Chapter 2: Three Days Without Food

Back in high school, my mom refused to give me even a dime. She said if I was so stubborn about school, I could go hungry. But I still went, clutching the eighty bucks I’d secretly saved.

That eighty dollars was my lifeline. Every night, I counted those bills, hiding them in a sock at the bottom of my battered dresser, terrified my little brother would find it and blow it on junk food. I’d buy day-old bagels at 7-Eleven, nurse a single Coke all day, but my stomach still growled loud enough that the girl next to me would stare.

I stretched that money for half a month, barely scraping by. When it finally ran out, I lived on water. The classroom didn’t even have a fountain. I filled my stomach with icy bottled water. It was fall, and the cold made my insides feel frozen. When I shook myself, I could hear the water sloshing inside.

Sometimes, I’d sneak into the hallway and fill my bottle from the janitor’s closet. Mr. Hall, the custodian, would wink but never say a word. On windy days, the old windows rattled and the draft cut through my thin hoodie. I’d sit at my desk, arms wrapped around my stomach, wishing I was anywhere else.

At fourteen, I went hungry for three days straight. After that, I felt like I could bite anyone I saw. Even the grass along the road tempted me—I picked some and tasted it.

It was bitter and stringy, but for a minute, I pretended it was salad. Hunger messes with your head, makes you desperate enough to chew on weeds and hope nobody’s watching from a passing pickup truck.

Just as I was about to faint, Derek was eating next to me. I stared at him, and he looked back. I didn’t move, just locked eyes with his food.

He had a PB&J with the crusts cut off and a thermos of Campbell’s soup steaming up the lid. The whole cafeteria faded away: just me, Derek, and that sandwich. The buzz of lunchroom chatter, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, the tang of ketchup in the air faded into background noise.

Derek was so unnerved by my look that he quietly asked if I wanted to eat with him.

My eyes lit up instantly. “Can I?”

I could barely believe it. My voice came out a croak, but Derek, fidgeting in his seat, just nodded and nudged his lunch my way. The clatter of his fork on the table was the sweetest music I’d heard in weeks.

He let out a sigh of relief and nodded. “Eat. My mom packed me too much anyway, I can’t finish it all..."

The way he said it, all casual, like sharing lunch was no big deal. But for me, it was everything. I picked up half the sandwich with trembling hands, trying to hide how fast I wolfed it down. My cheeks burned, but Derek just gave me a tiny, crooked smile.

I wanted to say thank you, but my mouth was too full and my eyes were stinging. I blinked hard, chewing so fast it hurt. That sandwich tasted like home.

Later, Derek told me that my look didn’t seem like I wanted to eat his food, but like I wanted to eat him. He said it scared him so much that the only way he could save himself was to hand over his lunch.

He’d crack up telling that story, stretching his arms wide like I’d gone full zombie, ready to gnaw his arm off. "Man, I thought you were gonna bite me right on the nose." I’d laugh too, even though back then I probably would’ve if it meant a piece of that sandwich.