Chapter 2

The work at the building materials market proved far more grueling than I had imagined. Dust mingled with the sweltering June heat, scraping at my lungs until they burned.

After half a month, thick calluses had formed across my shoulders from the constant chafing. My once-fair skin had burned so dark it had begun to peel.

Every night when I got home, I washed up as quietly as possible.

Then I returned to my room, a kennel-sized space converted from a balcony that measured less than 45 square feet. There, I tucked the cash I had earned that day, bill by bill, beneath the mattress board.

That afternoon, the contractor tossed me an address. "Jasper, this delivery's going to a nice apartment complex. Solid wood desk. You'll have to carry it up to the sixth floor, and there's no elevator. I'll throw in an extra hundred for the haul."

I pedaled my delivery tricycle to the address, checked the unit number, and froze.

It was Maya's home.

I hauled the heavy wooden desktop up the stairwell, one flight at a time, all the way to the sixth floor.

When the door opened, Maya stood there in her loungewear with a damp towel in her hand.

The moment she saw me, her smile froze. "Jasper? Why are you... dressed like this?"

Her eyes swept over my work clothes, caked with putty dust and mud, and her brow furrowed. "Didn't you say you were studying at the library?"

Before I could answer, Cyrus' voice came from inside. "Maya, who is it?"

Cyrus emerged from the study in a clean white T-shirt. He stopped when he saw me. "Bro? Why do you look like such a wreck?"

"Delivery," I said flatly.

I turned sideways and carried the desk into the study.

Maya had decorated the room to feel warm and cozy. Soundproofing foam lined the walls, and soft, warm-yellow curtains hung over the windows.

Maya followed me inside, reproach creeping into her voice. "Even if you wanted some extra pocket money, you didn't have to take a job like this. You're covered in dust. Don't you know Cyrus is sensitive to it?"

I ignored her. I set down the desk and pulled the assembly toolkit from my pocket.

The toolkit was made of old canvas, and its zipper tended to stick. I gave it a hard tug. With a clatter, the wrenches and screwdrivers inside spilled across the floor.

Amid the sharp clang of metal, a silver fountain pen rolled out from the bottom of the bag.

My father had bought it for me at the department store when I was eight, after I won first place in the city's children's essay competition. The cap bore an engraving: [To my son Jasper, a bright road ahead.]

It was the only thing in the house that belonged to me and no one else. I had carried it with me ever since.

The pen rolled to a stop at Cyrus' feet.

In the quiet study, the sudden clatter of metal seemed deafening. He flinched violently as panic from his claustrophobia seized him.

"Ah!"

Cyrus clapped his hands over his ears. His face drained of color, and he stumbled backward. His foot came down hard on the silver pen.

A sharp crack rang out.

Maya shoved me aside and rushed to wrap her arms around Cyrus, whose entire body trembled.

"Cyrus! It's okay. It's okay, I'm here. Take a deep breath!" Maya patted Cyrus' back, then turned and shouted at me in fury. "Are you out of your mind, Jasper? You know he can't handle sharp noises, and you knocked everything over on purpose? You're just upset because I bought him a desk and never got you one, aren't you?"

Her shove sent me stumbling into the doorframe. A sharp, piercing pain shot through my shoulder.

But I didn't look at her. I didn't look at Cyrus either. My eyes remained fixed on the pen lying on the floor, crushed out of shape.

The cap had caved in. The words *a bright road ahead* had been scratched into an illegible scrawl. The ink cartridge had burst, and blue-black ink spread across the floor.

Cyrus was still gasping for breath in Maya's arms, but his eyes remained fixed on me.

A flicker of panic crossed his face. "I'm sorry, bro... I didn't mean to. I'll get you a new one."

"Replace it? Don't be ridiculous!" Maya cut him off sharply. "How much could some cheap pen even be worth? He did it on purpose! Jasper, take your trash and get out!"

I stood there and watched Maya shield my brother like a mother hen protecting her chick.

The young woman who had once told me we would see the world side by side now looked at me with nothing but naked disgust.

I crouched slowly and picked up the broken pen. Ink stained my fingers.

I wanted desperately to ask her one thing.

*Maya, do you remember our first year of high school, when you said there was nothing you loved more than watching me write with this pen?*

The words rose to my lips, but I swallowed them.

I packed up my tools one by one, then tossed the pen into the trash can outside the door.

"Desk's assembled. Remember to leave a good review." I brushed the dust from my hands and headed down the stairs.