A Daughter's Court

It was 4 a.m. in Evelyn's footage. The dorm was quiet, everyone else asleep, but she slipped into her faded jacket and headed off to work in the cafeteria.

She was quick to tie on a greasy apron and lug a huge bucket of kitchen waste out back, trip after trip, until ten buckets stood in a tidy row.

Days without food had taken their toll. After the heavy lifting, she was so exhausted that she gagged against the wall. Barely recovered, she did not even wipe her face before heading off to claim her pay for the morning's work: two dry slices of bread and a bowl of oatmeal. Huddled in a corner, she wolfed down her meal, scraping the bowl clean.

She scrubbed her bowl until it shone and stowed it away in the sanitizer. Then, she sprinted to class.

She was a front-row fixture, her notebook crammed with meticulous notes. When lunchtime came, her classmates headed off together while she stayed put. Once the room was empty, she shuffled over to the water cooler with her beat-up thermos, filling and refilling and gulping down water, 10 cups, 20, 30.

After downing her 50th glass of water, Evelyn's face was ghostly white as she burped, her stomach bloated and protesting.

The online comments were exploding with outrage:

[I ache when my kid skips just one meal. How can a mother watch her daughter suffer like that? Is she even human?]

[She can't cough up $80 for her kid's expenses? Making her fill up on water instead of food–what is her heart made of, rock?]

That afternoon, the mall buzzed with activity. Evelyn, sweltering in a twenty-pound Kumamon bear suit, was handing out flyers at the restaurant's entrance.

With each flyer given, she bowed deeply.

Some people snatched the flyers, only to toss them aside without a glance. She would scurry to pick them up, slipping them into her costume's pocket on the sly.

The restaurant had a strict rule: lose more than 10 percent of the flyers, and it would come out of her paycheck.

Come dusk, three guys, reeking of booze, cornered her. "Hey, give us a dance," they slurred.

When she did not move, one of them smashed a bottle over her head.

Evelyn cradled her head as she crouched, trying to become invisible.

They laid into her with a flurry of kicks and punches.

She clenched her teeth, holding back tears and cries for help, terrified of losing pay if the part-time manager caught her.

Only after the men's energy waned and they staggered off did she dare to stand, using a post for support.

She gathered the flyers strewn about and kept going.

After her shift, peeling off the bear suit, she saw the damage: her body was a map of bruises and cuts, some still bleeding.

Ignoring the pain, she grabbed her bag and bolted for school. She reached the exam hall, panting, just as the final bell echoed.

The proctor, stern-faced, blocked the entrance. "You're fifteen minutes late. Rules are rules; you can't come in."

Evelyn's tears were streaming down her face as she begged, "Please, I ran into some trouble with my job, just let me take the test! If I flunk this class, I'll have to cough up seventy-five bucks for a retake, and I'm flat broke!"

She had not even finished her plea when she bent over deeply, her sobs spilling out uncontrollably.

The teacher recoiled, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but the rules are the rules. I can't bend them for anyone."

"But I'm out of money!" Evelyn clutched at the teacher's hands, her cries coming in ragged gasps. "Please, I'm begging you..."

With a heavy heart, the teacher replied, "Your mom's on the phone with the school every week, demanding we keep a tight leash on you... Or she threatens to make a fuss. My hands are tied."

The online community was up in arms.

[Can you believe her mom? Calling the school just to make her own daughter's life miserable? She's got to be out of her mind!]

[Let's all band together and give her mom the cold shoulder! Make her a social pariah!]