Bought by the Heiress, Left for Her Crush
Chapter 2: Born to Hustle
Back in elementary school, I was already the go-to for odd jobs. My deskmate was a little princess—her desk drawer stuffed with lunch money, and I was always on call for five bucks a trip.
Looking back, it’s almost funny how early I started hustling—most kids were still figuring out their times tables, and I was already pocketing cash for escort duty. Those crinkly dollar bills always smelled like cafeteria pizza and cheap hand sanitizer. My shelf was lined with neon plastic piggy banks from the corner Family Dollar, each one so stuffed I’d have to pry them open with a butter knife. My foster mom just shook her head, calling me her little entrepreneur—half proud, half worried.
Eventually, the princess transferred schools. With the cash I’d saved, I finished elementary school—one step ahead, always.
Middle school turned me into a businessman: every lunch break, I’d haul in a backpack overflowing with snacks from the convenience store outside. Oreos, Takis, Sour Patch Kids—all marked up fifty cents. My locker always smelled like Skittles and potato chips.
My best customer was a kid named Derek—pale, always neat, a wad of bills in his pocket. I never knew what he was thinking.
Every recess, Derek would buy dozens of dollars’ worth of snacks, but never ate them. He handed them out like a party favor.
Snack wrappers piled up, and he’d call me over to clean. Twenty bucks per sweep.
I was relentless, always hustling around Derek, always chasing that extra dollar.
Most students had no clue about money. I made a killing—three hundred bucks a day at my peak. Student cash is easy; kids haven’t learned what it’s worth yet.
I’d head home after school, hands sticky from counting bills, and feel like I’d made it. For a foster kid like me, it felt like proof I could hustle my way into anything. Sometimes, I’d pass by Mr. Johnson at the corner store—he’d wink and say, "Save me a Snickers next time, champ."
No parents, just me and my hustle. I learned quick that if I didn’t look out for myself, no one else would.
