfortable against my skin. But I had no choice.

The bubble tea shop didn't need me every day. After freshman orientation ended, I picked up another gig handing out flyers.

Forty dollars a day, paid at the end of each shift.

All summer, my skin peeled from the heat. My clothes were constantly drenched in sweat, drying only to be soaked through again.

Now and then I'd see my academic advisor drive past.

She spotted me, pulled over, and took one of my flyers, praising me with a pleased smile.

"Theresa, sweetie, all this hardship your mom is putting you through will make you stronger in the end."

"Keep it up. Be independent, and don't let your mom down."

With that, she hit the gas and drove away.

Back in the dorm, I saw how sunburned my hands were, dark red, the skin flaking away at the slightest touch.

I reached over and peeled off a strip of dead skin, then looked at myself in the mirror and suddenly felt like I was staring at a stranger.

Two months had passed since the semester began.

I'd lost a full twenty pounds.

My mom used to say I had baby fat, pinching my cheeks and telling me to slim down.

Well, now she'd gotten her wish. She ought to be satisfied now.

I made it through summer, then fall, and finally winter came.

The cold wind cut straight through me like a knife.

I wanted to buy a winter coat.

But even the cheapest one cost three hundred dollars.

Two hundred dollars was a month and a half of my entire living budget.

I couldn't afford one, so I just had to make do.

One day the temperature plunged, down to twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.

I handed out flyers all day in one thin long-sleeved shirt, my hands red with cold, my fingers too stiff to bend.

The next day, I got sick.

Both hands were covered in chilblains, my head spinning, my throat raw, I was so weak I could barely stand.

My roommates told me to go to the hospital.

But I'd just paid the last textbook fee of the semester, and I had thirteen dollars left in my pocket.

I couldn't even afford a single bottle of medicine.

I lay in bed for a full day and night, and my body still didn't show any signs of improving.

It felt like there were razor blades lodged in my throat. Every swallow, every breath, was excruciating.

On the third day, I couldn't take it anymore, and I dialed my mom's number.

That whole semester, I'd barely been in contact with her.

Because my advisor kept telling me my mom was swamped with work, that I should be mature and not bother her with unnecessary phone calls.

I always listened and did as I was told, dealing with everything on my own no matter how bad things got.

But now, I was truly out of options.

When she saw my call come through, my mom sounded surprised.

"Shouldn't you be in class right now? Why are you suddenly calling me?"

Fighting through the pain, I rasped out the words.

"Mom, I'm sick, and I don't have money to see a doctor."

"Could you... send me some more money?"

On the other end, my mom's voice came instantly, shocked and edged with anger.

"Didn't I tell you again and again to watch your spending and not waste money?"

"How could you spend so much that you don't even have money to see a doctor?"

Something ached in my chest.

I honestly couldn't understand it. With only two hundred dollars a month to cover everything, just staying alive was already an enormous struggle.

How much more was I supposed to cut?

"Mom, I didn't waste anything, every month I…"

Before I could finish, she cut me off sharply.

"If you didn't waste it, how do you not even have money to see a doctor?"

"Theresa, I work myself to the bone every day to support you, and this is how you repay me?"

"You don't have an ounce of self-control. I'm so disappointed in you!"

With that, she abruptly hung up.

I clutched the phone, my chest tight, emotionally exhausted.

Why?