The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 01

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 01

The day my own mother, Miranda Sullivan, sent me onto a reality show for troubled youth, the production team already had their trending-topic caption locked and loaded.

#Mother Sends Daughter to the Countryside to Cure Her Princess Syndrome#

The crew served our first working-day meal, hoping to film me, the notorious spoiled rich girl, turning up my nose at plain cornbread.

But while everyone else frowned and pushed their plates away, I hunched over the wicker basket and ate until I could barely stop.

The comment section blew up, accusing me of putting on an act.

The host, Lucas, noticed me choking, shoulders shaking, and handed me a glass of water.

“Have you never had a full meal before?”

I clutched a half-eaten piece of cornbread in my fist and finally told the truth.

“I only get $300 a month for food.”

Back in the observation room, Mom’s glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

She shot to her feet in an instant.

“Who told her I only give her three hundred?”

***

Before we reached the village, my father, Thomas Lane, pulled the car over to the side of the road.

He didn’t unlock the door right away. Instead, he twisted around to stare straight at me.

“Hazel, once the cameras start rolling, watch what you say.”

My fingers tightened around the strap of my backpack, and I nodded.

His frown deepened. “Don’t just nod. I asked if you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Above all, don’t mention money.”

His voice dropped to a low, sharp murmur as he locked eyes with mine.

“Your mother hates it when you beg for cash. If you blab on national television, she might cut even this tiny allowance off for good.”

A chill ran down my spine.

Three hundred dollars every month. It had to cover every single thing: meals, bus fares, feminine products, and my phone bill.

Thomas told me Mom was swamped with business and had a short temper, that she hated seeing me act entitled.

He explained that I’d lived with him after the divorce because my mother hadn’t wanted me.

Once her company took off, guilt had gnawed at her, so she sent over a token monthly stipend.

His words echoed in my head. “Don’t get your hopes up. Even with her money, it was never meant for you to waste.”

The night before I left, Mom had called.

I’d just stepped out of the cafeteria. My bank card balance read $3.20.

The cafeteria counter sold sandwiches for a dollar fifty each.

I stood there staring for ages, then walked away empty-handed.

I needed two dollars for the bus ride home. That leftover change only covered a one-way trip.

When I answered the phone, Mom’s tone was frigid. “Hazel, your father says you’ve been pestering him for more money again?”

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. “I wasn’t pestering him.”

She paused for a beat. “Oh really? Then why is he telling me you’re already broke this month?”

I couldn’t find the right words.

It was true I’d run out of funds. But I’d never dared ask for extra cash. I’d only asked Thomas if I could get next month’s three hundred early.

My period was coming, and I couldn’t afford feminine products.

On the other end of the line, Mom fought to keep her irritation in check.

“I’m not saying you can never spend money. But a person needs to know some self-control. Your father struggles enough raising you alone.”

The call cut off.

I lingered outside the cafeteria for a long while. The stinging wind burned my eyes.

I tried so hard to pinch every penny. Why did I still come across as ungrateful and greedy in her eyes?

Lucas walked over to the car window and tapped the glass with a warm smile.

“Mr. Lane, we’ve arrived.”

Thomas instantly shifted into a new persona. His eyes drooped, his jaw tightened, perfectly embodying a worn-out father tormented by his difficult daughter.

“Thank you for all your trouble, Lucas. Her mother hates to be harsh, but this girl desperately needs a taste of real hardship.”

The camera zoomed in close.

Lucas turned toward me. “Hazel, do you know why you joined The Youth Do-Over Initiative?”

I stared into the dark, gaping camera lens. It looked like a bottomless well.

Thomas pressed his palm lightly against my shoulder, a quiet warning.

I answered, “To experience a simpler life.”

Lucas pressed further. “Anything else?”

I hesitated for a moment. “To learn to appreciate what I have.”

A faint, satisfied smile touched Thomas’s lips. “She’s just stubborn.”

“Her mother gives her money, yet she’s always complaining it isn’t enough. When I try to discipline her, she thinks I’m breathing down her neck.”

“That’s why her mother made this tough call and sent her here to mature.”

I stood motionless beside him, as if an ugly label had been stamped across my forehead for the whole world to read.

Spoiled.

Picky.

Unthankful.

The truth was, the night before I left, I’d eaten only half a stale, squashed bread roll.

Crumbs scattered across the table when I bit into it.

I picked up every last crumb and ate it, refusing to let anything go to waste.