Chapter 4

When I still wouldn't speak, my father finally lost his temper. "What exactly do you want? To stay mute your whole life?"

I looked at him, thought about how I was about to leave, and lost all desire to keep tangling with them.

Calmly, I said, "I understand. I'll apologize."

Only then did his brow smooth out.

"That's more like it," he said.

We went home.

The moment we stepped inside, he shoved me forward, signaling me to apologize to my mother.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Even though I had no idea what I'd done wrong.

My mother's eyes were full of smugness, as if she'd won again.

My sister chimed in too. "Kayla, if you'd been this obedient from the start, Mom wouldn't have gotten so upset."

My mother gave a snort. "If only she had half your sense."

Watching the two of them so cozy together, mother and daughter, I found that my heart had gone numb, without the slightest feeling.

Early the next morning I went to school.

To earn some money, I asked Ms. Pruitt, my homeroom teacher, for time off, wanting to take a few days of temporary work.

Ms. Pruitt looked at my hair, hacked into ragged patches, and her eyes reddened.

She handed me an envelope. Inside was a thick stack of two thousand dollars.

Then she passed me a new backpack.

It was heavy. When I opened it, there were actually two new sets of clothes and a pair of shoes.

And a secondhand phone.

I shook my head and set everything on the desk. "Ms. Pruitt, I can't take this."

She said gently, "Keep it. You've got early admission to Harvard. The school will give the teacher a bonus for it too. This is nothing."

"And once you get to New York, get a local SIM card and let me know you made it safe."

I hadn't cried when my mother forced me to swallow that cake.

I hadn't cried when my whole family tore me down.

But now, holding that new backpack in my hands, the tears came, falling in big heavy drops.

"Ms. Pruitt, thank you," I choked out.

For three years, she had seen every one of my hardships.

But she never said a word about them.

She only ever found reasons to slip me things.

New stationery when I ranked first.

New study guides when I went to competitions.

In winter, a padded coat her daughter had outgrown, still brand new.

More often, it was the hot food in her lunchbox.

She always said her husband had packed too much, and that I had to help her out so it wouldn't go to waste.

For three years, she carefully guarded my dignity.

I kept all of it in my heart.

Ms. Pruitt held my hand and said softly, "The interview matters."

"Study hard these next few days. Don't let people and things that aren't worth it get to you."

She paused, then her voice weighted, earnest. "Kayla, your future is out there."

My future is out there.

The words poured through me like scalding water.

I nodded hard and bowed to her, deeply.

On the way home with the backpack, I kept thinking about where I could hide it so no one would find it.

But when I got back, the house was empty.

There were twenty dollars on the table.

Under the twenty was a note. "Your dad and I took your sister on a trip. We'll make up your birthday noodles when we're back."

"Spend this carefully. There are noodles and greens in the fridge."

I held the thin twenty in my hand and wanted so badly to say I didn't need the birthday noodles anymore.

But it seemed she had never needed to hear anything I said.

Over the next few days, without them around, I felt lighter than ever.

On the morning of the fourth day, I picked up my packed bags and took one last look at the home where I'd lived for over a decade.

Then I turned and left, without a moment's hesitation.