The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 02

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 02

Once the cameras were rolling, Thomas delivered another convincing performance right before leaving.

He squeezed my hand, his eyes glistening with fake tears.

“Hazel, I don’t ask that you become wildly successful. I only hope you stop breaking your mother’s heart.”

The camera drifted down to my sneakers.

The camera drifted to my sneakers—faded gray from countless washes, a long split along the sole patched with clear packing tape the night before. Wind still seeped through when I walked.

The crew assumed I’d worn beat-up old shoes just for the show. So no one bothered to ask any questions.

Lucas led our group into the farm compound. Four other contestants were staying with us.

One girl dragged a plush-covered suitcase; a boy in high-end headphones asked about Wi-Fi immediately; a brother and sister bickered nonstop about the sun and dirt roads.

The yard wasn’t run-down: gray brick walls, a wooden door, and a kitchen stacked with firewood and cornmeal. The earthy scent of grain made my stomach clench.

Lucas announced our daily assignments: sweep the yard, haul buckets of water, split firewood, feed the chickens.

We wouldn’t get dinner until every chore was done.

Someone immediately protested. “What about lunch?”

The director chuckled from behind the camera. “This experience is about relying less on convenience.”

As the group groaned, I stayed silent.

Less comfort? I’d never had much to begin with.

When my first semester of university started, Thomas transferred my usual three hundred dollars, with a note attached: [Spend wisely.]

I needed to buy a second-hand mattress, textbooks, a basin, hangers, and cover class dues.

I tallied every expense: used mattress twenty-five, second-hand books eighty-six, basin six-ninety, shampoo nine-ninety, course fee fifty.

I added the numbers three separate times. It still wasn’t enough.

During orientation week, I ate one meal a day for two weeks: two plain rolls and free broth at noon, hot water at night.

When my vision blurred from hunger, I’d crouch down and wait for the dizziness to pass.

Once a professor noticed how pale I looked and asked if I felt sick. I lied and told him I hadn’t slept well.

In reality, crippling hunger gnawed at my insides.

A cafeteria worker saw me returning day after day for free broth and slipped an extra portion of fried potato chunks into my plate one afternoon.

I almost burst into tears on the spot.

After that, I avoided her serving station. I feared she would recognize me. I dreaded anyone figuring out I could barely afford food.

During our midday break, the crew scheduled a live video call with family members.

I was stunned when Mom picked up.

She sat upright in her office, makeup flawless.

I spoke softly, “Mom.”

She met my gaze, and her first words were, “Are you worn out from all the work this morning?”

I shook my head, ready to answer, but she cut me off.

“It’s good for you to push yourself. Your father says you live too comfortably at school and whine over every little thing.”

My throat tightened. “I don’t complain about anything.”

Mom’s brows drew together. “Hazel, I’m tired of your denials. Your father showed me messages where you kept begging for things. You’re nineteen. You can’t keep chasing pleasure.”

I was utterly stunned. What luxuries had I enjoyed?

With cameras surrounding me and Thomas’s warning fresh in mind, I dug my nails into my palm. “I understand.”

Her silence only fueled her frustration. “You always say you understand. Hazel, I want you to truly grasp this.”

The feed cut out, the screen turning black.

I sat on a small wooden stool, suddenly overwhelmed by cold.

Jenna once called me stubborn and tight-lipped.

But it wasn’t stubbornness—it was terror.

If I told the truth, I might lose that tiny monthly allowance entirely.