808 Miles Away From Home

Dad had booked out the entire ground floor of the Belmont Banquet Hall.

A banner stretched across the room reading, "Congratulations to Bria Sumner, ranked 8th in the district, on her admission to Graymont Preparatory!"

I was sitting at the table farthest back in the corner. Everyone around me was a distant relative I barely knew, and the noise was deafening.

Adults took turns coming up to toast my sister and press envelopes stuffed with cash into her hands. The compliments carried clear across three tables.

"That girl's been as sharp as a tack since she was little. Now that she's in at Graymont, she's practically set to go to the country’s top university!"

"No kidding! The Sumners must be so proud. She gets her brains from both of you, that's for sure."

Dad was glowing, glass in hand, rattling off Bria's accomplishments like he was reading from a highlight reel.

"Bria's always been easy, I'll tell you that much. She barely started trying in eighth grade and took first place in the state math olympiad. Now, she’s knocked her SATs out of the park this spring. Her mom and I are already gearing up to support her through the next three years of—"

That was when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I tapped the screen and saw a score notification from the College Board. I scored 790 in Reading and Writing and 790 in Math, for a total of 1,580. That placed me in the 99th percentile statewide.

I stared at those few lines for half a minute. Then I calmly turned off the screen, flipped the phone over, and set it face down on the red tablecloth.

Uncle Keith, who was across the table, had clearly had a few too many. His cheeks were flushed pink as he suddenly smacked his forehead and craned past the other guests to look at me.

"Oh, shoot! Paige, you took your SATs this year too, didn't you? The scores came out today, right? How'd you do? Did you hit the benchmark?"

The noisy table went dead silent for a few seconds.

Dad's smile froze. Something flickered behind his eyes, as though he were frantically searching his memory for what grade I was in.

Bria blinked and looked over at Mom.

Mom walked over with her glass and stepped in so smoothly she might as well have rehearsed it.

"Oh, come on, you've got it mixed up! Paige won’t take the SATs until next year. Today's all about our Bria. Here, have a drink!"

My fork hung in midair.

I had taken the test two weeks ago. I completed the four sections over a full day, having studied for each of them entirely on my own.

That morning, I set my alarm for 5:30 AM, scraped together breakfast from whatever was left in the fridge, walked to the end of the block to grab a bike-share to the nearest subway station, and rode 10 stops across town to the testing center.

During lunch break, every other kid had a parent waiting outside with a home-cooked meal, a hotel room booked for a nap, or at the very least, a cold bottle of water.

I bought a marked-down sandwich from the convenience store across the street and ate it on a bench under a tree, washing it down with the tap water I had brought from home.

When I finished the last section that afternoon and walked through the front door, the house was empty. It stayed that way until 9:00 PM, when Mom finally sent me a text.

Mom: [Get up early tomorrow. Mop the floors, then come with me to book the venue for Bria's party. Don't sleep in.]

Uncle Keith laughed awkwardly and moved on. "Well, next year, Paige'll bring home a perfect score for the family!"

I lowered my head and picked at a piece of cold chicken from the appetizer plate. Being overlooked in this family was nothing new.

The party did not wind down until 10:00 PM. Mom was at the front desk settling the bill when she tossed me a cloth bag full of gift envelopes and told me to tally everything up.

I sat on the lobby couch, opening them one by one and logging each amount in the little red ledger she had handed me—$250 from Uncle Ed, $100 from Aunt Lori, and $150 from Aunt Donna.

I was on the last page of the ledger when Mom came back. She glanced at the numbers and said, "Whatever the relatives gave you counts toward Bria's school fund too."

I froze. On his way out earlier, Uncle Keith had pressed a thick envelope into my hand and patted me on the shoulder.

"Paige, treat yourself to something nice. Senior year's rough. You've earned it."

There had been $300 inside. Now, it belonged to Bria's prep school fund.

I closed the ledger without a word, straightened the bills, and tucked everything into Mom's handbag.

Back at the house, Mom and Dad were still in the living room, excitedly tallying up the night's profits, while Bria chattered beside them about wanting the newest iPad. I did not stop. I walked straight to my room and locked the door behind me.

I powered on my ancient desktop, whose fan screamed the moment it booted, and logged into the college applications portal.

I did not select a single university in the state as my first choice, even though my scores could have easily gotten me into any of them. I chose the top school in the south.

It was 808 miles from home, a two-hour flight or thirteen-hour drive.

I clicked ‘Submit’, then ‘Confirm’.

The words ‘Application successfully submitted’ filled the screen, and I let out a long, slow breath.

The glow of the monitor washed over my face, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, my chest felt light.