Chapter 1

1

There were four people in our family, but only three keys.

One for Dad, one for Mom, one for my brother.

I was the only one without.

The neighbors called me the family guard dog behind my back.

They said that every day after school I could only crouch pitifully in the stairwell, waiting for my brother to open the door.

Last month I came down with a bad cold, and for once Mom softened.

She patted my head and promised that on my birthday she'd take me to get a key cut.

I was so happy I couldn't sleep for days.

Thinking that when I came home, I'd finally never have to wait in the stairwell again.

I even went ahead and bought a keychain.

A little blue bear.

On my birthday, I stood at the school gate and carefully called Mom.

"Mom, can you take me to get a key made today?"

Mom cut me off impatiently.

"Get what made? Is a little waiting going to kill you?"

"Your brother's leaving for the seven-country summer camp. We're at the airport seeing him off, so we're not coming home today!"

I gripped the study-abroad acceptance letter in my hand and signed my name without a moment's hesitation.

Since you won't give it to me.

Then for the rest of my life, I won't need that key.

……

After I hung up, a light rain began to fall.

It was the start of the break, and the school gate was packed with parents there to pick up their kids.

Loud and lively, almost ridiculously so.

But none of it had anything to do with me.

I shouldered my backpack and walked home alone in silence.

The moment I stepped off the elevator, I ran into Rachel Lambert, the neighbor, who was on her way out to take the trash down.

"Daphne, you're home? How'd you get all soaked?"

"Mrs. Lambert, I forgot my umbrella."

She looked me over, thin and drenched, and asked without thinking.

"Huh, your parents didn't go pick you up?"

"I went out to buy groceries just now and saw them driving off."

I froze mid-step.

Every word I might have said jammed in my throat.

Seeing me drop my head and say nothing, Mrs. Lambert understood most of it in an instant.

"Go change into something dry, quick, before you catch a chill."

I nodded and walked to my own front door.

The next second, out of habit, I crouched down on the floor and quietly started going over vocabulary.

Not long after, Mrs. Lambert came back from the trash.

"Daphne, forgot your key again?"

At those words, I went stiff with embarrassment.

"Mrs. Lambert, I, I have a bad memory… I always forget my key."

I was lying to myself as I said it.

It wasn't that my memory was bad. I'd simply never had one.

In the end Mrs. Lambert couldn't bear it, and her voice went gentle.

"Come sit at my place for a bit, at least get out of those wet clothes."

I waved my hand and politely refused.

"It's alright, Mrs. Lambert."

"It's cool in the stairwell, it helps me stay alert. I'm fine right here."

I didn't dare go.

Even less did I dare accept that kindness.

If Mom and Dad came home late at night, they'd only decide I'd embarrassed them.

Mrs. Lambert let out a helpless sigh.

There was nothing to do but turn and go back inside.

It was the evening rush, and people kept moving through the stairwell.

Every neighbor who passed would glance my way without thinking.

"Why's that kid always crouching in the stairwell?"

"Who knows. Probably the grown-ups can't be bothered. Playing favorites, I bet."

I pretended I didn't hear.

I pressed every bit of the hurt down into my chest.

There were four of us in the family.

One key for Dad, one key for Mom, one key for my brother.

Four people, three keys.

The one left without a key was me.

Other kids came home from school and pulled out a key to open the door.

Only I crouched in the stairwell every day, waiting for someone to open it for me.

I knew people called me the family guard dog behind my back.

I'd overheard the name plenty of times.

At first it hurt, and I'd turn away with my eyes stinging.

Later I slowly went numb to it.

Last month I had a bad cold.

So dizzy I couldn't stand steady.

And for once, Mom softened.

She touched my forehead, her voice gentler than I'd ever heard from her.

"On your birthday, I'll take you to get a key cut."

"No more crouching by the door and waiting."

In that moment, more than ten years of stored-up hurt seemed to smooth out, little by little.

So it turned out I could have a key too.

For days after, I was too happy to sleep.

Lying in bed at night, I pictured over and over what it would look like to pull out my own key and open the door.

I secretly saved up my allowance and bought a keychain ahead of time.

A soft, squishy little blue bear.

Round eyes, round ears, so cute.

I hung it on my backpack and touched it several times a day.

Today was my birthday.

But it turned out no one remembered any of it at all.