The insistent morning light filtered through the thin curtains of my dorm room, doing little to alleviate the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. My roommate, Laura, burst in, whispering frantically, "Julia, you're in trouble!"
I barely registered her words. My mind was a dizzy whirl of calculations: how could I make £1.50 stretch to a cafeteria meal? My hands trembled, my limbs heavy with hunger.
"What's wrong?" I asked faintly.
Laura leaned closer. "Remember Molly Webb from your class? The one you had a row with yesterday? Her brother is best friends with Stefan Lockwood—the school bully. You're done for. Stefan said he's going to settle the score for his 'honorary sister.'"
I fell silent. Molly Webb. Was it really a big deal? My mind replayed yesterday's cafeteria chaos, tinged with embarrassment and defiance.
Yesterday, I had bolted for the cafeteria as soon as class ended. Halfway there, my energy gave out, but I pressed on. By the time I arrived, trays clattered, students jostled, and the line crawled. At the register, the cashier's voice froze me:
"Not enough money on your card."
My stomach lurched. "Could I… put some of this food back?"
The cafeteria lady frowned. "You've hardly got anything as it is. Are you on a diet?"
"Yes! Yes!" I nodded frantically, cheeks burning.
Molly Webb, standing behind me, overheard. "Who are you calling fat?" she demanded, and before I could respond, she flipped my tray. My meager meal—grilled chicken and rice—crashed to the floor.
Rage surged. "If you have something to say, say it properly! Why flip my food?"
Molly rolled her eyes. "So what if I did?"
Fueled by hunger and humiliation, I pushed her. She stumbled backward. Snatching her meal card, I declared, "That's compensation for spilling my food!" and swiped it for a dozen indulgent items before tossing it back.
By the time I returned to the dorm, my roommates swarmed me. "Did you really hit Molly? It's all over the forum!"
I curled under the duvet, scrolling through the campus forum. Comments ranged from cheers—"Lady Hercules! Heroic soul!"—to ominous warnings: "Watch out for Stefan's revenge."
Lady Hercules? I was just a starving student, surviving on £200 a month, while everyone else seemed to glide through university effortlessly.