The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 03

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 03

At two p.m., the production staff brought out takeout boxes for their own lunch.

The meals weren’t for us, but the rich aroma of pizza, fries, and scrambled eggs made my head snap up instinctively.

I stared for a moment before forcing my eyes away.

A hollow pain twisted in my stomach. I walked to the well to scrub our water buckets and splashed cold water on my cheeks.

Water trickled toward my mouth; for a split second, I almost stuck out my tongue to catch it.

How pathetic that would look.

I hung my head, hiding my shame from the cameras.

The girl with the white suitcase was Emma. She wandered over and handed me a paper napkin.

“You look so pale.”

I took it gratefully. “Thanks.”

She studied my face carefully. “Did you skip breakfast?”

“I ate this morning.” My fingers trembled as I told the lie.

Emma was about to press further, but a crew member called her over for additional filming shots, and she had to leave.

I leaned against the stone edge of the well, fighting the dark spots swimming before my eyes.

I had learned to endure hardship from a young age.

Back in fifth grade, our class planned a spring field trip that cost $120.

I brought the permission slip home to Thomas. He glanced at it and shoved it into a desk drawer.

“Field trips are a waste of money. The last thing your mother wants is you pestering her for random expenses.”

The next morning, the whole class boarded the school bus and left. I stayed behind alone in the classroom, completing worksheets.

My teacher asked why I hadn’t gone. I claimed motion sickness.

In junior high, my uniform sleeves had grown too short by the time fall arrived. When winter came, bare wrists poked out from the cuffs, numb and blue with cold.

My teacher repeatedly told my parents I needed new clothes.

When I mentioned it to Thomas, he shrugged it off.

“It still fits, don’t throw money away. Your mother is swamped with work. Don’t bother her with trivial nonsense.”

I wore that uniform through the bitter winter, telling classmates I was fine even as my fingers stiffened around my pencil.

Dusk finally rolled around, and our chores were nearly finished.

I bent down to gather an armful of firewood. The second I lifted the logs, my vision went black. I stumbled, and the wood scattered all over the dirt yard.

Lucas hurried toward me at once. “Hazel?”

I leaned against the wall and forced a faint smile. “I’m all right. I just lost my grip.”

He watched me closely for several long seconds. “Sit down and rest.”

“I’m okay.”

“Your lips are completely colorless.” His tone turned firm. “Have a seat.”

I sank against the courtyard wall. A crew member handed me warm water; I held it with both hands and sipped slowly.

The warmth trickled into my empty stomach, yet the hunger only sharpened.

At that moment, Mom’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, broadcast live from the observation room.

She watched me on the monitor and spoke directly to me. “Hazel, are you putting on a brave face again, hiding how worn out you are?”

I froze.

Her voice remained sharp. “Your father says you’re an expert at playing the victim in front of strangers. Don’t try that trick on this show.”

A buzzing roar filled my skull. Playing the victim?

I stared at my shaking hands, wanting to shout that I was genuinely starving.

But my lips parted, and all I could whisper was, “I’m not.”

Mom lapsed into silence. Her silent disappointment cut deeper than any harsh scolding; she had already decided I was guilty.

At six-thirty, a long wooden table was set up in the yard with cornbread, gumbo, pinto beans, and mashed potatoes.

“Seriously? This is all we get?”

“This stuff is so dry it’ll choke you.”

“Is there any egg?”

“I’ve gone all day without food, and this is the dinner they serve?”

Their voices faded into background noise.

My entire focus locked onto the overflowing basket of golden cornbread, steam curling upward, stacked higher than I had ever dared imagine.

For a heartbeat, everything felt surreal.