Chapter 2 The Doors That Closed

I transferred the $1,000 my mother had given me for living expenses back to her on the subway back to campus.

After I did, all I had left in my bank account was a measly $871.

It took me a few seconds to remember where the rest had gone.

I'd spent $46 on textbooks at the start of the semester, a little over $70 on necessities, and about $10 on printing.

That came to $129 in total.

I stared at my balance for a long time before transferring the $871. "I'll pay back the remaining $129 as soon as I can."

My mother replied almost instantly, "You've only had $1,000 for a few days. How did you spend so much?"

I quickly explained, "It was all for textbooks and necessities."

"Doesn't the campus library have free textbooks? Did you really have to buy necessities that cost so much? Nora, you really have no idea how to handle your finances."

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, forcing the tears back.

My nose burned, and a faint salty bitterness spread across my tongue.

I swallowed it.

Her accusations were so ironic because I remembered every dollar I'd spent, down to the last cent.

Yet, I would always be the greedy child who could never have enough in my dear mother's eyes.

After I got back to the dorm, I sat there for a long time before finally asking my roommate, "Could you lend me $150?"

She didn't ask a single question. Instead, she immediately transferred me $200.

I sent my mother the $129 I still owed her before returning the rest to my roommate.

My mother replied, "Now, that's more like it."

A few seconds later, another message came through. "Money is the least important thing. Don't become obsessed with it."

I stared at the screen as my vision slowly blurred.

I blinked several times, but I still couldn't see clearly. So, I set my phone face down on the desk.

I fell in love with programming back in high school.

One of my teachers had recommended that I attend a five-day algorithm training camp. It cost $2,800.

It was the first time anyone had told me I had talent.

I excitedly brought the notice home, but my mother barely glanced at it.

"$2,800 just to sit around coding for a few days? Your father hates it when kids use school as a reason to ask for money."

I told her my teacher thought I could win an award.

She snatched my phone away. "Don't bother him."

Later, the student who took my spot as my replacement won second prize.

I secretly looked at the list of winners over and over, but I kept telling myself that I was the one who was being greedy.

I never expected that a teacher would reach out to me in the group chat after I started college and say, "Nora, you should try the Collegiate Programming Contest."

The registration and equipment fees were $380.

Just $380.

Two days of part-time work would be enough to cover the cost.

So, I went to five stores near campus that very afternoon.

The coffee shop said they were fully staffed.

The bookstore owner saw my name and immediately looked uncomfortable. "Someone from your family already spoke to us. We're just a small store. We can't hire you."

The training center, convenience store, and restaurant all said the same thing.

The last place even told me outright, "Mr. Callahan told us not to let you work part-time."

By the time I trudged out, it was completely dark.

One store after another had hiring signs glowing along the street. Yet, it felt like every door was closed to me for the first time since forever.

My mother wouldn't give me money.

My father thought I cared too much about money.

Now, I wasn't even allowed to earn it myself.

I suddenly had no idea what I could do.

At 7:50 p.m., a reminder popped up in the group chat. "You have 10 minutes left to register."

My roommate saw that I still hadn't paid and picked up her phone. "I'll give you $400."

"No." I immediately stopped her hand. "I already owe you money."

She looked at me. "Nora, tell me. Do you even have $100 right now?"

My throat tightened.

I wanted to smile and say it was fine, but I couldn't get a single word out, even after flapping my lips like a desperate fish.

The page refreshed at exactly 8 p.m.

"Registration is now closed."

The contest I'd been waiting three years for was gone just like that.

My tears fell before I could stop them.

My phone vibrated at that exact moment. It was my father.

"I heard you went looking for another part-time job. What exactly are you trying to do? Can't you put that energy toward something worthwhile?"

A few seconds later, he sent another message. "It looks like some things really are in your blood."

I stared at the screen as the tears came harder and harder.

All I wanted was to earn the $380 myself. I hadn't asked them for money or fought anyone for anything.

Even so, everything I did was still wrong.