Chapter 1 — The Mother Who Stole Her Dream

My roommate watched me eat white rice for a month, and finally couldn't bear it anymore. She secretly took a photo and sent it to the parents' group, along with the words:

“Miss, your daughter eats like this every day at school.”

My mother immediately responded with a sixty-second voice message, her voice ringing like a bell. Not to pity the child, not to transfer money, but to scold my roommate for a whole minute.

“Is it the turn of an outsider like you to meddle in our family affairs?”

My roommate was so angry that he threw the phone on the bed, and I laughed. Because my mother didn't know that the photo had been forwarded to someone else's phone. The next day, a car stopped in front of the school gate.

01

In the Dance Academy's cafeteria, the cheapest dish is a bowl of white rice. One bad. No food, no soup, just rice. The first time she saw me ordering something like that, the restaurant staff member asked:

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

She looked at me, didn't ask any more questions, just gave me a bowl full of rice. That day was the beginning of the month, my mother had just transferred me five hundred yuan. The note clearly states: Living expenses this month. There is also an additional sentence at the back: Spend sparingly, don't always think about delicious food. My family does not open a bank. I stared at that line for a long time. After that, I placed the phone face down on the table, carried the rice to the seat in the most hidden corner. Dance students are most afraid of being fat. My classmates all thought I was controlling my weight. Only Duong Duong didn't believe it. She lived in the same room as me, witnessed with her own eyes every day that I woke up at six in the morning to do leg presses, learned basic techniques for eight hours, practiced in the afternoon until my legs were shaking, and at night I had to sew up my torn dance shoes. A person like that who only eats white rice is not losing weight. But there's no money. The first week, she didn't say anything. In the second week, she took the egg from her lunch box and gave it to me. I picked it back up.

“I don't eat yolks.”

She stared at me.

“What about the whites?”

“Don't eat either.”

She was so angry that she burst out laughing.

“Khuong Le, you look really professional when you're speechless.”

I bowed my head to scoop rice. White rice has no flavor in the mouth. But it helps fill the stomach. As long as I'm not so hungry that I faint, I can still dance. In the middle of the month, the class began preparing for the graduation performance. The instructor chose me to be the main dancer. The eyes of the whole gym were on me. There are people who admire it. Some people are not convinced. Duong Duong stood in the back row, giving me a thumbs up. I don't laugh. I know, being a main dancer means paying for costumes, makeup, and synchronized dance shoes to use on performance day. The class president sends a notice to the group. Each person pays six hundred yuan in advance, any excess will be returned, if any less, he will pay more. I look at my account balance. Three hundred and seventeen coins and six dimes. In it, I saved two hundred yuan to pay electricity and water bills and buy ointment at the beginning of next month. The old wound in my leg hurts again every time it rains. I opened the notification in the group and then turned it off again. Duong Duong poked his head down from the top bunk.

“Why haven't you registered yet?”

I replied:

“Later.”

She didn't ask further. At ten o'clock in the evening, the dormitory lights were turned off. I Sit in front of the table, take out half the leftover lunch box from noon. The rice has hardened. I poured hot water in, soaked it until it was soft, then swallowed each piece. Duong Duong reached out from the bed curtain, turned on the small table lamp and made a "click" sound. The light shined down on the lunch box in my hand. Her face immediately darkened.

“Do you only eat this for dinner?”

I closed the lid of the lunch box.

“I ate in the afternoon.”

“What to eat?”

I did not answer. She got off the bed and stood barefoot in front of me.

“Khuong Le, don't lie to me.”

I hid the lunch box behind me.

“It's really okay.”

She looked at me, her eyes slightly red.

“Your mother only gives you five hundred yuan every month?”

I did not answer. She already knew the answer. The phone on the table suddenly lit up. It's a voice message sent by my mother, Dinh Mai. I click open. Her voice was so loud, everyone in the room heard it clearly.

"Your little brother has to study extra this weekend. I just signed him up for another sprint test preparation class. Don't ask me for money this month."

“Girls learning to dance only burns money.”

“Save as much as you can.”

"After all, your school has a cafeteria, so you can't starve to death."

The voice message ends. The room was silent. Duong Duong's hands clenched into fists. I locked the phone screen and continued to eat the soaked rice. The grains of rice stick together into clumps, making the throat dry when swallowed. Duong Duong suddenly reached out and grabbed the lunch box.

“Don't eat anymore.”

I raised my head to look at her.

“Give it back to me.”

“Do not pay.”

“Duong Duong.”

Her chest heaved with anger.

“How long are you going to hold out?”

I looked at the lunch box in her hand, then glanced at the phone. Before the screen went completely dark, I saw Dinh Mai's previous message. Next month there will probably only be three hundred left, and the family will also be in difficulty. I smiled softly.

“Almost.”