Chapter 1

For as long as I could remember, the whole family doted on my brother.

At New Year's they bought him new clothes head to toe.

Me, I got a single hair clip.

I asked my mother, "Why don't I get new clothes?"

She said, annoyed, "You're shooting up so fast, what do you need new clothes for? Buy them this year and next year they won't fit."

But my brother was growing too.

At the fair, my grandfather treated my brother to a KFC combo meal—a Big Mac, a large ice-cold soda.

Me, I got the little bag of fries that came free with it.

I asked my grandfather, "Why do you play favorites like this?"

Grandfather said, with great feeling, "Your brother's a growing boy. He needs to eat more."

But I didn't understand. Wasn't I supposed to be growing too?

Under all that family love, my brother finally, young as he was, ended up needing a kidney transplant.

And of course they came to take from me again.

When I refused, my parents threatened to disown me as their daughter.

Grandfather went further and ran out into the road, threatening to kill himself.

In the chaos, trying to save him, I was hit by a car. On my deathbed I agreed to give my brother my kidney.

But when they tested the blood types, they found my brother wasn't related to our family at all.

1

At the hospital, when we learned that my brother, Blake Hughes, was seriously ill and needed a new kidney,

the whole family's mood dropped through the floor.

None of them could believe he was barely into his twenties

and already this bad.

Only I understood it clearly.

For as long as I could remember, everything in the house went to my brother.

A popsicle, a slice of watermelon, a bottle of soda...

Every last thing revolved around my brother.

I was the one who had to stand off to the side and watch him drool over it.

I asked my mother,

"Why can't I have ice cream?"

My mother told me,

"Ice cream stunts a girl's development. You won't grow up pretty, and you won't be able to have children. Do you want to ruin yourself?"

Curious, I shot back,

"But Molly Chavez's daughter next door eats it. Do her mom and dad want to ruin their own daughter?"

My mother's face went dark on the spot. She grabbed the duster and started beating me.

Beat me until I was howling for my parents.

When my father got home, he asked,

"Why are you hitting Priscilla Hughes again?"

My mother kept whaling on me while she shouted,

"This child won't amount to anything if she isn't beaten. Talking back already, this small—what's she going to be like later?"

My father shoved both the chicken drumsticks he'd brought home at my brother and said coldly,

"She does need it. I won't have people saying our family has no manners."

Taking the blows, I stared at my brother eating those drumsticks, grease all over his mouth.

I forgot the pain.

They were drumsticks, after all.

I hadn't had a chicken drumstick in months, not since New Year's.

And it wasn't only my parents and grandfather who favored my brother.

What I found strange was that even Rolf Lambert next door seemed to treat him special.

He was always bringing my brother little toys and snacks.

One time Rolf's whole family went on a trip and made a point of taking my brother along.

Once I couldn't help asking him,

"Uncle Rolf, why are you so good to my brother?"

Rolf froze for a second, then smiled and patted my head.

"I just love kids, that's all. Pity it never worked out for me. Your Aunt Molly still hasn't given me a baby."

I didn't know any better back then, so I said straight out,

"Then I'll be your daughter."

Rolf laughed out loud.

"Now how could that be? Your father would never allow it if he found out."

I told him, earnest,

"No, you're wrong. I'm just extra in this house. Take me away and no one would care."

"Hey now, what a thing to say. You really don't know any better."

Rolf didn't say anything more to me. He turned around and told my mother what I'd said.

I got beaten viciously again.

She hit me and cursed me at the same time.

"You little slut, born with a father but with no one to raise you right."

Used to the blows by now, I questioned her, "But I've got a mother too, and no one to raise me right either?"

"And another thing—if I'm a slut, what does that make you?"

That only made her hit me harder.

When my father got off work, he rolled up his sleeves in a fury and joined in, the two of them together.

When my grandfather heard, he angrily tossed the fried chicken to my brother and swore,

"How did I ever get a granddaughter like you?"

"Don't even think about eating this fried chicken!"

I took the scolding.

I didn't dare talk back.

But in my heart I was thinking:

Even without any of this, I'd never have gotten any.

The last time I'd tasted fried chicken was only because my brother couldn't finish it and threw me the scraps.