The summer after my freshman year of college, my boss at the shady motel where I worked secretly took naked photos of me. My mom forced me to settle with him. She said, "He’s already seen you naked. Who knows if he has videos too?" "You might be shameless, but I still have a reputation. Your sister still has a reputation!" Tears filled my eyes but refused to fall. I looked at her, stunned. "What if this happened to Lily?" 1 Before I could finish, my mom slapped me across the face. Hard. Her face was purple with rage, her whole body shaking, as if my hypothetical question was a knife aimed directly at my little sister. "Don't you dare curse your sister!" I knew exactly who my mother was, but hearing her say it still felt like a claw ripping through my chest. Before summer break started, the old security guard at my college, the one who fed the stray cats, died of heatstroke. The school announced emergency dorm renovations. We were kicked out. I texted my mom, asking for $25 so I could buy a bus ticket home. New York to Buffalo. Seven hours on a Greyhound. The cheapest ticket possible. $24.50. She refused instantly. "Where are we supposed to get money? Can't you be more frugal?" "Your sister starts prep for art school in two years. We just hired a tutor from Juilliard. One lesson is $200. We don't have extra money for you." My dad was listening on the other end. He chimed in loudly: "Sarah, look at the neighbor's kid, Jenny. The second school let out, she got a job at the mall. I heard she made a couple thousand just in commission last month." Then they both asked me the same question. If Jenny can do it, why can't you? It's only three months. Why can't you get a job? Why? I opened my mouth but said nothing. Because Jenny lives in Buffalo. She goes to college there. She has a house to go back to after work. Me? In the massive city of New York, the only thing I owned was one-fourth of a bunk bed in a dorm room. Oh wait, not anymore. The school was renovating to install AC and new furniture after the heatstroke incident. My roommates were planning a trip to Korea. They were scheming to take the train instead of flying to save the difference from their parents' budget. My dorm leader, a local girl, got picked up by her parents for even a three-day weekend. Everyone was excited for summer. Everyone except me. I couldn't even force a smile. Because I was terrified to ask my parents for money. Before college, my mom sat me down with a calculator and a spreadsheet. "Breakfast: one egg, one milk. Two dollars." "Lunch: veggies and rice. Three dollars." "Dinner: noodles and a bun. Five dollars." "Ten dollars a day for food. That’s three hundred a month. I'll give you another three hundred for 'extras.' Six hundred total. That’s plenty." What she didn't say was that she would dole out this meager six hundred dollars week by week. The first week of freshman year, the RA told us we needed to pay a $200 insurance fee. My mom didn't believe me. "I paid your tuition. I paid your book fees. Thousands of dollars! How could there be another fee?" Through the cracked screen of my old Android, my mom’s face was blurry, but her voice was piercing. "Go find your RA. Go find the dean. I want to ask them personally if they really need to take this $200!" "Sarah, if I find out you're lying to get money, you can forget about school! It’s a waste anyway. Liars don't succeed." I had no choice. I went to the RA. To this day, the pity in her eyes makes me want to disappear. That $200 was just the start. For a year, whenever there was an unexpected fee, I stalled. But periods don't wait. It comes like a flood, staining pants and sheets. I had to beg my roommates for pads, for a few dollars, promising to pay them back when my weekly allowance came in or when I got paid from a part-time gig. Money was a mountain crushing the life out of my college experience. My bank account never had more than $20. I used the cheapest 3-in-1 men’s shampoo because it was on sale. When everyone talked about going to concerts or hot pot, I stayed silent. I didn't even know what the inside of a hot pot restaurant looked like. I guarded my pathetic dignity and drew a line between me and my classmates. And now, with my face stinging from her slap, my mom was still ranting. "If you weren't out whoring around, how would someone get photos like that?" "You're disgusting, and you have the nerve to drag your sister into this?!" "Sarah, you really are just like that dead old woman!" 2 The "dead old woman" was my grandma. My name is Sarah. Grandma named me. I was born the year SARS hit. My dad owned an internet café. Due to the regulations, the business was shut down for months. Poverty defined my mother’s pregnancy. No fruit, no protein. Just stress and my dad’s constant frowning. My mom had nowhere to vent, so she blamed me. "If not for this kid, we'd be in California by now. Worst timing ever." To make it worse, I was born during a historic heatwave. My mom was in labor for 30 hours. The doctor suggested a C-section. My dad asked how much it cost and how long the recovery was. Then he said no. My mom suffered for two days and tore badly before I finally came out. How do I know this? Because the moment I was born, my mom dumped me at my grandma's house and left for the city with my dad to make money. Whenever I asked about them, Grandma told me the story of my birth. That was the only connection I had with them. When they left, Grandma took me to the train station. They were in the car; Grandma held me outside the window. She waved and asked, "What's her name? We need a name for the birth certificate!" My mom looked icy. She wouldn't even look at Grandma. Dad had blamed Grandma for the C-section costs argument, so Mom hated her. Finally, annoyed, she snapped: "So annoying. My friend in the city made sixty grand in six months. If not for this kid, we’d have a hundred grand by now." "Useless thing. Doesn't give me a moment of peace. Just sorrow!" The train whistle blew. Grandma was hard of hearing. She misheard "Sorrow" (Sa-rah in the noise) as "Sarah." She told me later that Mom named me Sarah because she hoped I would bring joy. I grew up believing that lie, waiting for them to come back. I waited year after year. I sat on the porch until I wore a groove in the wood. When I was ready for elementary school, Mom finally called. "Send the older one to the city. She can watch her sister." That's when I learned they had been living in the suburbs for years and had another daughter. My sister was different. She was born in 2008, the year of the Olympics. The economy was booming. They bought a house before she was born. After she arrived, the value tripled. So before I even met her, I heard her name. A name filled with hope, the opposite of my burden. Lily. 3 Police Station. A female officer blocked my mom. "Ma'am! This is a police station! No hitting!" My cheek burned. But my mom, restrained by the officer, looked at me like a predator. "You've always been manipulative!" "You told the school to send your grades to my phone! I know you! You just wanted your sister to see them!" "Look at you. How dare you compare yourself to her?!" Compare? I wouldn't dare. The scale of love in my family was permanently tipped toward Lily. She was young. She was talented. Dancing was hard work. My mom’s mantra: "We suffer now to support Lily. When she becomes a principal dancer, she'll take care of us all!" But the only person "suffering" and "cutting back" was me. Three bedrooms. The big sunny one was Lily’s. The one with the balcony was my parents'. The north-facing room was turned into a dance studio with mirrors. Where did I sleep? The attic. Half a window. No sun. Piles of junk. Leaks when it rained. Even then, Lily complained. When I came down to use the bathroom at night, she’d hug Mom and whisper: "It sounds like a ghost walking. Scary." Mom would scream at me: "Go back up! Who told you to come down?!" I used to lie in that attic, telling myself: College will be better. In college, I'll have a dorm. A real bed. A desk. I won't have to sneak around like a thief to pee. I had no idea that in college, poverty would be a different kind of torture. When Mom refused to let me come home, I tried to find a job. But I had no experience, could only work three months, and needed housing. Only the shady motel near campus would take me. Front desk. $1,500 a month. Room and board included. Then came the day the school emailed grades to parents. That day, my mom exploded. She seemed to forget she was the one who refused to pay for my ticket home. "School's out and you're not home? Where are you whoring around?!" "You're grown now, wings are hard, huh? Don't care about your family? Your sister got scolded by her dance teacher yesterday and cried all day! Where were you?! Not a peep!" She screamed for thirty minutes. In the background, I heard my dad comforting Lily. Finally, she delivered the verdict: "If you don't want to come home, then don't come back! Ever!" "Figure out your own tuition next semester!" "Mom?!" I gasped. Click. She hung up. Two seconds later, a text from Dad. [Sarah, Mom is just upset because Lily got yelled at. Don't take it to heart.] [But can you tell the school not to send your grades? Lily saw your 4.0 GPA and had a breakdown...] I stared at the screen. My heartbeat drowned out the lobby noise. Every word pushed me further away. They were a happy family of three. I was the extra. 4 I stood at the motel front desk, silent for a long time. I was so lost in thought I didn't notice the hand reaching out behind me. It squeezed my shoulder. Not painful, but disgusting. I jumped. It was the boss. "Sarah, I heard you on the phone. Money trouble?" He was old, almost my dad’s age. Since I started, he’d been creepy. Touching me, knocking on the female staff dorm door at night. The cleaning lady, a tough older woman, had scared him off by yelling, "Who's there?!" Now, facing him, I stepped back. "No. No trouble." He squeezed past me to get a soda from the mini-fridge, pressing his fat stomach against my back. I felt suffocated. I wanted to scream. You have a wife and daughter! But I didn't dare. Because I had no money. Poverty stripped away my dignity. I had no confidence to fight back. Before leaving, he pinched my shoulder again. "You know where to find me if you need help." I clenched my fists, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Payday is tomorrow. Any issues?" he asked. I deflated. "No issues." That evening, I lay on the iron bunk in the staff room. The cleaning lady asked if I wanted dinner. The boss added a chicken leg for everyone. Thinking of his eyes, I felt sick. My stomach growled, but I said no. I scrolled through my phone. My roommates were in Korea, posting food pics. My dorm leader, Jen, posted a pic of a stray dog she rescued. Fed him a whole pack of sausages and he was still hungry! Had to buy a bun too! The dog looked sleek and happy on her leather sofa. I laughed bitterly. The dog lived better than me. I scrolled down. I sat up straight. It was Lily. The first photo was her and my parents standing at the gate of Juilliard, smiling. [Thanks Mom and Dad for taking me to my dream school! See you in two years, Juilliard!] The comments were full of relatives praising her. [Go Lily!] My parents replied to every single one. Except one. My aunt asked: [You're all in New York? Where is Sarah?] Ignored.
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