I forced myself back into the classroom, found the homeroom teacher, and stammered out the words.
"Ma'am, my mom asked if she could get… a receipt with the school's official stamp?"
The teacher looked up, her expression blank for a second before her brows knitted together.
"A receipt? For a materials fee?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
A few classmates who'd been crowded around the teacher's desk went quiet.
Then the whispers crept in.
"Wow, she needs a receipt for fifty bucks? Does she think the teacher's scamming her?"
"Her mom gives her five grand a month and she's making this big a deal over fifty dollars. Either her mom's insanely cheap, or the money never actually reaches her."
"She probably blew it all herself. Why else would this be happening?"
I stood there and let every word slice through me.
The teacher went to the administrative office, got the stamp, and came back. She pressed the receipt into my hand. There was something in her eyes, a flicker of pity she almost managed to hide.
I took a photo of the receipt and sent it to my mother.
Less than thirty seconds later, fifty dollars landed in my account.