My senior year of high school, my parents cut me off. Completely. They demanded I drop out. With no other options, I walked into St. Jude’s Academy, a place crawling with trust fund babies and nepo babies. Because my grades were stellar, the school waived my tuition. But I still needed to eat. After starving for two weeks, wearing my most pathetic, threadbare clothes, I finally mustered the courage. I looked at the class of rich kids who never studied and said: "Hey... does anyone need their homework done? It's... it's only five bucks a pop." The young masters and misses, busy flexing their wealth, stopped dead. They all stared at me in shock. A moment later, the room erupted: "Five bucks? Are you insulting me? Five hundred! Do mine first!" "I'll pay five thousand! I'm first in line!" "Fifty thousand! US Dollars!" "Screw you guys! I'm lighting a sky lantern! Let's see who dares outbid me today!" 1 The day I got kicked out, I had just started senior year. My dad, face twisted in rage, pointed a shaking finger at my nose. "Other girls your age are bringing in bride prices! But you? You're just a money pit, spending my cash all day." My mom chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern. "If you don't marry, where will your brother get the money to marry and carry on the family line?" I clutched my stack of academic awards, screaming my defense until my throat was raw. It was useless. I ran away. My dad's voice chased me out the door. "I'd like to see how you survive until college without us feeding you!" I took my transcripts and went from high school to high school. The answer was always the same: "Your grades are okay, but who knows if you'll slip up senior year?" "We can only offer a tuition waiver." That wasn't enough. Clinging to my last shred of hope, I stood in front of St. Jude’s Academy. This place was rich kid central. Heirs and heiresses everywhere. Their daily routine was fighting and flexing. Nobody studied. In their world, the SATs were just a formality. They were all going abroad anyway. When I stood in the office, wearing clothes washed so many times the hems were fraying, the Dean looked down her nose at me. "You're sure you want to come here? Aren't you afraid of getting bullied?" I shook my head vigorously. "As long as you can waive the tuition and give me a tiny scholarship..." "Just a little... fifty, no, twenty bucks a month is fine. I'll study hard. I'll bring honor to the school." The Dean agreed. I took the advanced scholarship check for two thousand dollars, thanked her profusely, and backed out. As the door closed, I heard her scoff. "Twenty bucks? Who does she think we are?" 2 I made it into the classroom. The noise of the rich kids died down instantly. They all sized me up with curious eyes. "What is she wearing? Are those holes intentional? Is this the new 'Warzone Chic' from Balenciaga?" "Why not Chanel?" "The fabric is holding up surprisingly well for being that worn. Must be off-brand. Only street stall stuff is that durable." "Oh, you're an expert? You wear that stuff?" "You dare accuse me of wearing street stall clothes? You're dead! I'm telling my dad to pull funding from your dad's company tomorrow..." Two rich kids started brawling. I kept my head down, walked past them, and found my seat. It was in the corner, right next to the trash can. I blocked out the gossip. I'd heard worse from my parents. The mockery of these pampered kids was nothing. Now I had a school. I had a shot at college. Nobody bullied me. During the break, a gorgeous girl even ran over to my desk, looking at me like I was a new species. "Hey, Perry," she asked, genuinely curious. "Why are your clothes so tattered? Did you not like this season's couture?" "Is it possible," I said slowly, "that I just can't afford it?" "Why not? Did you get your allowance cut? You can just draw from your trust fund." I sighed. What is a trust fund? Chloe rested her chin on her hand. "How did you get here?" "Walked. Got up early." "Why didn't your driver drop you off?" "No driver. No car." "Then why not ride your motorcycle?" "Don't have one of those either." "Oh, I get it. You only like helicopters, and yours was in the shop this morning, right?" I hid my face behind a book. Forget it. I can't explain this. 3 Two weeks in, I was basically invisible. I huddled in my corner, grinding through practice problems. The teachers started to like me. Because I was the only one listening. I took notes, answered questions, and saved them from the awkward silence of an empty room. But my focus was slipping. I was hungry. So hungry I wanted to gnaw on the desk. Tuition was free, but I had to pay for housing. The Dean refused to let me live in the dorms. She said my background was too "different" and the other students wouldn't accept it. I had to rent a place. Rent was insane. I begged the landlord until he agreed to take six months upfront. My two thousand dollars instantly became one hundred. In this city, where land is gold, that only got me a tiny attic room in the boonies. The last hundred went to utilities. I was broke. My grades weren't good enough for Ivy League yet, so I didn't dare ask the Dean for more money. Living in that hellhole at home had destroyed my study time. Despite killing myself to catch up, my junior year scores were only good enough for a state school. I wasn't the main character in a novel who could date, slack off, and still get a perfect SAT score. My stomach had been empty for over eight hours. Breakfast was a piece of steak and half a tuna sandwich I fished out of the school trash can. Delicious, but tiny. I licked my lips and looked up at my classmates as the final bell approached. They were discussing which golf course to hit or whose yacht to party on. I pinched my arm hard, summoned every ounce of courage I had, and asked timidly: "Um... excuse me... does anyone need their homework done? It's... it's only five bucks a copy." 4 I had never seen these kids do homework. Whenever the teacher assigned it, I was the only one writing it down to do later under my scavenged lamp in that stifling attic. After I spoke, the room went silent. The flexing stopped. Everyone looked at me like I'd grown a second head. Chloe gasped. "Class Prez, you do homework?" Since the teachers loved me, I had been promoted to Class President. Which meant I also did all the cleaning. My voice was barely a squeak. "Yes. I write fast and accurate. If you need a ghostwriter, consider me." "I don't charge much. Five bucks a paper. Buy five, get one free." Thinking about how rich their families were, I quickly added: "Price is negotiable if that's too high." Shock cracked across their faces. Then, chaos erupted. "Five bucks? Are you looking down on me? Five hundred! Do mine first! Let my dad see his son loves learning!" "Five hundred? Embarrassing. I'll pay five thousand! I'm first!" "Fifty thousand! US Dollars! I have nothing but money!" "Sky lantern! I want to see who dares outbid me today!" 5 The classroom was a zoo. The bids were getting ridiculous. It was like I was selling a Picasso, not Algebra II homework. I waved my hands frantically. "Just five bucks! I can't take more. If you want it done, I'll go in order." "It's all STEM stuff anyway, I can do it fast." Business needs to be sustainable. I was afraid if I took too much, their parents would find out. Freshman year, I did homework for six bucks. A parent checked the accounts, found out, and screamed at my door for an hour. The shouting continued until Chloe secured the first slot. She triumphantly transferred me twenty bucks. My second-hand phone lagged for a solid minute before the notification popped up. I stared at the balance. Twenty dollars. "Don't worry, Miss Chloe. I promise to make your homework look beautiful tonight." I made a hundred bucks that day. Five orders. I worked until 1 AM. To ensure quality, I never took more than I could handle. The next day after school, I was staring at a fresh hundred-dollar transfer, about to shoulder my Chanel backpack (scavenged from the trash), when I was blocked. The class's richest, most volatile Queen Bee stood in my way. She tapped her diamond-encrusted nails and nodded at her two minions. "Drag her to the bathroom!"
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