Chapter 2

My birthday. Eighteen.

Finished my shift, walked home near ten.

A plastic bag in my hand. Inside, a single, cheap cupcake from the gas station. Fifty cents.

I fumbled for the light switch. Nothing. Bulb was dead for sure.

Moonlight spilled through the grimy window. Good enough.

I sat by the window, placed the cupcake on the peeling laminate counter.

No candle. I pretended to stick one in, pretended to light it.

Closed my eyes. Wished for good grades, a way out.

Blew.

A loud banging on the flimsy trailer door.

"Open up! Rent's due!"

"Pay up or we're coming in!"

Not the first time. Still, I jumped.

Dad's gambling debts. He owed everyone.

I huddled in the corner, biting my lip to keep from crying.

They didn't wait. They kicked.

The wood splintered.

CRASH. The door flew open.

Three big, rough-looking guys stormed in.

One grabbed me by the arm, yanked me up. "Your old man ain't here, you'll do."

I dropped to my knees. Tears streamed down my face. "I don't have any money. He hasn't been home in days."

"Then we take what we can find!"

They tore the place apart. Drawers pulled out, contents dumped. My school backpack ripped open.

They found twenty dollars. My wages from tonight.

"Twenty bucks? Barely covers gas."

He pocketed it anyway.

The counter was kicked over. My cupcake, my fifty-cent wish, smashed on the floor, ground under a dirty boot.

They left, grumbling, leaving a wreck.

My birthday.

I pulled out my phone, trembling. The stream. I had to see.

Rewind to earlier today. Kendra's birthday.

Their mansion, bright, filled with people. A huge party.

Kendra in a designer dress. Mom hired a makeup artist.

"My beautiful girl, a princess," Mom cooed, hugging her.

Kendra beamed, happiness radiating from her.

A five-tiered cake on the dining table, covered in roses.

Presents piled high in the corner.

Such a beautiful, happy scene.

Such a stark, cruel contrast.

Same birthday. She had parents, a party, love.

I had... this.

The stream's chat was buzzing.

[The debt collectors are actors, right? Dad hires them.]

[Yeah, three times a month, like clockwork. Keeps the drama up.]

[Why don't they just take the girl? She's pretty.]

[She's too broken. No fun. The dad said it builds character. Makes her tough.]

Tough. I felt anything but.