Chapter 2

I lay on the floor completely motionless.

Shaking with rage, Dad stomped one foot down onto my wrist.

"Ronnie, you must be feeling pretty pleased with yourself, playing dead in front of all these people just to embarrass me. Do you think just because you're my son you can act like you're above everyone else? The biggest regret of my life is insisting on having you back then."

Several sharp gasps came from behind.

Ms. Ritter covered her mouth, but her eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction.

My heart tightened, as if someone had viciously twisted it.

I was born premature and was left with congenital anemia.

To care for me, Dad taught himself massage and nutrition therapy, filling one thick notebook after another with meticulous notes.

Every time I got sick, he was so terrified that he couldn't sleep for nights on end.

However, everything changed after I started college.

He was the dean of this school.

On the first day of class, Dad pulled me aside for a talk and told me that from then on, he had to make sure everything was fair and impartial at college to avoid any appearance of favoritism.

For the sake of appearances, he gave the national scholarships that should have been mine to the runner-up.

"You're my son. If you took this scholarship, people would say I was playing favorites. You have to understand where I'm coming from," Dad said calmly.

To prove his impartiality, he gave the state competition spot I had earned to a student from a low-income family.

Dad tried to reason with me. "Ronnie, don't blame me. In this position I'm in, so many eyes are watching my every move."

Time and again, I tried to see from Dad's perspective and swallowed every injustice.

But this time, to keep up a fair image, Dad actually made me participate in the group blood donation—me, who was severely anemic.

"It's precisely because you're my son that you should be the one leading by example. If everyone else donates but you don't, what will people think of me?"

And now he was saying he regretted ever having me.

I floated in mid-air and looked down at my own body lying on the ground.

My arm was covered in needle marks and bruises.

I wasn't playing dead, no.

Instead, I was truly dead.

Ms. Ritter grabbed the blood bag and made a half-hearted show of tugging at me a few times.

"Ronnie, just get up now. There's only 200 milliliters left to go."

She failed to pull me up and instead stumbled backward a few steps, falling to the ground.

The blood bag slipped from her hand and flew through the air, red blood splashing all over the floor.

The body she had just pulled up crashed back down hard into the pool of blood.

My white shirt was instantly soaked through, making me look even more like a corpse.

Ms. Ritter bit her lip, her eyes suddenly reddening.

"Ronnie, there's no need to make things difficult for a lowly nurse like me! I was just trying to help you up—why did you have to push me? Now look what's happened. All that blood we just drew is spilled. What a waste of all the trouble Mr. Bradshaw has gone through for you."

Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, as if she had suffered some terrible injustice.

"You have no idea how much I envy you for having such a good dad. We're practically the same age, yet you get to enjoy campus life without a care in the world, while I'm stuck working myself to the bone as a nurse. And on top of that, I have to put up with being bullied by you."

I stood to the side, finding the whole thing utterly absurd.

How could a dead person have pushed her?

However, Dad believed her. He walked over and gently wrapped his arms around Ms. Ritter.

"Don't cry, I'm here. I won't let him bully you anymore," he said as he patted her back.

I froze abruptly and stared at Dad in a daze.

He looked at my body lying on the floor with disgust.

"Since he's so determined to play dead and get out of donating blood, then I won't cover for him either. Get back every drop that was spilled—insert the needle and draw his blood again. Let's see how much longer he can keep up this act!"

The classmates waiting in line behind me all started pointing fingers and accusing me.

"So, he really was faking it. Look, he's made even Mr. Bradshaw lose his temper—and he's usually so gentle."

"He thinks just because his dad is the dean, he can get special treatment. Good thing Mr. Bradshaw doesn't indulge that nasty temper of his."

"Yeah, it's just a little blood—was it really necessary to play dead? There are still so many people waiting in line behind him. What a waste of time!"

Just then, the president of the college, Karl Poole, appeared outside the blood donation bus after hearing the commotion.

When he saw me lying on the ground with horrific amounts of blood around me, his face instantly changed.

"Mr. Bradshaw, what's happened to this student? Should I call for an ambulance?"

Dad turned around and sighed lightly.

"Mr. Poole, this is my son. He's playing dead to get out of donating blood. The blood on the floor is from him deliberately smashing the blood bag in a fit of temper. Pay him no mind—the more he acts out, the more I need to teach him a lesson and fix that rotten attitude of his."