Chapter 1 After we both got accepted into an Ivy League university, my parents instituted a new rule: my twin brother and I had to compete for our monthly allowance. The stipend was $1,000 a month, but only the one who scored higher on their custom-made academic test would get it. I studied obsessively, burning the midnight oil, but every single month, I scored exactly two points lower than my brother. I was so dizzy from hunger and low blood sugar that I could barely stand. Desperate just to eat, I went to interview for a student-worker job at the university dining hall. To my absolute shock, I ran into my brother there. He was interviewing for the exact same job. He looked pale and weak. And then, he said the most shocking thing I had ever heard in my life. “Liam, is this a sick joke to you?” “Just to humiliate me, you’re hoarding a $1,000 allowance every month and you still come down here to steal this minimum-wage job from me?” I completely froze. Without thinking, I blurted out: “What $1,000 allowance? Mom and Dad gave all that money to you!” My brother instantly fell silent. A sickening realization slowly dawned on both of us. Unless… that money, from the very beginning. Was never intended for either of us. My brother, Ethan, and I are identical twins. Our parents were highly respected, award-winning high school teachers in our city. They had plaques lining the walls and had been featured in local news segments for their “innovative” teaching methods. They worshipped a single, unwavering philosophy: “Competition breeds pressure. Pressure breeds effort. And effort yields success.” Because of this, from the exact moment we were born, Ethan and I were locked in a relentless, brutal competition. When other babies were naturally learning to roll over, sit up, and crawl, we were being scored. Whoever learned the milestone first got a point. Only the one who accumulated five points in a day was allowed to have a bottle of milk. If you didn’t hit the quota? You starved for the day. For nearly eighteen years, Ethan and I lived in a state of perpetual, exhausting warfare. We viewed each other as mortal enemies. All just to secure a single meal. It wasn’t until the day our Ivy League acceptance letters arrived in the mail. Our parents sat us down and made a solemn promise: “Once you guys start college, we will deposit $1,000 a month into each of your accounts for living expenses.” Ethan and I broke down in tears right there in the living room. We genuinely believed we had finally survived their psychopathic competition system. We thought we were finally free. But the night before we left for campus, our parents suddenly pulled out two identical, multi-page exams. “We designed these tests specifically for you. They cover the core concepts of your entire high school curriculum. Complete them, hand them in, and we will grade them.” “Take this seriously. Your scores on this exam will determine who receives their allowance for the first month of college.” I instinctively pushed back: “Mom, Dad, what is this? What does this mean?” They answered with absolute, unshakeable self-righteousness: “We’ve done our research. The four years of college are when young men are most vulnerable to bad influences and laziness. For your own good, we’ve decided to administer a test related to your majors at the end of every month.” “The highest score takes the $1,000 allowance. The loser gets absolutely nothing.” Ethan and I sat there, stunned. We immediately protested simultaneously: “That’s not fair! You promised us! You promised we would each get a $1,000 stipend! How can you just go back on your word?!” My dad’s face instantly darkened. His tone was laced with heavy threat: “What do you mean, ‘not fair’? I am your father. You eat my food, you live under my roof, you obey my rules.” “Besides, we are doing this for your own good! If you’re going to be this ungrateful and resistant, then neither of you gets a single dime!” Ethan and I were forced to compromise. Going to college with zero financial support was a death sentence. When the semester started, I checked my bank account. Zero dollars. My parents called to inform me: “Liam, you scored exactly two points lower than Ethan. Therefore, you do not receive an allowance this month.” I begged them. I pleaded with them not to be so cruel. They were completely unmoved. I had no choice but to dig out the $100 I had secretly hoarded from birthday gifts over the years just to survive. To stretch the money, the only thing I ate every day was plain, dry toast. The only luxury I allowed myself was a single hard-boiled egg in the morning. Because I wasn’t eating enough, the severe hunger caused crippling stomach cramps. When my stomach cramped, I needed medication. But I didn’t have any money to buy medication. Slowly, the color drained from my face, and I began dropping an alarming amount of weight. My roommates quickly noticed something was wrong. They cautiously pulled me aside and asked: “Liam, are your parents struggling financially? Why are you barely eating anything?” “If you keep doing this, your health is going to completely crash.” I offered a bitter smile and gave them a simplified version of my parents’ psychotic “competition” system. My roommates were absolutely horrified. They looked at me with deep, overwhelming sympathy. “Have you applied for financial aid or food stamps?” I shook my head. “My parents won’t let me.” They believed that if the university found out the sons of “award-winning educators” were applying for poverty assistance, it would humiliate them. From that day on, my roommates started inventing excuses to feed me. “Liam, this milk is about to expire and I hate the taste, can you just drink it so I don’t waste it?” “Liam, this sandwich has mayo on it and I can’t stand mayo, just take it.” “Liam, my mom sent me these apples from home but they’re way too tart for me, you eat them.” My heart ached with a mix of profound gratitude and sorrow. The warmth and humanity I had never once experienced in my own home, I was finding in a cramped dorm room with strangers. But $100, no matter how aggressively you ration it, cannot last a month. A little over two weeks into the semester, my wallet held exactly ten dollars. I was completely out of options. Desperate, I considered taking out a high-interest payday loan online. But without a credit history or income verification, I didn’t qualify. I was cornered. I had no choice but to call my mom and beg for help. The first call went to voicemail. The second call was actively declined. On the third call, she finally answered. Before I could even get a single word out, her explosive, furious voice blasted through the speaker: “Are you ever going to stop?!” “Do you have any idea how busy your father and I are?! Calling me over and over again, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” My voice was incredibly low, shaking with pathetic, desperate pleading. “Mom… I don’t have any money for food.” “Please, please, can you just send me a little bit of my allowance? Just a fraction?” “I literally cannot survive right now.” I genuinely believed that no matter how cold parents were, hearing their child beg for food would trigger some basic human instinct. But my mom didn’t flinch. Her tone was like absolute ice. “If you can’t survive, figure it out yourself. Who told you to score lower than your brother?” “If you want money, study harder and beat him on the exam at the end of the month. Until then, don’t even think about it.” Click. She hung up the phone. In that exact moment, a suffocating, crushing wave of grief washed over me. I stood alone in the dorm hallway, massive tears rolling down my face, dropping onto the cheap carpet. I had never felt so utterly, profoundly helpless in my entire life. I couldn’t understand it. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Other parents were constantly terrified their kids weren’t eating enough, or were cold in their dorms. But my parents knew their son was literally starving, and they watched with cold, detached indifference. I walked back into my dorm room, my eyes bloodshot. When my roommates saw my face, they immediately crowded around me. I told them what happened. They instantly pulled out their wallets and phones, offering to lend me cash. I refused. I was starving, but I absolutely refused to let this pure, genuine friendship be tainted by debt and money. Frustrated but understanding, my roommates started brainstorming. “What about Ethan? Try asking him? You guys are literally twins, he can’t be that cold-blooded, right?” “Yeah, man! Your parents just gave him a grand. Asking to borrow fifty bucks isn’t asking for the moon.” I hesitated. “But… Ethan and I have a terrible relationship.” After eighteen years of brutal, forced competition, we were essentially enemies living under the same roof. My roommates encouraged me: “Just give it a shot! Maybe he’s not the monster you think he is?” I gritted my teeth and dialed Ethan’s number. He answered almost immediately, his tone dripping with aggressive impatience. “What do you want? Spit it out, I don’t have time for this.” My roommates were standing right next to me, listening to the call. My face flushed dark red with humiliation, but I forced myself to ask, my voice incredibly quiet: “Ethan… could you possibly spot me fifty bucks?” “I swear to God I’ll pay you back next month.” The very next second, Ethan exploded. “You’re asking me for money?! Liam, do you have absolutely no shame?!” “You blow all your cash acting like a big shot, and now that you’re broke, you come crawling to me?!” “Can you be any more pathetic?!” Before I could even process the barrage of insults, he violently hung up. My nose burned, and I forced myself to swallow the tears. My roommates were absolutely furious. “What the fuck?! Your brother is a psycho! If he doesn’t want to lend it, fine, but why the hell is he being so vicious?!” “I cannot believe that guy! He’s sitting on a thousand dollars, and he won’t spot his own twin brother fifty bucks for groceries?!” “And calling you a big shot who blows cash?! Is he legally blind?! You’ve been eating plain toast for two straight weeks!” I sat in silence. I was angry and deeply hurt, but honestly? I wasn’t surprised. Ethan had been like this our entire lives. No matter what the situation was, his default reaction was to aggressively attack me. That was the only way we knew how to communicate. A few minutes later, one of my roommates forwarded a screenshot of a job posting to me. “Hey, this diner off-campus needs weekend dishwashers. You can pick up shifts.” “It pays cash daily. $15 an hour.” I grabbed that screenshot like it was a life preserver. I hugged my roommate tightly, thanking him over and over. He laughed, patting my back: “Just help me study for midterms later.” I worked two grueling, 10-hour shifts that weekend. I was physically exhausted, but I made $300. Rationing that cash, I managed to survive another two weeks. But it was pure agony. Every single day was a calculated math equation just to exist. One day, between classes, our academic advisor sent an Excel sheet to the general class group chat. It was a list of on-campus, work-study positions. Long-term jobs! I was ecstatic. I immediately applied. I joined the group chats, logged the contact info, and aggressively DM’d every single hiring manager. And I got rejected by every single one. The high-paying jobs like library desk attendant? Snatched up instantly. The flexible-hour jobs? My heavy course load meant I couldn’t commit to the required daytime blocks. Rejection after rejection. My mental state was rapidly deteriorating. Just as I was about to completely give up, a new position was added to the bottom of the list. Dining Hall Assistant. Minimum wage. Perks: Free lunch and dinner shift meals. Only hiring one student. When I saw the words “Free meals,” my eyes instantly watered. This was my absolute only chance at survival. I didn’t waste a single second. I immediately added the dining hall manager’s number, terrified someone else would beat me to it. “Hi! I am applying for the work-study Dining Hall Assistant position.” Five agonizing minutes later, the manager replied: “Sorry kid, another student literally just messaged me two minutes before you did to claim the spot.” I felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I panicked, typing frantically. “Please, is there any way you could just give me a chance? I am an incredibly hard worker, I can endure anything, I promise I will never slack off or cause you any problems.” A very, very long time passed. Finally, the manager replied: “Come to Window 2 in the dining hall tomorrow after your noon class. I’ll interview you.” The next day, I was practically vibrating with anticipation, waiting for my noon lecture to end. But five minutes before the bell rang, the professor announced: “Nobody leave after class. I need to go over the syllabus changes and midterm expectations. Everyone stay seated.” I was paralyzed. I wanted to run, but I didn’t dare. This professor was notorious for failing students who walked out on his announcements. During the announcements, I was squirming in my seat, constantly checking my phone under the desk, my heart racing. My roommate leaned over and whispered: “It’s fine, man. Don’t panic, he’s almost done.” But it dragged on for another fifteen minutes. The second he dismissed the class, I grabbed my backpack and sprinted toward the dining hall like my life depended on it. I was exactly twenty minutes late. My heart sank. It was over. I had definitely lost the job. I walked up to Window 2, panting heavily. “Hi… I’m the student who applied for the work-study position. Who do I need to speak with?” The lunch lady looked me up and down. “Go take a seat over there, kid. The manager is interviewing the other applicant in the back right now.” I sat in the plastic chair, my palms slick with cold sweat. Despair slowly washed over me. A few minutes later, the manager walked out of the kitchen doors. A student was walking right behind him. I looked up. My pupils violently dilated. It was Ethan. My twin brother. Our eyes locked. We both froze completely, absolute shock mirroring on our faces. The manager looked at me. “Are you the kid who texted me about the interview?” I nodded slowly. He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen for a private interview. I had rehearsed this with my roommates the night before. I answered every question flawlessly. Finally, the manager asked: “The pay here is absolute garbage, and the work is exhausting. Are you absolutely certain you want this?” I nodded vigorously. “As long as it covers my meals, yes.” The manager looked at me, a deeply complex expression crossing his face. He let out a low sigh. “What is going on with kids these days…” “Busting their asses just for a plate of food. Do your parents not feed you?” I didn’t understand what he meant, and I didn’t have time to process it. He led me back out to the dining area. He looked at me and Ethan. “You two sit tight for a minute. Let me figure out which one of you I’m hiring.” The second the manager walked away, the tension between us instantly snapped. Ethan lunged forward and violently shoved me backward. I lost my footing and crashed hard onto the linoleum floor. I was furious and completely bewildered. “Are you fucking psychotic, Ethan?! Why did you push me? Did I do something to you?!” I scrambled to my feet. I saw that Ethan’s eyes were brimming with tears. My heart dropped. I suddenly remembered all those dramatic movie plots where the villain frames the protagonist. I instinctively took a step back. “Wait… don’t try to play the victim here! You shoved me first! Don’t try to pin this on me!” And then, his voice cracked, and he said the most shocking thing I had ever heard in my life. “Liam, is this a sick joke to you?” “Just to humiliate me, you’re hoarding a $1,000 allowance every month and you still come down here to steal this minimum-wage job from me?” I completely, utterly froze. My brain short-circuited. I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, and blurted out: “What $1,000 allowance?” “Mom and Dad gave all that money to you!” Ethan exploded in absolute rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You’re still going to stand there and lie to my face?!” “I know you’re smarter than me! No matter what bullshit test Mom and Dad give us, you always score higher!” “But do you have any idea what you’ve done? Because of you, I have been starving on this campus for almost a month!” “Every single waking second is spent obsessing over how to save a dollar! The only thing I eat is the cheap dollar-menu oatmeal from the breakfast cart!” I was struck completely speechless. Ethan grabbed my arm, his grip desperate. “I am begging you. Can you just, for once in your life, not compete with me?” “I desperately need this job. I am so fucking hungry.”
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