I opened my eyes and I was eighteen again. I was in a classroom, a grimy, yellowing box, and a group of boys were using me to settle a bet. “...I’m telling you, for twenty bucks, you could get a feel of Claire. Any takers?” Their laughter was a low, dirty murmur. Finally, they settled on a champion. “Leo, you do it.” Leo’s voice, cool and confident, cut through the noise. “Sure. Why not?” I kept my head down on the desk, my eyes squeezed shut, and waited for his footsteps. 1 Tap. Tap. Tap. Leo’s knuckles rapped against my desk. I feigned a groggy awakening, lifting my head. “What is it?” “You busy after school? Need to talk to you about something.” I studied him. He was a master of feigned indifference, his posture ramrod straight, his expression meticulously casual. He looked so damn respectable. I played along, my own voice flat. “I’m free.” “Cool. Wait for me after the last bell.” He spun on his heel, a perfect, smooth pivot, and sauntered back to his seat. A wave of snickering followed him. I didn’t have to look to know the predatory grins plastered on their faces. Tch. A bunch of assholes. I buried my face in my arms again. I had no idea what kind of cosmic joke this was, being thrown back into my eighteen-year-old life. A life where my stomach was a hollow, aching pit, a void I could only try to fill with tap water from the school fountain. During lunch break, other kids napped because they were tired. I napped because the gnawing hunger made it impossible to do anything else. But sleep wouldn't come. So I heard everything. The whispers of the boys. Their talk of video games, comics, basketball… and girls. I was one of their favorite topics. The pretty, poor girl. In any school, that combination makes you a target. But for a girl, their bullying took on a darker, more disgusting flavor. They were betting twenty dollars. And ten years ago, I had actually done it. For twenty miserable dollars, I followed Leo into the woods behind the school. He gave me the cash. I unbuttoned my shirt. Then, click. The sound of a camera shutter. The next day, the photo was all over the class group chat. From then on, I didn't have a name. I was just "Twenty Bucks." 2 When the final bell rang, Leo was the first one out the door. I grabbed my worn-out backpack. “Let’s go,” he said, waiting for me in the hall. I followed him without a word. We walked off campus, heading toward the woods behind the school. He kept glancing back, as if he was afraid I’d bolt. I clutched my empty stomach. “Hey!” Leo turned. “What? We’re almost there. You’re not backing out, are you?” “No,” I said. “But I’m hungry.” He blinked, then let out an annoyed sigh. “So? What do you want me to do about it?” “I want to eat.” He was impatient, eager to get this over with, but the thought of winning his bet was too tempting. He weighed his options for a few seconds. “Fine. We eat first.” I ordered a plate of fried rice from a greasy spoon diner. Leo paid. The place was cheap and grimy, and he clearly couldn't bring himself to eat. He just sat there, arms crossed, watching me devour my food. “Christ, Claire,” he said, a look of disgust on his face. “Are you a starving refugee or something?” I ignored him completely. I couldn’t remember the precise feeling of being eighteen and hungry, but I remembered Melissa’s cruelty with perfect clarity. That beautiful woman had slithered into our lives like a disease, bringing her daughter with her and infecting my father. And just like that, I became the family charity case. Melissa had a chilling talent for calculating the bare minimum a person needed to survive. The allowance she gave me was just enough for a couple of bread rolls. Enough to keep me from dying, but not enough to stop the constant, grinding misery of hunger. It drained my energy, made it impossible to focus on my studies. If I couldn't get into a good college, I wouldn't be a drain on the family's resources. All of it would go to her precious daughter. I finally put down my fork, a wave of satisfaction washing over me. “Finished?” Leo stood up. “Let’s go, then.” I reached out and grabbed his arm. He froze. His entire body went rigid, and the heat radiating from his skin could have cooked an egg. Ah, teenage hormones. So damn hot. But his eyes were even hotter. “Claire.” He looked down at me, his voice a low, rough rasp. “You need money, right?” I just smiled. What a stupid question. Of course I needed money. That was the whole point of this, wasn't it? “Come on,” he urged, his voice dropping lower. “To the woods.” I shook my head slowly. My hand slid up his arm, and I closed the distance between us until our bodies were pressed together. “...How about a motel?” I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear. In the dim light of the alley, the glowing neon of the ‘MOTEL’ sign seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Leo swallowed hard. 3 The moment the motel room door clicked shut, Leo’s breathing grew heavy and ragged. He lunged, pinning me against the door, but then he hesitated, reining himself in. Right. He was eighteen. All instinct and no experience. He was a bundle of agitated nerves, but he didn't know what to do next. “Wanna shower first?” I asked, my voice calm. “You or me?” He snapped back to reality, staring at me with suspicion. He was probably wondering how I could be so composed, so familiar with a scene like this. “You first, then,” I said. He shot me a look of contempt and tossed his backpack at me. “I’ll be quick.” “Take your time,” I said sweetly. The second the bathroom door closed, I unzipped his bag and pulled out the camera. Then, I picked up the motel’s landline and dialed. The number was for a woman I’d seen loitering by the salon downstairs, bored and smoking a cigarette. Her number was taped to the glass door. I have a photographic memory. The call connected. I gave her the room number, hung up, and then went for his wallet. A thick wad of cash. Leo was a rich kid. His father owned the biggest supermarket chain in the county and spoiled him rotten, mostly with money. He had a lot of it. I only took half. The other half would be his payment for services rendered. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Perfect timing. Leo was just stepping out of the bathroom. He emerged, wrapped in a towel. “Why are the lights off?” Silence. The dim lamp by the bed cast long shadows, illuminating a large, human-shaped lump under the covers. Leo’s breathing hitched, his voice trembling when he called out my name. “Claire?” He crept toward the bed, his back a pale, lean line in the half-light. I watched, a predatory smile playing on my lips. His ragged breaths were the only sound in the dark room. He reached out, his hand shaking, and pulled back the covers. A pair of soft, unfamiliar arms snaked around his neck. Leo tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs with the woman I’d called. That’s when I flipped on the main light. CLICK. I took the picture. Leo’s eyes went wide. He was completely, utterly stunned. The woman from downstairs started yelling at me. “What the hell is this? This isn’t what we agreed on!” I held up a hand to quiet her, then dangled the camera in front of Leo, a triumphant grin on my face. The shock finally wore off, replaced by a wave of pure fury. “Claire!” he roared. “That photo just cost you a thousand bucks,” I said, tossing his wallet onto the bed. “I already took my share. The rest is for her. You can settle up.” I turned to the woman. “Get your payment from him.” Then, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked out without a backward glance. Leo scrambled off the bed, trying to come after me. “Stop!” he bellowed, his voice cracking with rage. “Claire, you fucking bitch, you set me up! You can’t just run off!” The woman grabbed him. “Where do you think you’re going? Pay me first!” “Let go of me!” “Not until you pay up!” A dog-eat-dog world. I slammed the door shut behind me, leaving them to it. He deserved it. 4 My first time at eighteen was a miserable existence. I was too young, too naive. A teenage girl with no other way to make money, my body was my only asset. That deal with Leo had bought me a week’s worth of food. It had also cost me my name. The image of my half-naked body was passed around, a permanent trophy in the phones of every boy in my grade. Slips of paper would appear in my desk, cruel, taunting notes asking for my price. Is twenty not enough? How about thirty? Can I just look, no touching? The girls, meanwhile, treated me like a leper. They’d hold their noses when they passed my desk, exchanging knowing, contemptuous looks. My life went from one level of hell to the next. No one laid a hand on me. No one yelled at me. But I was flayed alive by their silent judgment, a thousand times a day. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This time, at twenty-eight, I knew how to play the game. And Leo deserved everything he got. Humming a little tune, I walked home. One thousand dollars. It was enough to get me through the next six months. Enough to get me to the SATs, and then far, far away from this town. 5 Leo was late for school the next day. He looked like a wilted vegetable, all the life drained out of him. I’d heard his parents had been called. The woman from the motel told me everything. Leo had refused to pay her, and they’d caused such a scene that the manager, fearing a bigger incident, had found his student ID and called the school. The school, in turn, called his father. His dad ended up footing the bill. What a foolish boy, letting his pride get the best of him. All he had to do was pay the woman. I couldn't help but smirk. Leo saw it. The look he gave me was murderous. I turned away with a soft "Hah." He looked ready to pounce. One of his friends, oblivious, sidled up to him. “Hey, Leo. So, how’d it go last night? Did you score?” Leo finally had an outlet for his rage. “Score your mom!” The friend recoiled. “Whoa, man, what’s your problem?” “Get lost!” Leo roared, kicking over a nearby desk with a violent crash. A wave of shocked gasps filled the room. I didn't turn around. I just kept twirling my pen, calmly circling key points in my new review book. This was just a small lesson. I had no intention of being called “Twenty Bucks” ever again. Ten years from now, that nickname would have no power over me. The twenty-eight-year-old me was a fortress, immune to the petty wounds of adolescence. I had smoothed over all the rough edges of my past. But not now. Not yet. The eighteen-year-old Claire still cared. 6 After school, Leo cornered me again. This time, I didn't waste any time on pleasantries. I just raised an eyebrow. “Move, or I start screaming.” “Go ahead and scream!” he sneered, a twisted grin on his face. “Claire, you screwed me over. This isn't finished.” I tilted my head, a mocking smile on my lips. “What are you going to do? Take me back to the motel?” “...” The color drained from his face, then rushed back in a wave of humiliation. He opened his mouth, then closed it, finally spitting out a single, crude word. “Bitch.” I pulled out the camera. “Give that back!” he snarled. “Who’s a bitch?” I asked sweetly. “...” He was so furious he was speechless, his chest heaving, his face crimson. It was almost funny. Leo just didn't have thick enough skin. A different kind of guy would have treated that photo as a badge of honor, proof of his manhood. But there’s no sport in bullying the weak. I tossed the camera to him. “Here. You can have it.” He snatched it out of the air and immediately started fumbling with the controls, probably deleting the photo. When he was done, he looked up, his eyes narrowed. “Did you make a copy?” “What do you think?” It was my only leverage. Of course I had a copy. He gritted his teeth. “What do you want?” I beckoned him closer with a single finger. My eighteen-year-old face held the cold, merciless soul of my twenty-eight-year-old self. I let my fangs show and hissed one word at him. “Disappear.” I wanted nothing more to do with him. I had bigger problems to deal with. My stepmother. My stepsister. They were the real obstacles in my path. I needed to save my energy for them. They had already ruined my life once. I wouldn't let it happen a second time. And Leo? He was just a footnote. 7 I stopped wolfing down my food at dinner. Melissa noticed the change almost immediately. Before, dinner was the only real meal I got all day, and I ate like I was trying to choke myself. But now that I was eating three meals a day, I could be more composed. Melissa started watching me, her eyes filled with suspicion. But she had no proof. She searched my room, turning over my backpack, my pillow, my mattress... but she found nothing. I'd already stashed the thousand dollars under her own daughter’s bed. A place she would never think to look. “Don’t get too comfortable,” Amber, my stepsister, said with a smug smile. “You can’t hide it forever. My mom will figure you out.” She spoke with absolute certainty. “We know you got money from somewhere, Claire.” I kept my head down, pretending to read, pretending I couldn't hear her. Amber sat on her bed, her voice dripping with condescending advice. “Why bother studying so hard? Even if you get into a good college, my mom will never let you go.” I finally looked up at her. “Don’t waste your energy,” she said. Her face wore that familiar, lofty expression of mockery, laughing at my futile efforts, knowing she could sever my lifeline and crush my dreams without lifting a finger. “This is my house,” I said, my voice low and steady. Amber was taken aback, clearly not expecting me to talk back. But she recovered quickly, her lips curling into a soft smile. “And?” She leaned forward. “Claire, sooner or later, I’m going to throw you out of it.” I stared at her, my gaze as cold as ice. “Want to bet?” she challenged. “Let’s see whose house this really is.” As if on cue, the door swung open. My father stood there. “Brought you girls a late-night snack,” he announced, holding up a small bag. “Sesame balls. Amber, share them with Claire.” “Okay!” Amber chirped, taking the bag from his hand and beaming up at him. “Thanks, Dad.” My father ruffled her hair, then his gaze fell on me. “Still studying? Don’t stay up too late.” “I know,” I replied. The door closed. Amber took a bite of a sesame ball and held it out. “Want one?” Before I could answer, she laughed. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re allergic to sesame.” She looked so damn pleased with herself. 8 I soon found out what Amber meant by her mother’s “methods.” On Monday morning, during our homeroom meeting, Melissa burst into the classroom. She marched right up to me, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Claire, why did you steal money from the house? What kind of shameful things are you spending it on?” “You can’t be doing bad things, Claire,” she cried, her voice thick with fake anguish. “If you need something, just ask me! I’ll buy it for you! But you can’t steal!” Every eye in the room was on me. My face was a cold mask. “I didn’t take anything.” “I don’t believe you!” Melissa started ransacking my desk, sweeping everything onto the floor in a clattering mess. “Fine, deny it all you want. When I find the money, let’s see what you have to say for yourself!” I understood then. She thought I’d hidden the money at school. But she found nothing. Our teacher, Mr. Harrison, finally recovered from his shock and stepped in. “Mrs. Miller, please, let’s discuss this in my office. We shouldn’t disrupt the class.” He gestured for us to follow. “Come, let’s go to my office. Claire, you too.” In the office, Melissa put on a spectacular show, sobbing as if her heart was breaking. “Mr. Harrison, I’m at my wit’s end. I would never have come to the school if I had any other choice.” “It’s just… Claire is so disobedient.” “What exactly happened?” Mr. Harrison asked. “Five hundred dollars is missing from my wallet. Claire was the only one who went into my room.” Mr. Harrison looked at me. “Claire?” “I didn’t take it,” I said flatly. “I’m not the only other person in the house.” “Are you trying to blame Amber?” Melissa shrieked. “Claire, Amber is my daughter! I’ve watched her grow up, I know her character. She would never do something like that.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Are you sure?” My laugh seemed to ignite her rage. A venomous glint appeared in her eyes, though her voice remained pitiful. “Claire, I know your mother died when you were young, and your father is often away. You’re starved for attention, I understand. But no matter how much you need money, you cannot steal. What would your mother think?” My expression hardened instantly. She had no right to mention my mother. My kind, beautiful mother, who was worth more than Melissa’s entire being. I stood up straight. “If my mother knew you were framing me like this, she’d climb out of her grave and tear you to pieces, you bitch.” The office fell silent. Mr. Harrison stared at me, shocked that such a word could come from his usually quiet, well-behaved student. Melissa completely lost it, lunging at me. “Calm down, Mrs. Miller, please!” Mr. Harrison blocked her, then turned to me, his voice stern. “Claire, apologize. Now.” Apologize? To her? Not in a million years. “Disgusting,” I muttered. The office dissolved into chaos. I just turned and walked out. Leo was leaning against the wall outside. I walked past him, giving him a sideways glance but not breaking my stride. “Claire,” he called after me. “The money for your review books was from me, wasn't it? Why didn't you tell them?” I turned back. His eyes were filled with pity. He was pitying me. I didn’t want it. “None of your damn business,” I said. The look on his face was priceless, a kaleidoscope of shock and offense. 9 When I got home that night, my bed was a disaster. Melissa had given it a bath. The mattress and blankets were a sodden, disgusting heap on the floor. Amber was gloating. “You dared to curse at my mom. This is just a warning, Claire. Dad’s out of town for a week. Let’s see who you’re going to run crying to now.” I paid her no mind. Even if my father were home, I wouldn't tell him. He wouldn't believe me anyway. When I told him I was always hungry, he asked Melissa about it. She explained it was for my own good. “Teenage girls put on weight so easily, and it’s hard to lose it.” “Claire is so pretty, it would be a shame if she got fat. Look at Amber, I don't let her eat too much either.” And my father believed her. Then there was my period. I had no money for pads, so I’d fold layers of toilet paper, but the blood would always soak through to my pants. I washed them by hand every single day. Melissa would ask, in her concerned voice, “Does Claire have some sort of cleanliness obsession?” My father, confused, would ask, “What’s going on?” My hands would be submerged in soapy water as I stared at Melissa. She was so confident, so sure that I would never be able to speak to a man—even my own father—about the needs of my body. So I became the girl with the obsession. Picky, silent, and increasingly strange. They dismantled me piece by piece. And all I could do was endure it. I saved every penny I could, enduring the hunger so I could afford the pads I desperately needed. My body seemed to mock me; despite being malnourished, my period was always heavy, always on time. The irony was not lost on me.
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