The homeroom teacher pushed open the classroom door and walked in. She scanned the room once, and her eyes landed directly on me.
"Queenie, you still owe fifty dollars for the practice exam packet. This is the third reminder. Can I get a straight answer today?"
Forty students. Forty pairs of eyes. Every single one swiveled toward me.
The blood rushed to my face all at once, but I forced myself to nod.
"I'll figure it out today, ma'am."
"Good. Have it on my desk before the end of class."
She turned and left. The stares didn't.
Someone in the front row muttered under their breath. "She can't come up with fifty bucks?"
Another voice followed, quick and sharp. "Doesn't her mom give her five grand a month? Who knows where it all goes."
I dropped my head and fixed my eyes on the half-finished integral on my scratch paper. My ears burned so hot they felt like they might catch fire.
The second the bell rang, I ran to the far end of the hallway and dialed.
No answer.
I sent a message. Mom, the teacher's asking for the materials fee. Fifty dollars. Can you transfer it first?
Sent. No reply.