My Reborn 18-Year-Old Revenge Scam? Bankrupting Bullies! - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

I soon found out what Maya meant by "ways of dealing with me."
Monday morning, during homeroom, Ms. Rodriguez was having our morning meeting. Vivian burst into the classroom, demanding to know why I stole money from the house and what disgusting things I'd spent it on.
"Jess, you can't do bad things. If you need something, just ask me—I'll definitely buy it for you. But you can't STEAL." Vivian looked heartbroken.
Every pair of eyes in the room focused on me.
I kept my face blank. "I didn't."
"I don't believe you." Vivian started tearing through my desk, sweeping everything from inside onto the floor in a scattered mess. "Fine, if you won't admit it, I'll find the evidence myself. Then let's see what you have to say."
I got it now. She thought I'd hidden the money at school.
But she found nothing.
Ms. Rodriguez snapped out of her shock and pulled Vivian aside. "Mrs. Sterling, if there's an issue, let's discuss it in my office. Don't disrupt the students' class time. Jess, you come too."
In the office, Vivian cried like she was dying. "Ms. Rodriguez, I'm at my wit's end here. If I had any other choice, I never would've come to the school."
"It's just that Jess is being so disobedient."
Ms. Rodriguez asked, "What exactly happened?"
"Five hundred dollars went missing from my wallet. Only Jess was in my room."
Ms. Rodriguez looked at me. "Jess?"
"I didn't take it. I'm not the only person in that house."
Vivian shrieked, "Are you trying to blame Maya? Jess, Maya is MY daughter. I raised her—I know her character. She would never do something like this."
I smirked. "You sure about that?"
My smile infuriated Vivian. Venom flashed in her eyes, but her voice stayed sweet. "Jess, your mother died young and your father's often away on business. I know you lack love and attention, but no matter how much you need money, you can't steal. How could you face your mother if you did?"
My expression changed instantly.
She had NO right to mention my mother.
My mother was beautiful and kind. Vivian wasn't worth one of her fingernails.
I stood up straight. "If my mom knew I was being framed like this, she'd crawl out of her grave to tear you apart, you PIECE OF TRASH!"
The office went dead silent.
Ms. Rodriguez stared at me in shock, unable to believe that sweet, obedient me could say something like that.
Vivian absolutely lost it and lunged at me.
"Calm down, Ms. Walsh! Please calm down!" Ms. Rodriguez tried to restrain her, then turned to scold me. "Jess, apologize. NOW."
Like hell I would.
I said, "Disgusting."
The office erupted into chaos. I turned and walked out.
Tyler was leaning against the doorframe.
I walked past him without stopping.
"Jess." Tyler called after me. "That money you used for study materials—it was mine, wasn't it? Why didn't you tell them?"
I turned back to meet Tyler's pitying gaze.
Ugh. He was feeling sorry for me.
But I didn't want his sympathy.
"None of your damn business," I said.
Tyler's face went through another spectacular color change.
That night when I got home, my bed was completely trashed—Vivian had given my stuff a nice little "bath."
Maya gloated. "You had the nerve to call my mom names, Jess. This is just a warning. Dad's gonna be gone all week—let's see who you can run crying to."
I completely ignored her.
Even if Dad were home, I wouldn't tell on her.
Because he didn't believe me anyway.
When I said I wasn't getting enough food, he'd ask Vivian about it. She'd explain she was "looking out for me."
"Teenage girls who gain weight have such a hard time losing it."
"Jess is so pretty—it'd be such a shame if she got fat. Look at Maya—I don't let her eat too much either."
Dad bought it.
Then there was my period. I had no money for pads, so I used layers of tissue paper.
I had to wash my blood-stained pants every single day.
Vivian would ask in this puzzled tone, "Does Jess have OCD or something?"
Dad looked confused. "What's going on?"
My hands were soaking in soapy water as I stared at Vivian. She was so confident—confident that I could never tell a man, even my own father, about my body's needs.
So I could only become this obsessive, picky, silent, increasingly weird girl.
I was being torn apart piece by piece.
And all I could do was endure it, save money, starve myself, just to buy the pads I desperately needed.
Even my period seemed to spite me—showing up right on schedule every month.
Despite being so malnourished, the flow was still heavy.
How ironic.