Chapter 2

A long line had formed in front of the evacuation shuttle.

By the time we reached the doors, the shuttle bus was already packed with evacuees.

The driver held up a hand.

“Three seats left. Anyone else will have to stand or wait for the next shuttle.”

Dad looked at Chloe’s pale face.

“She needs a seat. She has asthma, and she’s still shaken up.”

“I get motion sickness,” Mom said quickly. Then she glanced at Dad. “And your back won’t hold up if you stand the whole way.”

All three of them looked at me.

I looked down at my right foot, wrapped in thick white gauze.

“Natalie.” Mom softened her voice into the patient tone she always used when she expected me to give in.

“You’re young. You’ll be fine standing for a little while. Chloe’s been through enough today.”

Dad gestured impatiently toward the bus.

“Come on. People are waiting behind us.”

Chloe touched my arm.

“Nat, you can have my seat. I think I can stand.”

Mom immediately pulled her back.

“Absolutely not. You were just having trouble breathing.”

Then she looked at me.

“Natalie has always been the strong one. She can handle it.”

The strong one.

That was what they called me whenever they wanted me to suffer quietly.

I said nothing.

Gripping the rail beside the door, I dragged my stitched foot onto the bus.

Mom, Dad, and Chloe took the last three seats near the front. I made my way toward the back and wrapped both hands around an overhead strap.

The shuttle pulled away from the curb. Every turn sent the crowded bus swaying from side to side.

I balanced all my weight on my left leg and kept my injured foot slightly raised.

Whenever the bus jolted, the bandage brushed the rubber floor, sending a sharp pulse of pain through my sole.

In the dark reflection of the window, I could see my family.

Mom unwrapped a chocolate bar and broke it into small pieces for Chloe.

Dad took off his jacket and draped it over her legs.

They spoke to her in low, soothing voices, asking if she was cold, dizzy, or still having trouble breathing.

No one looked back at me.

No one had even asked why there was blood on my jeans.

It reminded me of junior year.

I had won first place in a statewide mathematics competition. The awards ceremony was being held in Sacramento, and Mom had promised for weeks that she and Dad would be there.

She had even taped the invitation to the refrigerator.

“We’ll make a weekend out of it,” she’d said. “You deserve to celebrate.”

The morning of the ceremony, Chloe woke up with a stuffy nose and said she felt a little dizzy.

She didn’t even have a fever. Mom still panicked.

She brought Chloe blankets, made her tea, and called family doctor to check on Chloe.

I stood by the front door in my dress, my overnight bag at my feet.

“The team bus leaves in twenty minutes,” I reminded her. “Are you still meeting me at the ceremony?”

Mom didn’t even turn around.

“Chloe isn’t feeling well. We can’t leave her like this.”

“And she needs us,” Dad said. “You’ll have your teacher and the rest of your team. You’ll be fine.”

I was the only winner who walked onto that stage without family in the audience.

Cameras flashed as I accepted the trophy, but the two seats I had reserved in the front row remained empty.

When I came home the next evening, the three of them were curled up on the couch watching a comedy.

Chloe was eating pizza.

Their laughter reached me before I even opened the door.

The shuttle braked hard.

My hand slipped from the strap, and my right foot slammed against the floor.

Pain ripped through the stitches.

My vision went black for a second, and I caught the back of a seat before I fell. Warm blood began seeping through the fresh bandage.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

An email filled the screen.

Your fully funded placement in our year-long finance exchange program has been finalized. We look forward to welcoming you in three days.

Three months ago, I had submitted the application without telling my family.

Now my tuition, housing, and travel expenses were fully covered.

In seventy-two hours, I would be an ocean away from all of them.

“Nat?”

Chloe had turned around in her seat.

“Are you okay? You almost fell.”

Before I could answer, Mom glanced back.

“She’s fine. She just needs to hold on tighter.”

Then she turned to Chloe again.

“Stop twisting around, sweetheart. You’ll make yourself carsick. Close your eyes and try to sleep.”

I locked my phone and slipped it back into my pocket.

“I’m fine,” I said, smiling at Chloe. “Go to sleep. You don’t have to worry about me.”

None of them did.

My family had three days left with me.

They just didn’t know it yet.