Chapter 6: Runaways and IOUs

At school, I was not only free, but finally felt like a normal person. I slept in the dorm during the day, worked at night—night shifts paid two dollars more per hour.

My feet ached, but I didn’t mind. Each dollar saved brought me closer to freedom.

One day, while delivering documents, it suddenly poured rain. I ran into a coffee shop for shelter and suddenly thought of Sean—the bright, movie-star boy who loved coffee. I wanted to try it too. I ordered the cheapest, plain coffee—two bucks—and sipped it all day.

The bitter taste made my eyes water, but I drank every drop.

I finally paid off Yvette before New Year. That year, I spent Thanksgiving in Chicago with my brother. He spent two days at the computer, found me a special offer plane ticket from St. Louis to Chicago—$89, cheaper than the train. That was my first time flying. It felt so empty and peaceful above the clouds.

I pressed my forehead to the window, watching the world shrink below. For the first time, I believed I could rise above my past.

No! I don’t want to be just a speck of dust—I want to be an eagle soaring in the sky! I whispered the words to myself. Promising I’d never settle for less again.

My brother bought a lot of seafood, made a big table of dishes, and wouldn’t let me help. We squeezed into his tiny apartment for hotpot—the beef balls were so hot, I asked why he didn’t go home for Thanksgiving. He gave me all the lamb. “I just found out Mom stole your tuition.”

He looked at me, eyes full of guilt and love. I shook my head, telling him it didn’t matter anymore.

I thought my brother would be angry, blame me for not telling him. But he said nothing, just kept giving me food. Scholarly people always understand what’s right. He told me his job was great, he earned a lot; told me to eat more, and if I needed money, to tell him, not to starve myself.

He got drunk and said a lot, but I have a bad memory—I didn’t remember much.

I fell asleep on his couch, warm and safe for the first time in years. I wished the night would never end.

I stayed in Chicago for a week. We wandered through museums and parks, eating street food and laughing until our sides hurt. I snapped photos of everything, wanting to remember every moment.

Before I left, my brother asked if I wanted to take the GRE—said if I did, he’d still support me. I promised I’d think about it. But deep down, I just wanted to make him proud.

In sophomore year, the customer service boss asked if I wanted to be a livestream host—they could give me commission, but since it was a public job, they were afraid I wouldn’t want to. Base salary was two thousand, plus commission—why not?

I hesitated, nerves jangling, but the extra money was too good to pass up.

My stepmom still called, but I never answered. I blocked her number. Focusing on building a life that was finally mine.

At that time, livestreaming was just starting—few people did it. My job was simple: introduce products, talk and promote them. After twenty years, inferiority and timidity seemed etched into my bones—I couldn’t shake it, so even such a simple job, I struggled with. The boss’s wife never blamed me—she always said a young girl willing to do livestreaming was brave.

She watched my first streams, offering gentle feedback and encouragement. Her belief in me made me believe in myself. Just a little.

I memorized every product introduction, practiced in front of the mirror day and night. Luckily, there weren’t many classes then, or my grades would’ve suffered.

I lost track of time, my days blurring into a cycle of study, work, and streaming. I watched my follower count climb, disbelief and pride warring in my chest.

Time passed quickly—two years went by just like that. My livestream suddenly exploded—overnight, I gained tens of thousands of fans.

We celebrated with takeout pizza and soda, laughing until our sides hurt. I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I deserved this happiness.

I took the bonus and went to the mall—even though it was summer, I bought a discounted winter coat for next season. I hung the coat in my closet, running my fingers over the soft lining.

My dad brought my stepmom to my school. My heart pounded as I watched them from a distance. Dread coiling in my stomach.

I was afraid they’d cause a scene with my teachers, so I went to meet them. I took them to a diner near school—Dad and my stepmom ordered over $40 worth of food, lots of meat. I didn’t eat or say a word. I stared at the cracked Formica table, counting the seconds until I could leave.

My stepmom couldn’t stand it: “Mariah, you haven’t come home or called since starting college.”

Dad ordered more food. “Do you have money? Your brother got into trouble—beat someone up. They want compensation. We’ve scraped together everything, but we’re still short three grand.”

I looked at them coldly. “How much is the compensation?”

“Thirty grand.”

I said, word by word, “If you can’t pay, let him go to jail. I have no money.”

My stepmom grabbed my hand. “Mariah, we know you’re working—help your brother. After all, you’re related by blood.”

When I didn’t respond, she threatened. Her voice was shrill, but I didn’t flinch. I’d learned how to survive people like her.

I felt sorry for my brother—I even asked my stepmom why she didn’t ask him for money. She mumbled that he needed to live too. Forget it—after all, I’m just a girl.

I bit back a laugh, the irony too much to bear. I’d always been good enough to take from, but never good enough to matter.

In the end, I gave them the money—the $700 I had left after buying the coat. I wrote the guarantee myself, making them sign and date it. My hands shook, but my voice was steady.

“This kid helps her brother but still makes us write a guarantee—really ungrateful.”

Their words rolled off me like rain on a windshield.

But I didn’t care. I was already twenty-one—I wouldn’t be manipulated anymore.

I walked out of that diner into the sunlight. Lighter than I’d felt in years. I was free.