I get this feeling sometimes, like my stomach just kinda drops out, when I think about what I do. It’s like when you’re on the rickety roller coaster at the fair and it clanks its way up the biggest hill, super slow, and you know the drop is coming but you can’t look away. That’s what it feels like. Except the drop never really happens, it just… hangs there. All the time. And it’s about this thing. This job. I mean, it’s not *my* job, not really. I’m just… helping out. I guess. With this person. This really important person, they say. My dad knows them from somewhere, not really sure where. But they’re always super busy, always talking on the phone, always got shiny shoes. And they asked if I wanted to make some extra cash after school, just doing some basic stuff, filing papers, getting coffees, running errands. Sounded good right? Money is always good. We always need money. My mom works two jobs just to keep the lights on, so any bit helps. So I started going there, to their office. It’s in this HUGE building downtown, all glass and steel, super tall. Like a really fancy needle poking the sky. And inside it’s all quiet and serious, everyone in suits, hushed voices. Makes my hoodie feel kinda loud, even when I’m just standing there. The air conditioning is always blasting, even in winter, and it smells like fancy cleaning stuff mixed with something bitter, like coffee that’s been sitting out too long. My job is pretty simple. Mostly. I move these big stacks of papers. They’re called briefs or something. They’re super heavy, like bricks, and sometimes I feel like my arms are gonna fall off. And I hear bits and pieces of what they’re talking about. My person, they’re a lawyer. A REALLY important one. They defend these big companies, like the ones that make all the stuff we buy, or the banks, or the ones that build all the fancy apartments no one I know can afford. And the conversations… that’s where the stomach drop comes in. I hear them talking about people. Regular people. Like us. People who got hurt by the big companies, or lost their jobs, or just got messed over in some way. And my person, they always find a way to make it sound like it’s the regular people’s fault. Or that the companies didn’t do anything wrong. They twist words, like those fancy ribbons at Christmas, until they look completely different. And they always win. ALWAYS. One time, I was getting coffee and this lady was crying in the hallway, really soft sobs, almost like she was afraid to be heard. And my person just walked right past her, didn’t even glance. Later I heard them on the phone, laughing about how ‘emotional’ some people get. Said something about ‘collateral damage’ and how ‘it’s just business.’ My hands started shaking so much I almost dropped the tray with the coffees. It’s like… the whole game is rigged, you know? Like when we play board games at home, and my little brother cheats, but no one can prove it. Except this isn’t a game. This is real life. People’s lives. And all the fancy words, all the expensive suits, all the big buildings… it’s all just to protect the people who already have everything. And crush the people who don’t. Like a giant shoe stepping on ants. And the worst part? The REALLY awful part? Is that I’m there. I’m helping. I’m making their coffee, I’m carrying their papers, I’m part of the machine. Every time I get that money, that cash, I feel like it’s… dirty. Like it’s got dust on it from all those twisted words and broken people. My mom says I’m being a big help, that I’m working hard. And I am working hard. But it feels like I’m working hard for the wrong side. I tell myself it’s just temporary. Just until I finish school. Just for the money. But sometimes when I’m walking home, past all the shiny shops and the people who look like they belong, I feel this weird coldness in my chest. Like a part of me is freezing up. And I wonder if one day, I’ll just be like them. Not caring. Just winning. And the thought makes me want to throw up. It’s like a secret I can’t tell anyone, this heavy thing I carry, heavier than any of those paper bricks. And it just keeps getting heavier.