Chapter 1

1: 1

For as long as I can remember, everything I owned was secondhand.

The water bottle I carried in grade school was Cynthia Henson's old baby bottle.

In middle school, Mom made Cynthia a different fancy lunch every single day.

My lunch was always whatever Cynthia couldn't finish.

Three years boarding at high school.

I slept under a torn sheet Cynthia had kicked to shreds, and my skincare was whatever freebies came with her shopping.

Every year my parents booked out an upscale restaurant for Cynthia's birthday.

My birthday cake was always the free cookies the restaurant threw in.

I told my parents it wasn't fair.

I didn't want the leftovers. I didn't want the hand-me-downs.

Mom looked at me like I disgusted her.

"Why is it always you making a fuss? It's family that used it, family that ate it. It's not dirty. What are you being so precious about?"

Dad's voice was ice.

"Do you know how many kids in poor areas don't even get to eat? Don't sit there in comfort and act like you're suffering."

"You're the older sister. You're supposed to give way to your sister, cover for her. Stop being so selfish."

"Instead of comparing yourself to the top students, all you care about is keeping up with people and showing off."

I thought if I just did well enough in school, I could earn a little fair love out of them.

Until the SATs ended.

The coming-of-age gift my parents gave me was a few pairs of Cynthia's worn-out old shoes.

Cynthia got a car and $200,000 in cash.

Something in me just went tired.

My hand tightened around the score report in it, the report that said I was the top student in the state.

If there was no place for me in this family, then I didn't want it anymore.

......

Clatter.

A few pairs of shoes hit the floor by my feet like trash.

"Sis, I'm bored of these two pairs."

"The edges are a little torn, but sew them up and they're still good. Consider it a gift."

She said it with a smile, like she was doing charity.

I looked down at myself.

The jacket I was wearing was one Cynthia had gotten sick of.

The cuffs stopped way short of my wrists.

The pants were my brother's castoffs, washed pale.

Head to toe, I was dressed in the scraps they didn't want.

Mom pulled Cynthia into her arms, her smile all doting.

"That's my baby, always so thoughtful. Anything good comes along and she thinks of her sister first."

"Not like some people, whose whole head is nothing but showing off and keeping up, who can't put their mind to their studies and only pick up bad habits."

She turned to me, and her face went dark.

Her voice was impatient.

"Alexandra Henson! What are you standing there spacing out for?"

"Cynthia was kind enough to give you a gift, and you can't even say thank you?"

"All those years in school, did you go stupid? You don't even have basic manners."

Dad's face was sour too.

"This child, Alexandra, she's got such a withdrawn temper."

"Only your own family will put up with your attitude. Out in the real world, nobody will indulge you."

I opened my mouth, and my throat was dry as sand.

Thank her for what?

Thank her for dumping the trash she'd worn to death on me?

The words rose up inside me, and I swallowed them back down.

For as long as I can remember, I could never shake the label of secondhand.

I wore old clothes that never fit.

I ate the cold leftovers Cynthia couldn't stomach.

And any time I said it wasn't fair, all I ever got was my parents raining blame down on me.

Every other word was:

"You're the older sister, you give way to your sister."

"You're the older sister, you understand how hard your parents work for money."

Once, I clung stubbornly to the idea that if my grades were good enough, I'd earn a sliver of favor, a little gentleness.

So I studied like I'd lost my mind.

Scored a 711. Top student in the state.

I gripped my score report and drew in a deep breath.

"Mom, Dad, my SAT scores are out..."

But I only got halfway before Mom cut me off, cold.

"Doesn't matter."

"You're going to the same community college as Cynthia, so you can look after your sister later."

"Out there isn't like home. Cynthia won't have a servant waiting on her. How's she supposed to handle dirty work like laundry and cooking?"

Dad nodded and picked it up.

"You? A girl who can't even pass a foreign language, and you think you're going to some good school?"

"Don't go dreaming about picking and choosing. Take good care of Cynthia. At least then you'll be worth something."

My fingertips dug hard into my palm, the sharp pain shooting through.

Can't pass a foreign language.

That was second grade.

They'd been holding onto it ever since.

From middle school on, I came in first in my grade more times than I could count.

They didn't remember a single one.

They only remembered what foods Cynthia wouldn't eat, what she liked against her skin.

They remembered my brother's favorite athletes and clothing brands.

And the thick stack of award certificates I'd earned all sat piled by the door.

Waiting for the woman who collected recycling to haul them off.

"It's not just Alexandra who gets a gift. Cynthia does too."

"In this family, we treat our children with the fairest hand."

My dad kicked the old shoes aside and tossed a car key to Cynthia.

"Once you're in college, want to go somewhere for fun, just drive yourself."

Mom took out a bank card.

"Two hundred thousand. Spend it however you want, Cynthia."

"A girl needs nice food and nice clothes, or people look down on her."

I stood there and watched Cynthia smugly post it all to her feed.

The bitterness sat heavy in me.

So it turned out they did know how to love a daughter. They just didn't love me.