Chapter 2

The familiar click of a camera shutter went off. I turned around, unable to believe it.

Michael's voice dropped low, though he couldn't quite hide how thrilled he sounded.

"The fake death-row guys you hired were completely unconvincing. Mine's the funniest shot, hands down."

"Please. You think hiring someone to dump a basin of dirty bathwater on him beats what I got? I say mine's funnier. Let's send them both to Andrew and let him be the judge."

The two of them were so absorbed in arguing over whose footage of my humiliation was funnier that they'd forgotten to keep their voices down.

Tears I couldn't hold back anymore spilled over, and my legs gave out from under me. I sank to my knees on the ground.

It took a long while before my hands steadied enough to pull out my phone and send two messages.

Me: [I'm not coming back to this family.]

Me: [And Diane, let's break up.]

The instant Diane saw the messages, her breath caught audibly.

She started toward me, flustered, but Michael grabbed her arm before she got far.

"Don't bother with him. I know him better than that. He's just talking big to feel like he matters. Look at it this way, we've been messing with him for months now, and has he ever once caught on that something's off?"

Diane hesitated, then seemed to relax, as if that had settled it.

"That's true. His obliviousness really is something else. No wonder his dad only ever needs a couple of sentences to talk him into drinking whatever's been laced with that muting drug."

Something in my chest dropped like a stone.

When I was younger and practiced singing until my voice went hoarse, Dad would always pat my shoulder and cheer me on.

"Brad, you're going to get into the best music academy in the country. You'll grow up to be a great singer and make me proud."

And now, just to smooth things over for Andrew, he'd drugged his own son with his own hands and destroyed my voice and everything I'd worked for.

I don't remember how I got out of there.

By the time I was in the taxi, I felt frozen through, like a block of ice.

A new photo popped up in the family group chat, instantly burying my message about not coming home.

Dad: [@everyone, I prepared a seafood feast today. Come home soon. We're just waiting for you guys to start!]

In the photo, blue crab, shrimp, eight dishes lined up neatly on the table.

Every single one of them was something I was allergic to, the kind that could close up my throat.

For a second, I actually felt grateful I'd decided not to go back and humiliate myself for nothing.

Diane and Michael replied within seconds.

The chat filled with a volley of firework emojis, like they were celebrating me leaving.

My mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile.

I switched screens, opened my email, and hit send on my acceptance to the university abroad.

I'd hesitated over it for so long, unwilling to leave behind the people I'd once been closest to. I'd turned it down even when they'd promised full tuition and to help me fix my voice for free.

Only now did I see how laughable that version of me had been.

After I set the phone down, I felt an unexpected lightness settle over me.

Starting today, I wanted nothing more to do with any of it.