Chapter 2

Smart.

It was the word I had heard more than any other for as long as I could remember.

Blythe was prettier than I was and had a more endearing personality. The only thing I had going for me was being smart. I could read a textbook once and have it memorized. I could glance at a problem and understand it immediately.

Yet my parents had never loved me more for it.

Gary was smart too, and they were proud of him for it. When it came to me, all it ever earned was a weary sigh from Mom.

"What does a girl need to be that smart for? It'd be better if she were more like Blythe. A little slower, a little sweeter. That's what's lovable."

Eventually, that line became everyone's justification for playing favorites. They all said I was smart and could take care of myself, so the best food went to Blythe first. The new dresses went to Blythe first. Even our parents' affection went to Blythe first.

The same quality that made Gary someone to be proud of had become, in my case, the very reason I did not deserve to be loved.

Then, I met Callum, who was one year ahead of me at school.

Back then, he had not met Blythe yet. When I told him all of this, he just frowned and said, "Being loved more because you're slow? What kind of logic is that? Darcy, being smart isn't something to be sorry for."

Later, he met Blythe too. More than once after that, I caught him laughing in spite of himself. "Your sister isn't the sharpest, but she's kind of cute."

I still liked Callum though, because he was the first person who ever told me that being smart was not a fault. Now, however, even he was saying the same thing as the rest of them.

The living room went quiet for a moment. Gary was the first to lose patience, rapping his knuckles against the coffee table.

"Darcy, say something already. Mom and Dad are doing this for the family. It's not like they're trying to hurt you."

I kept my eyes down, my throat blocked by something I could not swallow down. After a long silence, I managed a quiet "Okay."

Everyone finally relaxed. As if on cue, they each produced a bag from behind them.

"Come on, don't look so miserable. These are your graduation gifts. Blythe got hers, and you're getting yours, so don't go saying we play favorites."

I looked at the four gifts in front of me, and the sting behind my eyes only got worse. What were these supposed to be? They first hurt me, then handed me consolation prizes?

Besides, I had seen it all clearly just minutes ago. The gifts in front of Blythe had been the newest phone, a laptop, a limited-edition bag, and concert tickets she had been wanting for months.

What they handed me was a fountain pen, a book, a plain canvas tote, and a dress with the price tag already cut off.

I took the gifts and stood up to leave.

"Darcy." Mom stopped me, hesitating before she asked, "Do you want to stay for dinner?"

I lowered my head with a bitter smile. This was supposed to be my home too, but even having a meal here was something I had to be invited to 'stay' for.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and shook my head. "No, I'm fine."

Once I was out the door, I threw all four gifts into the garbage bin by the building entrance.

On the bus ride back, I scrolled past a new social media post from Blythe.

[The annoying one finally left. Now, we can actually enjoy dinner.]

The photo showed my parents, Gary, and Callum sitting around the dining table, which was loaded with crab, shrimp, oysters, and five other dishes. Everything was seafood, which would send me into a severe allergic reaction.

At that moment, I was almost glad I had not stayed. If I had, the only thing I would have been able to eat from that entire table was plain pasta.

Back at the apartment, I started packing. In the living room, I turned the plush dolls around to face the wall, like children being made to stand in the corner.

At the most visible spot on my desk was a postcard pinned under a book. Callum had given it to me before he even knew Blythe existed. It showed the lake on Stratton's campus, and in the bottom corner was his messy handwriting.

'Darcy, I'll be waiting for you at Stratton.'

I looked at it for two seconds, pulled it out, and tore it in half.