Chapter 3: Pizza, Punishment, and the Price of Belonging

A month later, on a rare lively Friday night in the dorm, Jamie suggests, “No class tomorrow—let’s order some late-night pizza and watch a horror movie. My treat.”

The hallway is filled with laughter and the greasy smell of someone’s microwaved popcorn. For a moment, the dorm feels like a TV sitcom set—everyone chattering over each other, the glow of string lights reflecting off the window.

“No, no, let’s split it,” Megan says. “You paid last time.”

“How about... I order this time.” I muster up my courage, biting my lip as I pull out my phone. I can almost see the spreadsheet on our fridge, every cell a trap.

“Just to thank you all for putting up with me this past month. My mom checks on me so much, sometimes she even bothers you.” I scratch my head, embarrassed, cheeks burning. I never thought I’d be grateful for the chance to buy greasy pizza.

It’s my first time offering to treat, and my first attempt at using Family Wallet for a ‘big’ expense—four combo meals, totaling $23.99. My finger hovers over the app, but I press send before I can overthink it. I want to belong, just for tonight.

As soon as I pay, my phone buzzes violently. The screen lights up like a cop car, and I know what’s coming.

The word “Mom” on the screen makes my heart leap. I shoot a quick glance at my roommates. Jamie gives me a thumbs up; Megan is already scrolling through Netflix for a scary movie.

“Hello, Mom...”

“Nina Thompson. Where are you right now?” Her voice is so sharp it cuts the air, slicing through my fragile little slice of normalcy. I step into the hallway, searching for privacy, but I know there’s nowhere to hide.

“It’s 10:30 at night. What did you spend $23.99 on? Who are you with?”

I hurry out of the dorm, lowering my voice. “Mom, I just ordered a late-night snack with my roommates...”

“Don’t lie.”

Her voice spikes. “The dorm? You need $23.99 in the dorm? Are you out with boys? I knew it, as soon as you left home you’d start acting out.”

“It’s really just pizza, Mom, I can let my roommates talk to you—”

“No need. Go back to the dorm. No—turn on your video right now. I want to see for myself where you are.”

I have no chance to explain, only to obey. My hands tremble as I start the video call. The camera sweeps over my three stunned roommates and the fresh takeout on the table. My shame is a fifth roommate now, sitting beside me.

My mother’s face fills the screen, makeup flawless but twisted with anger. Even pixelated, her glare is unmistakable.

“Hi, Mrs. Thompson...” Jamie greets her timidly, her hand awkwardly waving. Priya just looks away, pretending to read.

My mother ignores her, her eyes fixed on me.

“This is your idea of a late-night snack?”

“Eating greasy food at this hour?”

“Can your stomach handle that?”

“Is your living expense meant for you to waste like this?”

Her questions hit me one after another. My roommates’ faces shift from surprise to embarrassment to indifference. The room feels colder, the pizza box suddenly out of place.

Megan turns away, pulling her bed curtain shut. I can almost hear the silent agreement—best to stay out of it.

“Mom, please, let’s talk later...” I’m almost begging.

“Now. Return the pizza immediately.”

“Then write a letter explaining your actions and thoughts tonight. I want it tomorrow morning.”

After the call, the dorm falls silent. Even the TV feels too loud, and someone turns down the volume.

I stand there, clutching the now-cold pizza, tears silently streaming down my face. The cheesy smell that once made my mouth water now just makes me want to puke.

“Nina...” Jamie finally breaks the silence. “Has your mom... always been like this?”

I nod, unable to speak. I can barely breathe, let alone talk. I wipe my face with my sleeve, hoping they’ll forget what they saw.

The smell of pizza makes me nauseous—just like my mother’s all-consuming control suffocates me. I want to throw it out the window, but I just stand there, frozen.

“Um... we get it.” Megan peeks out from behind her curtain. “But next time... maybe don’t treat us.” She tries to sound gentle, but I hear the edge in her words. Her words sting, sharper than any scolding. I nod, wishing I could unzip my skin and step out of this life.

I know, as always, I won’t make friends at this school. Even when I try to fit in, I’m the one who ruins the night.

That night, I curl up under my blanket, crying as I type the ‘letter’ my mother demanded. Each word feels like a confession I don’t believe in. I save it as a draft, just in case.

At 2 a.m., my phone vibrates again. A long string of texts from my mother:

[Did you finish the letter?]

[Mom is doing this for your own good. The world outside is dangerous.]

[You don’t know how to manage money at all. Mom is teaching you.]

[Starting tomorrow, your Family Wallet limit is $5 a day.]

[Remember this lesson. Mom loves you.]

Staring at these messages, I suddenly realize a terrifying truth: this isn’t love. It’s imprisonment, disguised as love. I write the word in my notebook, pressing so hard the pen tears the paper.

My mother weaves an invisible net with money, trapping me so tightly that I don’t even dare to struggle. It’s not a safety net—it’s a cage, and I’m the bird who’s learned not to sing.

The next morning, while my roommates are still asleep, I quietly delete the letter full of lies.

Instead, I write a line in my notebook: “How to apply for student loans and on-campus part-time jobs.”

My mother may never understand: her control won’t make me better. It will only teach me to lie, to hide, and eventually, to rebel. The words come easier now—my anger is a secret weapon.

That day, as I wrote that line, I knew I’d finally taken the first step to break free. Even if I have to crawl, I’ll get there.