Ever since I was a child, my mother sneered at me, saying I was born with a hollow leg. She claimed I stole nutrients from my brother in the womb and fought him for the bottle the second we were born. In middle school, to make sure my brother, Joey, grew taller than me, she only gave me half a dinner roll for supper. I was often so dizzy from hunger that I’d stare at my teachers and drool. I couldn't help it. My teacher’s freckled face looked like a sesame seed bun—oily, warm, and golden. The sun outside the window was a giant pancake, crispy on the edges and dripping with butter. Even my seatmate smelled delicious, radiating the creamy scent of fresh milk. After class, I’d chug water until my stomach felt like it was going to burst, yet I remained ravenous. At lunchtime, nobody reached the cafeteria faster than me. With that desperate speed, I swept the gold medals in the school’s 400m and 1600m dashes. The coach gave me fifty bucks as a prize. But Joey snitched, and the moment I got home, my mother snatched it away. "Everything you eat, wear, and drink costs me money! How dare you hide cash? No dinner for you tonight!" I sat there, smelling the roasted ribs wafting from the dining table. I pretended to eat, chewing air with all my might, imagining succulent, fatty meat between my teeth. But the fantasy failed. In the middle of the night, my stomach felt like it was on fire. I got up to use the bathroom and saw my dad’s poker change on the coffee table. Two quarters and a dollar bill. I couldn't resist. That was the start of my life as a thief. Minimum fifty cents, maximum two dollars. I took it every few days. I knew I’d get caught eventually. But the gas station cheeseburgers were so good! The hot dogs were so warm! The greasy fries were worth every risk. 1 Soon, spicy Cheetos became the trend at school. Fifty cents a bag. I didn't dare buy them. If I bought snacks, I wouldn't have money for dinner. Between "eating well" and "eating enough," I had no choice. When the cravings became unbearable, I’d ask my seatmate if I could have his empty bag so I could dip my bread in the leftover spicy dust. He looked shocked for a second. But from then on, he started sharing half his snacks with me. The more I ate, the more guilty I felt. Since I had nothing to share in return, that guilt morphed into a heavy, defensive pride. Finally, I snapped. I stole a five-dollar bill. I bought eight bags of Cheetos and gave them all to him. That evening, I went to buy a burger as usual. I saw my mom sprinting toward me, brandishing a rolling pin. Between "fear" and "food," I chose to eat fearfully. I ran as fast as I could, stuffing the burger into my mouth with every stride. But she caught me. "This little brat learned to steal! Everyone, look! This is the daughter I raise, and she repays us by stealing her father’s hard-earned cash!" The rolling pin slammed into my back and stomach, stroke after stroke. "You can tell a criminal from age three. She’s hopeless!" neighbors whispered. "Good! Beat some sense into her!" I ignored the agony in my body and the mockery in their voices. I forced the last bite of the bun down my throat, feeling the bliss of a full stomach. The fullness outweighed the pain. As my mother dragged me home, I wept tears of satiation. At least the money was safely in my stomach. Otherwise, the beating would have been for nothing. 2 By high school, my mother threw her hands up. "No money. You stole it all. How are you going to school?" "I found you a job at the local meatpacking plant. They provide three meals. You’re a minor, so your checks go to my account." I nodded obediently. That night, while they slept, I packed my bag. I pried up a floorboard and took the three thousand dollars my dad had hidden. I took another two thousand from behind the toilet tank that my mom had won gambling. I ran to a boarding school across the state line to enroll. I thought I’d finally eat well, but the lunch lady, Mrs. Gable, was a nightmare. She had a "tremor" in her hand that only acted up when I was in line. A scoop of beef stew would reach my tray as three pieces of fat and a slice of ginger. My portions were half the size of the boys'. After the nth time being cheated, I snapped. "Why do the guys get mountain-sized plates while mine is the size of a fist?" Mrs. Gable’s triple chin wobbled. "How much can a skinny girl eat? It’s a waste! Come back for extra rice if you're still hungry." I polished off my plate and went back for more. She sneered. "Extra sides cost a swipe. Only plain rice is free." I calculated my balance. Fine. Being full was enough. So, I went back for plain rice every single meal. 3 But once you’ve tasted meat, plain rice is soul-crushing. My seatmate, Mia, was kind. She was a vegetarian and hated meat. Every time they served steak or pork, she gave it to me and ate the potatoes. She said she didn't trust "mystery meat." Perfect! I’d eat anything. Even if the pig was older than my grandfather, as long as it filled me up, I was in. But then Mia left to study in Switzerland. My meat supply vanished. Before she left, she handed me her meal card. "I don't want to deal with the refund. Just use the balance for me." I thanked her profusely. When I swiped the card, I saw a balance of one thousand dollars. For the first time in my life, I was too sad to eat. Besides my parents and relatives, the world was full of people who treated me well. So well I didn't know how to repay them. Then, Mrs. Gable’s "tremor" got worse. The beef-and-potato stew was precisely zero beef and all potato. I exploded. "Where is the meat?!" She hammered the tray with her ladle. "Girls don't eat meat. It’s a waste. Save it for the boys!" "Next!" I didn't understand. Since when did girls hate meat? I stood my ground at the front of the line. Annoyed, she finally slopped a spoonful of gravy and three tiny scraps of meat onto my plate. "Fine! Take it! You’re like a starving ghost. Have you never seen meat in your life?" I sat down and took a bite. It was all ginger. At that moment, a dark rage took hold of me. 4 The next day, I intentionally sat in the middle of the varsity football table. "Wow, look at all that meat on your plate," I said loudly. "Are you dating Mrs. Gable from the service window to get that kind of 'special' treatment?" "She always brags about sleeping with the 'fresh meat' on the team. Which one of you is her favorite?" I saw the guys’ faces turn pale and I bolted with my tray. I was terrified they’d punch me. The rumor spread like wildfire. Teenage boys have massive egos. Soon, the narrative became: if you have meat on your plate, you’re sleeping with the lunch lady. The guys were so embarrassed that they refused to go to her window. Eventually, parents heard the "sexual harassment" rumors and complained to the board. The school fired Mrs. Gable. When I heard she was gone, I felt a tiny sting of guilt. But as my own portions grew larger and meatier, that guilt vanished completely. I thought I could finally focus on studying. But one day, my principal pulled me out of class. In his office sat the two people I hated most. "You little thief! You’re dead!" "We’ll drop the theft charges if you come work at the plant to pay for Joey’s college! It’s your fault your grades are so good—you’ve sucked all the luck away from your brother!" 5 The joy of a full stomach evaporated. "I’m not going! I’m going to graduate!" The principal tried to mediate. "Let’s stay calm. Grades aren't 'stolen.' About the theft—is there a misunderstanding?" In front of strangers, my mother was a professional victim. "Principal, she’s a liar! She’s been stealing since she was ten. Every penny we have, she takes!" "She took five thousand dollars! Who knows what she’s doing with thugs or boys at her age?" "What’s the point of school for a girl like this? She’s a menace to society! I’m her mother; it breaks my heart, but she’s out of control!" She wiped a non-existent tear. I bit my lip, trying to hold back the flood. The principal looked at me gently. "Jane, I don't think you’re a bad kid. Can I ask what you did with the money?" The dam broke. I didn't want to cry! Crying makes them win! But because he believed me, I couldn't help it. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and screamed: "I was hungry! I stole it to buy bread! Burgers! Noodles! I was starving!" "I took the money for tuition because they wouldn't let me come to school!" The office went silent. My dad lunged and slapped me across the face. "Liar! Who ever mistreated you? Everything you own, I paid for!" The principal jumped in to stop him. My mom grabbed my arm. "Come home! You’re nothing but a liar!" I dropped to the floor and hugged the office doorframe. The principal roared: "Enough! Stop it!" My mom sneered. "Mind your own business, teacher." The principal pulled me back toward him. "How much did she take?" My mom’s eyes widened. "Five thousand! Why, you gonna pay us back?" "Give me your Venmo. I’ll send it now. Leave the girl alone. Let her study." My mom opened her app instantly. "Fine, but we aren't paying a cent for her living expenses from now on."
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