The first day of college, I fell for the campus tyrant at first sight. But I never dared to get close. After all, he was the son of the university’s biggest donor. And I was just a scholarship kid who would starve without financial aid. I thought it would be a quiet, four-year crush, a secret I’d carry alone. Then, the most popular girl in our class, Melinda, accused me of stealing her lipstick. The campus tyrant, Robert, looked at me with disgust. "So your parents are poor. Does that mean they never taught you not to steal?" He was right. My parents had never taught me that. They died when I was very young. Because of that incident, I was forced to drop out. Years later, I heard a rumor. That same campus tyrant, in his senior year, had to take a leave of absence due to severe depression. A depression that lasted for ten years. 1 Everyone was convinced I had used Melinda’s lipstick. It was during gym class, and I was the only one who had stayed behind in the classroom. They twisted the tube, revealing the lipstick bullet, which had been worn down into a strange, curved shape. "Never used lipstick before, have you? What kind of pig mouth do you have to ruin it like this?" one of them sneered. Melinda tossed it aside in disgust. "It’s so gross." Robert, who was standing with her, frowned, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. Suddenly, someone piped up. "Melinda, you should check the rest of your stuff. If she’d steal your lipstick, who knows what else she took." "Yeah! I mean, you need a full face of makeup to go with the lipstick, right?" The group erupted in laughter. But Robert stopped Melinda as she reached for her bag. "Don't bother. Just check her bag. She probably has other people’s stuff in there, too." Before I could react, someone grabbed my backpack and dumped everything out onto the floor. A pile of worn-out secondhand books and a crumpled stack of one-dollar bills spilled out. My face burned with shame as I knelt to gather my things. Suddenly, a pair of expensive leather shoes stepped on a small, red notebook. "What's this?" "Don't touch that!" I screamed at Melinda. But my shout only made her grip the notebook tighter. 2 "Dear Robert," she began to read aloud, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Today is the eighteenth day of my secret crush on you. I saw you had a stomachache, so I tucked some medicine into your textbook. I hope you find it." "Dear Robert, today is your birthday, and it’s also been six months since I started crushing on you. I just paid my rent and only have seventeen dollars left, so I couldn't buy you those limited-edition sneakers, but I got you a pair of socks. I hope you like them." … Melinda read on, one entry after another. My face felt like it was on fire. The only person more mortified than me was Robert. His face was as dark as thunder. "Deaaar Robert," someone mimicked. "Rooobert," another jeered. The room filled with snickering. Someone pointed at Robert’s feet. "Dude, I was wondering why your style took a nosedive lately. Don’t tell me those are the socks she gave you." "Look, there are even initials embroidered on them! Oh my god, I’m dying." Robert’s irritation was palpable. He kicked off his shoes, ripped the socks off his feet, and shoved them back into my bag. "Don't ever give me crap like this again." Tears instantly stung my eyes. He slipped his shoes back on his bare feet and stormed out of the classroom, his face a furious mask. A few steps later, he came back, tore the pages about him from my notebook right in front of everyone, and threw the shredded paper in my face. "And don't ever like me again," he spat. "It's embarrassing." Through the blur of my tears, I saw him frantically wiping his hands, as if touching the paper had contaminated him. I just wanted to disappear, to escape this nightmare. But as I tried to leave, Melinda stuck her foot out and tripped me. "You think you can just steal my lipstick and get away with it?" "It really wasn't me." Before Melinda could respond, Robert shot back, his voice sharp. "So your parents don’t give you money. Does that mean they never taught you not to take what isn't yours?" The tears I’d been holding back finally fell. He was right. My parents had never taught me that. Because they were long dead. 3 "Stealing and now you’re playing the victim? If your parents won’t teach you how to behave, society will." Melinda stood up, grabbing the lipstick and advancing toward me. I scrambled backward, but her friends grabbed me and held me down. The lipstick moved across my face, cold and waxy. When she was done, four words were scrawled across my cheeks. 【I AM A THIEF.】 As she drew the last stroke, the classroom erupted in cheers. A few people even took out their phones to take pictures from every angle. Melinda’s eyes were dark and wide. I’d seen it in movies before—the way a villain’s pupils dilate when they’re doing something evil. "Don't think this is over," she said, her voice low. "This lipstick cost eighty dollars. I expect a new one from you in three days." Eighty dollars?! That was my entire living allowance for half a year. Seeing the tears welling in my eyes, her smile grew wider. I scrambled toward her, my voice trembling. "It wasn't me… it really wasn't…" Her patience wore thin. She shoved me away. "Then why didn't you go to gym class? Funny how that worked out, huh?" "Yeah! Who else could it have been?" "Tell us!" I clenched my fists, the thought of that eighty dollars burning in my mind. "Because… because my shoes are broken." The classroom fell silent. Every eye in the room fell to my feet. The sole of my worn-out canvas shoe was peeling away, hanging on by a thread, as if it was about to detach completely. A snort of laughter broke the silence. And then everyone was laughing. The bell rang, and the nightmare finally ended. As Robert returned to his seat, he bumped my shoulder. It was the second time he had ever touched me. 4 Robert wasn't a bad person. At least, I didn't think so before. At the beginning of the semester, a few students had bullied me for being poor. They’d post passive-aggressive things online, saying the classroom stank of my poverty. I was heartbroken back then. I spent a whole afternoon with my head on my desk, crying. Robert had walked over. He gently patted my head and said softly, "It's not your fault." My eyelashes fluttered. He immediately pulled his hand back and walked away. When did things change? It must have been when I offended Melinda, the social queen of our year. I don't know what she did, but soon, the entire class turned against me. At first, Robert would still message me: "Are you okay?" Then, he started sending messages and immediately unsending them. Finally, the messages stopped altogether. Around that time, I heard a rumor that Robert was trying to win Melinda over. Suddenly, it all made sense. Love me, love my dog. Hate me, hate my dog. I thought if I just explained myself, they would leave me alone. But the very next day, they started demanding the money. They threatened to blow the whole thing up, to tell the school administration, using Robert’s powerful family name to intimidate me. I had no choice but to ask for time off from my professors and find part-time work off campus. I looked everywhere, but even a manual labor job at a construction site only paid twenty dollars a day. Desperate, I asked some friends from the orphanage, and they got me a job as a waitress at a karaoke bar. I never thought I would run into them there. When I walked into their private room, the students, who had been singing and dancing wildly, fell silent. Robert, holding a glass of whiskey, froze. The disgust in his eyes was so clear it could cut through the darkness of the room. "Well, well, well, look who it is!" "I didn't know our little Ivy was a thief by day and a hostess by night!" My face flushed. I put down the drinks and tried to run out. "Stop." Something hard hit the back of my head. Melinda had thrown the remote control at me. "Did the customer say you could leave?" I took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Is there anything else I can get for you, ma'am?" She smirked. "You're here to make money, right? I'm in a good mood today, so I'll help you out." "One bottle of liquor, one thousand dollars. How about it?" A thousand dollars. It was a number I couldn't even comprehend. In my budget for all four years of college, my total expenses didn’t even add up to that. It would be a lie to say I wasn't tempted. But I had never had a drop of alcohol in my life. "What are you waiting for? Don't want it? Well, then—" "I'll do it." I looked her straight in the eye. Robert snorted, shooting me a look of pure disdain. The room erupted with excitement. "Come on, come on, our little escort for the evening, have a seat!" I knew they were mocking me. But I was used to it. Elementary school, middle school, now college—I’d been through this too many times to count. As I sat down, Robert shifted two inches away, as if I was something filthy. I swallowed the lump of bitterness in my throat and opened the first bottle. The strong smell of alcohol made me cough for what felt like an eternity. That night, I had my first drink. And I also learned, for the first time, that I was allergic to alcohol. Half a bottle in, red welts started to break out all over my skin. Suddenly, I was being pushed into someone’s warm body. The room was spinning. I mumbled, "Robert, I feel so sick. Can you get me some water…?" "Whoa!" "This is getting spicy!" "Robert, dude, this girl is really into you! She's in another guy's arms and still calling out your name!" 5 Robert’s brow furrowed. His eyes fell on my hand, which was wrapped around another guy's neck, and a wave of irritation washed over him. Finally, he looked away in disgust. "Pathetic." And so, I became their plaything for the night. Melinda would push me from one guy to the next. None of them refused. Their hands roamed freely over my body. All except one. Robert. The moment someone tried to push me toward him, he stood up abruptly. "You guys have your fun. Leave me out of it." He threw his glass down and walked out. The others looked at each other, confused. "What's up with Robert?" "Oh, right, I forgot he hates her. Maybe the bitch just ruined his mood." Melinda didn’t say anything. She stared silently in the direction Robert had gone, then put down her glass. She smiled at the group. "Well, since Robert's gone, I guess we should call it a night." They grabbed their jackets and headed for the door. Suddenly, one of the girls turned and pointed at me. "What about her?" Melinda smiled sweetly. "Just leave her here. Someone will pick her up." My head was splitting. Through the haze, I saw several large, pot-bellied middle-aged men walking toward me. The sight shocked me into a state of partial sobriety. I fumbled for my phone and typed in the number I had memorized, the number I had repeated to myself thousands of times. 【Are you far? I’m still in the private room.】 【Can you please help me… a bunch of strangers just came in.】 But there was no reply. Just as I was about to dial 911, my phone was knocked from my hand, flying across the room. A stinging slap landed on my cheek. "You fucking bitch! You dare call the cops!" That night was the most unforgettable night of my life. Three men. Pinning me down. The sharp pain, the screaming, and then, finally, darkness. When I woke up, my body was covered in a sticky film, and there was blood between my legs. And a new message on my phone. From Robert. 【Get lost.】 6 I didn’t go to school for a week. But it seemed like a lot of people were looking for me. Someone had uploaded a video of that night to the campus online forum. The men’s faces were blurred. Mine wasn’t. There wasn’t a single person at school who didn’t recognize me. I was too scared to go back. Several times, I stood on the bridge I had to cross to get to school, thinking about just jumping. I regretted it so much. Why did I waste my one precious chance for help on Robert? He was the last person in the world who would have helped me. Wasn’t he? I spent another night in my cockroach-infested room in the city’s slum. I took three showers. I wanted to hide forever, but then my academic advisor called. "If you miss one more class, the university will expel you." "Ivy," she said, her voice kind, "I know you're not that kind of girl. Come back to school. You worked so hard to get here." She was right. I had worked so hard. I had collected bottles and cans for six years to save up for tuition. I had spent over two thousand nights hunched by other people’s windows, studying by the moonlight. At that moment, I thought, maybe there were other people at school like my advisor, people who would stand by me. So I went back. But I was wrong. Everyone was standing on the other side. The moment I walked into the classroom, someone started making crowing noises like a rooster. I kept my head down and walked to my seat. My palms were bleeding from how tightly I’d been clenching my fists. "Well, well, look who it is. Our little celebrity is awfully quiet today." "Lost your virginity at eighteen. Ivy, you're the first girl in our class to become a woman." The room erupted in laughter. "Is that enough?!" Robert shot up from his seat and slammed his hand on the desk. The classroom fell into a dead silence. He was panting, his chest heaving. He stormed out of the room, skipping a class for the first time in his life. "What's with him? Isn't he the one who hates Ivy the most?" "It is weird. Ever since that night at the karaoke bar, he's been getting quieter and quieter." Melinda was looking down, lost in thought. Suddenly, she walked over to me and pulled a thick wad of cash from her purse. "Oh, I almost forgot to pay you. You drank three bottles that night, so I'll give you four thousand. The extra thousand is for your hard work." I stared at the red bills. I stared at them through the entire class, and long after, until I was the only one left in the room. Finally, I reached out, took the money, and gently tucked it into my bag. Then I covered my face with my hands. My palms were instantly wet with tears. I hugged my tattered old backpack and sobbed until I couldn't breathe. Didn't you want the money so badly? But now, all I could think about were my parents, who had died so long ago.
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