Chapter 1

Just before we entered the village, my father, Harry Witt, pulled over to the side of the road.

He didn't open his door right away. Instead, he turned around to look at me. "Jennifer Witt, when we're in front of those cameras, keep your mouth shut."

I clutched the straps of my backpack and nodded.

He frowned. "Don't just nod. Did you hear me?"

"Yes," I replied.

"And whatever you do, don't mention money."

He locked eyes with me, keeping his voice low. "Your mom hates it when you ask for money. If you say something stupid on this show, she might stop sending what little she gives us now."

My fingertips went cold.

30 bucks a month. My food, bus fare, pads, and phone bill all came out of that.

Harry said my mother, Mandy Grant, was a busy businesswoman with a sharp edge and that she couldn't stand it when I acted spoiled.

He told me she had given him full custody back when I was a kid because she didn't want me.

Later, once her business took off, she felt a little guilty, so she started sending a token allowance every month.

He always reminded me, "Don't get your hopes up. Just because she has money doesn't mean she's going to waste it on you."

Mandy had called me the night before.

I was just stepping out of the cafeteria at the time.

There were only 32 cents left on my meal card.

I could see hot meat pies behind the glass counter for 50 cents each.

I stared at them for a long time, but I didn't buy one.

The bus ride home cost 20 cents. What I had left was only enough for one way.

When the call connected, Mandy's voice was icy. "Jennifer, your dad said you threw a fit over money again?"

I gripped my phone tightly. "I didn't."

She paused for a second. "You didn't? Then why did he say you're running short again this month?"

I couldn't say a word.

I really was short this month, but I hadn't dared to ask for more.

I had only asked Harry if he could give me next month's 30 dollars first.

My period was coming, and I couldn't even afford pads.

On the other end, Mandy held back her temper. "I'm not telling you not to spend money, but you need to draw the line somewhere. Your dad isn't having an easy time looking after you, either."

After she hung up, I stood outside the cafeteria for a long time.

The wind blew so hard that my eyes stung.

I just didn't get it.

I was already saving as much as I could.

Why was I still so terrible in her eyes?

Outside the car window, Arthur Doyle, the host, was walking toward us.

He smiled and tapped on the glass. "Mr. Witt, we're here."

Harry's expression shifted in an instant.

The corners of his eyes drooped and his lips pressed tight as he put on the act of a father heartbroken over his daughter.

"Mr. Doyle, I'll leave her in your hands. Her mother hates to send her away too, but this kid really needs to learn things the hard way."

The camera zoomed in.

Arthur asked me, "Jennifer, do you know why you're taking part in 'Youth Reboot'?"

I looked straight into the dark camera lens. It looked like a bottomless well.

Harry pressed his hand lightly on my shoulder.

"To experience real life," I said.

"And?" Arthur pressed.

I hesitated for a second. "To learn to appreciate what I have."

Harry smiled in approval. "She's just too stubborn to admit it. Her mother gives her an allowance, but she always complains it's not enough. Whenever I scold her, she acts like we're breathing down her neck. That's why her mother finally put her foot down and sent her here to break her bad habits."

I stood beside him, feeling like labels had just been slapped onto me in front of everyone.

Wasteful.

Picky.

Ungrateful.

Yet before I headed home last night, all I had eaten was half a stale bread roll. It was already squashed flat.

Every bite left crumbs scattered across the table.

I picked them up one by one and put them in my mouth.

I couldn't afford to waste a thing.

Before Harry left, he put on one last show for the camera.

He took my hand, his eyes brimming with tears. "Jennifer, I don't care about you making it big. Just don't break your mother's heart anymore."

The camera panned down to my shoes.

The canvas sneakers were washed out to a faded gray, with a split along the side seam.

I had wrapped a strip of clear tape around it the night before.