Chapter 4

After the banquet ended, the guests dispersed.

My parents took Cyrus and headed home first.

I stayed behind in the private room to pack the last few unopened bottles of drinks into a bag.

When I walked out of the restaurant, Maya was waiting for me at the bottom of the entrance steps.

The summer night breeze stirred the hem of her skirt. She still looked like the same untouched, pristine girl I had always known.

Unfortunately, her heart had already drifted 100,000 miles away.

"Jasper," Maya called out to me, then stepped forward and pulled a small box from her bag.

"A graduation present," she said softly as she held it out to me.

I didn't take it. I simply looked at her calmly.

A little awkwardly, she pressed the box into my hand. "It's a wooden keychain for good luck. I know you're upset. Your parents didn't show you much respect at the table tonight.

"But try to understand them too. It wasn't easy for Cyrus to get into college. Today was supposed to be his day."

I glanced down at the wooden keychain in my hand, the kind you could buy three for 10 dollars at any street stall.

I almost wanted to laugh.

Half an hour earlier, back in the private room, I had watched Maya give Cyrus the newest top-of-the-line tablet on the market, along with a stylus engraved with his name.

When I said nothing, Maya's brow furrowed again, and her voice slipped into its usual lecturing tone. "Jasper, you shouldn't always be so petty about these things.

"You've always been like a weed—tough enough to grow anywhere. You're tough, so it doesn't matter if you get shortchanged a little sometimes.

"But Cyrus is different. His heart is made of glass. Even the slightest neglect could shatter him.

"You're about to start studying special education. I hope you can grow up a little and start treating Cyrus' care as your responsibility instead of competing with him."

That was the verdict she handed down to me.

Because I never screamed in the dark. Because when I bled, I bandaged my own wounds. Because I never used sickness to hold anyone hostage.

So I deserved to have everything taken from me, even love.

A laugh suddenly escaped me. "You're right."

Without another thought, I tucked the wooden keychain into my pocket and looked her in the eye. "Maya, take good care of him. I won't make a fuss about it."

Maya froze for a moment, clearly surprised that I had given in so easily.

Then she let out a relieved breath and smiled with satisfaction. "I'm glad you've come around."

"Whatever makes you happy." I turned and walked into the night without looking back.

…

By the time I got home, it was already 11:00 p.m. The house was pitch-black and so quiet that all I could hear was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

They had all gone to sleep.

No one had left a light on for me.

By the glow of the streetlamp through the window, I stood in the middle of the living room and took one last look at the home where I had spent the past 18 years.

On the wall behind the door were the height marks that tracked our growth from childhood.

The red lines belonged to Cyrus. They continued all the way to age 18, with little notes crowded beside them, each one some variation of "Cyrus grew again!"

The black lines were mine. They stopped at age nine.

After that year, no one had ever cared enough to check whether I'd grown any taller.

The umbrella stand by the entryway held three high-end folding umbrellas, one for each of my parents and Cyrus. Mine was an old black umbrella with a rib snapped by the wind and patched together with tape. It sat alone, crammed into the shadowy corner.

A thermos sat on the dining table. Beneath it was a note from my mother.

[Cyrus, if you wake up from a nightmare tonight, drink the chicken soup in the thermos to calm your nerves.]

I had been hauling bricks at the building materials market since 7:00 a.m. that morning, then pouring drinks and serving at the restaurant that evening.

Sixteen straight hours had passed without a bite to eat. My stomach was completely empty, and hunger had left me dizzy.

Yet when I looked at that thermos of fragrant chicken soup, I found I had no appetite at all.

I went into the cramped little room on the balcony and pulled my backpack, stuffed with loose cash, from beneath the bed board.

My acceptance letter was carefully tucked inside a thick dictionary.

I didn't take a single cent of my family's money or a single piece of new clothing.

I walked over to the dining table and pulled the house key from my pocket. I set it beside the note my mother had written for Cyrus.

Then I picked up my backpack, opened the front door, and stepped into the heavy darkness of the night.

The lock clicked softly shut behind me.

At last, I had closed the door on the cage they called home.

Completely and for good.