Chapter 3

The following morning, Dad brought out two plates of pasta. Henry's came with meatballs and mushrooms in a creamy white sauce, while mine was plain pasta with a thin, watery sauce, the pasta still slightly undercooked.

"Why isn't mine the same as Julian's, Dad?" Henry asked, prodding the meatball on his plate with his fork. He was asking a question he already knew the answer to.

"You're at the age where you're still growing, and basketball burns up a lot of energy. You need to have more meat in your diet, Henry," Dad replied. He then pushed a small plate of olives in front of me and said, "You should have these."

Henry asked, "Isn't Julian at the age where he's growing, too, Dad?"

Dad glanced at me, his expression cold and indescribable. "He doesn't need the extra nutrients. He spends all day cooped up studying anyway, so giving him such good food would be a waste."

I lowered my head and ate my pasta, which was still a little undercooked and hard to chew. I couldn't help but feel the bitterness rising within me, almost choking me.

Henry said, "I'm going to the mall this afternoon to pick up a suit for the public speaking competition. I want you to come help me pick one, Dad."

Dad said, "I'd like that. I was planning to stop by the mall myself anyway."

I spoke up. "I want to go to the mall too."

Dad turned to look at me, his brow furrowing again. "What are you going for? Henry is buying a suit for this competition. Why do you have to come along?"

"I-I want to buy a pair of shoes…" I had worn my sneakers for almost two years, and the soles were so worn down that my socks were showing through.

"What's wrong with the pair you have?"

"The soles are almost worn completely through…"

"Just have Henry give you one of his spare pairs. He has so many shoes, and most of them are barely worn."

Henry chuckled softly and said, "You can have the black pair in the shoe cabinet. I'm not into that style anymore."

I instantly fell silent.

I ran a fever of 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit for three days last month. Dad told me to take some medicine and tough it out like a man. He accused me of making a fuss when I told him I was so dizzy that I could barely stand.

Yet, when Henry sneezed twice, Dad rushed to take him to the hospital for a full checkup. He even pinned the blame on me before leaving. "Henry got sick because you passed it on to him, Julian!"

I clenched my fists tightly, my eyes completely bloodshot. I eventually walked to the neighborhood clinic by myself and sat through two IV bags.

I got scolded by the doctor there. "What were you thinking? You can't just ignore your health because you're young! If you'd waited any longer, it would've developed into myocarditis!"

I merely lowered my head and told myself that it didn't really matter. Dad had found me and taken me in, so my life was never really mine to begin with. If I were gone, I figured no one would be sad about it.

I snapped out of my memories as the conversation in the academic affairs office suddenly came to mind.

I walked into the bathroom on a whim and stared at my own face in the mirror—the one that looked almost 80% like Mom's and Dad's. I made up my mind right there and then. I collected the hair Dad had left on his comb that morning.

I opened the map app on my phone and looked for the closest paternity testing center, which was right across from the general hospital in the city, about half an hour by bus.

When the bus arrived, I boarded and took a window seat. I found that my palms were already slick with sweat by the time I got off the bus.

The paternity testing center was located on the fourth floor of an old office building. The elevator doors opened right up to a glass door with a sign plastered on it, reading, "Paternity Testing Consultation Office".

The receptionist at the front desk accepted the hair sample and placed it in a sealed bag. "Your results will be ready in five business days."

It was almost nightfall when I returned to the residential complex.

"Where have you been? Why did you return home so late?"

"I just went out for a stroll."

I noticed that the dining table was a mess, with nothing left but scraps and cold leftovers.

"You can make yourself a box of mac and cheese. You've only got yourself to blame for coming home this late."

Dad suddenly looked at me and said, "Henry's taking part in the citywide public speaking competition next week, so go over his speech and polish it up for him. You're pretty good at writing, aren't you? You might actually be good for something this time."

I hummed in agreement and walked into my room on an empty stomach. I sat down at the desk, the glow of the computer screen lighting up my face as I revised his speech.

I looked at the topic "The Person I Admire Most" and found that Henry had written about Dad. I rewrote the opening and added a detail about how, when Henry was little and fell ill, Dad had carried him to the hospital on his back and stayed up all night.

I had to make that detail up since I had never experienced such a thing.

I felt my right eye aching again. I rubbed it and went back to working on the speech.

I had to wait five business days. It was Saturday today, so the results would be ready by next Friday.

Henry called out from the living room. "I want an ice-cold Coke, Dad!"

"There's some in the fridge! Get Julian to get it for you!"

"Julian! Coke!"

I walked out of my room and went to the fridge to grab his drink.

I handed the drink to Henry. He took it and looked at me. "Why is your right eye bloodshot?"

"It's nothing."

"You can spare me that pitiful act. You're getting on my nerves, Julian."

I didn't have time to put on a pity act—all I could think about was what the test results would tell me the following Friday.