Chapter 2

"Oh no. They're testing her again."

The floating comment made my heart skip hard, and a panicked, helpless feeling spread from my chest out into my arms and legs.

Last time, to prove whether I loved my family, my brother ended up in a car accident.

Everyone said it was my fault, that I'd run a red light and my brother had gotten hit and paralyzed pushing me out of the way.

I explained, over and over, that someone had shoved me from behind.

But nobody believed me. I told my parents.

They only looked at me, disappointed. "Your brother's in the hospital, and all you can think about is defending yourself?"

In that moment it was like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head, and my hands and feet went cold to the bone.

Two voices kept pulling at me inside.

One said: I only wanted to explain what happened.

The other said: all I cared about was clearing my name instead of my brother. Am I really that selfish?

That guilt hit its peak the day I saw my brother could do nothing but lie in bed.

So I took on everything for him. Feeding him, giving him water, washing him.

To pay for his medical bills, I went out before dawn every morning to collect bottles.

I couldn't survive another one of their tests.

I ran home as hard as I could, my heart pounding so fast I kept dry-heaving.

And before I even reached the door, the thick smell of blood hit me.

Something in my chest dropped. I fumbled at the lock for a long time before the key finally went in.

The second I pushed the door open, my legs gave out and I sank to the floor.

The rabbit I'd raised so carefully for a year was gone.

Its head and some tufts of fur were still in the cage, beside the greens I'd fed it that morning before I left.

Greens I'd picked out of the market trash bins, the leaves that were still fresh.

I'd washed them carefully, dried them off again and again, before setting them down for it.

It had only eaten half. Its teeth marks were still in them.

And in the kitchen I could hear my parents chopping meat.

Thud, thud, thud, one after another, and each one landed like it was falling on my heart.

My stomach, my heart, my head. There wasn't a single part of me that didn't hurt.

My mother's hands were still smeared with fresh blood, and she smiled at me. "Josie's home?"

The comments were all trying to calm me down.

"Don't get angry, don't get angry. They're just testing you."

My parents pointed at the pot of soup and asked, "The doctor said your brother needs more meat to build his strength. You wouldn't begrudge him one rabbit, would you?"

My eyes went wide. I forgot to breathe, forgot to blink.

Tears rolled down one after another, and my mother, watching me, pushed for an answer again. "Say something! Do you mind or not?"

I didn't answer. I went into the kitchen and picked up the cleaver.

Fur and blood were still stuck to the blade.

I couldn't hold it in anymore and broke into wrenching sobs.

It wasn't just a rabbit. It was the one bit of light in my miserable life.

I would stroke it and tell it everything that was weighing on me.

And now I'd gotten it killed.

All because my parents wanted to prove whether I loved my family more.

Nineteen years of buried hatred and pain surged up in me at once.

I gripped the handle, and there was only one thought in my head: if they wanted so many tests, then let's all just die together.

But the second I thought it, one comment caught my eye.

"The little sister's coming-of-age party is in three days. Josie has to hold on!"

"Once the sister turns eighteen too, the family stops faking poverty."

I clenched my fist. Three days?

In three days, I could prove whether the comments were true.

I lifted my head and looked at my parents. They were watching me, asking again, "Do you mind or not?"

I forced down the sweet, metallic taste in my throat.

Even though I was right on the edge of falling apart, I squeezed out two words. "I don't."

My nails dug into my palm, and there was only one thought left in me: even if I die, I'm going to die knowing whether this family is faking being poor.

That meal, they ate happily.

And I only gathered up the little rabbit's remains afterward, took them to the patch of dirt by the door, and buried it.

Tears dripped down one by one onto the back of my hand. Like they were trying to wash the dirt off it.

"She really can hold it in. Almost there! Three days, and the parents stop faking poverty."

I pulled myself together and walked slowly back toward the house.

For the next three days, things stayed quiet between me and my family.

Until the day the comments had named arrived.

"Finally. Today's the little sister's birthday."