Jen glanced around, absorbing the details of the unfamiliar room she found herself in. It was indeed a kitchen, but far from the luxurious, extravagant one she was used to. This kitchen was much smaller, filled with cheap, outdated, rusty appliances, unattractive tiled floors, old wooden cabinets, and grimy countertops. A musty odor lingered in the air.
"Alright, you little freak, what did you do?!" she yelled angrily into the phone. But as she waited for a response, there was nothing—only silence, as if the line were dead.
"Jen, what are you shouting for?" a familiar voice called from outside the room.
Jen turned toward the kitchen entryway, where her mother appeared. Her eyes widened at the sight of her mother's outfit. The once-important businesswoman now wore dark scrub pants and a matching tunic. If Jen didn't know better, she would have thought her mother was dressed to work as a cleaner. Jen was too stunned to respond, standing there with her mouth agape.
"Honey, you'd better hurry, or you'll miss the bus." her mother said.
The bus? Jen thought. She never took the bus—it was for poor people. So, that was it: the gross boy had brought her to a world where her family was poor. Anger surged within her, and she wanted to find that boy and strangle him. But her mother was staring at her, pulling her back to reality. Jen suddenly remembered she was still topless. "Um, do you know where my cheer top is?"
"Probably downstairs in the laundry. Now come on, you need to get to school, and I have to get to work," her mother said, clearly in a hurry.
The laundry? Jen thought. She never did the laundry; that was always Martha's job. Speaking of which, she wondered where her former maid was. Despite her curiosity, she was in a hurry to catch the bus, so she heeded her mom's word and headed down to the basement to grab her cheer top.
As Jen opened the basement door, she peered into the dark abyss. Flipping the light switch, a small bulb above the stairwell flickered on. She carefully descended the wooden stairs, quickly realizing the basement was unfinished. Gone were the fancy billiards and home theater she was used to. Instead, there were just thick layers of dust and cobwebs everywhere, and probably rats lurking in the shadows.
At the bottom of the stairs, Jen spotted the washing machine and dryer in the distance. She cautiously crossed the dirty concrete floor, trying to hide her disgust. On top of the dryer sat a basket of clean laundry, and she immediately saw her red cheer top. She grabbed it, put it on, and hurried back upstairs, not wanting to stay in the filthy basement any longer.
Jen quickly ran to her bedroom to grab her backpack and phone. She struggled to grasp how much smaller her house was now. Instead of the multi-story mansion she was accustomed to, it was a single-story ranch-style home. She managed to find her bedroom, given it was the only other one in the house besides her parents'. As she entered, her heart sank at how bare it was. There was no big-screen TV, fancy computer, or large vanity—just a simple, cheap bed, a wooden dresser, and a small desk. She couldn't accept being poor; she wasn't born for it. Why did she have to suffer living like a peasant now?
She quickly grabbed her backpack and iPhone, pausing briefly in disgust as she noticed it was an older generation model, then sprinted to the front door while hurriedly slipping on her white trainers. Opening the door, she was shocked to see her once high-class neighborhood now resembled slums, with shabby, cheap-looking houses lining the street. She no longer had a grand yard or a long driveway for luxurious cars; her porch was barely ten feet from the curb. As more harsh truths dawned on her, her heart sank further. Snapping back to reality at the sight of a bus approaching, she realized she had to hurry to catch it. She dashed down the short driveway just as the bus pulled up.