Chapter 2

The next morning, I didn't have to get up early to cook breakfast for the whole family like I usually did.

Today was Monty's college send-off dinner, and Dad had gone all out, ordering him a twelve-inch, two-tier cake for the occasion.

I followed Dad into a private dining room at the restaurant, past an arch of flowers, and took my seat.

My aunt, Leanne Croft, spotted us and came over, already fishing for gossip. "Your youngest really did you proud. A 1260! Which school's he applying to?"

"Battisata University. It's close to home and a top school, so we can keep an eye on him. Anywhere farther and I wouldn't feel right about it." Dad couldn't hide the pride in his voice whenever Monty came up.

Leanne nodded, then turned to me. "Your second one's graduated, isn't he? Where's he working now?"

Dad answered without much thought. "He's not got much going for him. Nobody would even hire him after his interviews. I had to pull some strings just to get him an apprenticeship at the auto shop down the street."

Leanne gave me a long, meaningful look, the kind reserved for a disappointment. "No good for anything like that. However's he going to find a wife?"

I wanted to say I wasn't behind anyone. That year, I'd scored a 1480 on my SATs, the highest in the entire state. Every year of college, I'd been on a National Merit Scholarship, and I'd won more research competitions than I could count.

In the end, I said nothing.

The year my scores came in, they'd been so afraid of putting pressure on Monty, who'd just started high school, that they hadn't even thrown me a dinner for it, and told me not to bring it up at home. They were so afraid Monty would feel inferior and spiral into depression over it that they'd pushed me into enrolling at Bowser State College, some unremarkable school near home, while my teachers all said it was a shame.

I kept my head down and ate in silence, listening to them gush over Monty.

The table wasn't just full of food. Monty's celebration cake sat there too.

Monty noticed I wasn't happy and cut a slice, setting it in front of me.

"Bro, I remember you always loved cake. We even used to fight over it. Mine's a big one, so you can eat as much as you want today."

Leanne tilted her head, looking at Monty with approval. "Look at him, thinking of his brother. So thoughtful."

"Still," she added, turning back to me, "as the older one, you should be more generous. Don't go picking fights with your brother all the time. You'll need his help down the road."

I lowered my head and scooped a small spoonful of cake into my mouth. It was cloyingly sweet.

I'd never once had a real birthday.

The night before I turned eighteen, I used spare change I'd earned from a part-time job to buy a discounted, two-inch cake from a bakery.

I put it in the fridge that night, planning to celebrate with the whole family the next day, on my actual birthday.

But when I woke up, the cake had been taken out at some point without me knowing.

In the thick summer heat, by the time I opened it, the cream had already melted and gone sour.

In that moment, my eyes went red with fury, and my whole body shook with it.

Monty wandered out of his air-conditioned room and explained, offhand, "I wanted to chill a watermelon, and there wasn't room in the fridge, so I moved your cake out. I didn't know it'd go bad that fast."

Shaking with anger, I stormed to the fridge, took out his watermelon, and hurled it to the floor.

What I got in return was a hard slap from my dad.

"You've got some nerve, throwing a tantrum in this house! It's just a cake! You can buy one whenever you want!"

But I knew that anyone else in that house could buy a cake whenever they wanted.

I was the only one who didn't get that privilege.

I grabbed the spoiled cake and shoved it into my mouth in big bites.

The curdled cream was thick and rancid going down my throat. I ate until I gagged, and kept eating anyway.

That was the first time in my life I'd ever eaten a birthday cake.

Monty's celebratory dinner was the second.

As I kept eating, my eyes turned red, and my face grew paler by the second.

Dad noticed quickly and kicked me hard under the table. "It's your brother's big day. Why the long face? It's bad luck!"

I sniffed hard to hold back from crying. But in that moment, the tears fell anyway, and I couldn't stop them.

Dad panicked and hissed at me, "Get out! Go home! Don't you dare embarrass me in front of the family!"

I stood up and stumbled out of the private room, running all the way home in one breath.

So he could tell, after all, when my face went that bad at the table.

Everything I'd been overlooked for, over twenty-some years. What was any of it worth?

My phone chimed, pulling me out of the sadness.

I opened it to find a message: the head of the Institute had bought my plane ticket and was reminding me to be at the airport on time the next day.

I replied with a simple "okay," and just like that, the gloom lifted.

I was about to go pack when my sister tagged me in the family group chat.

Beth: [Where'd you go?]

I was about to reply when another message from her popped up.

Beth: [Monty got into it with our cousin, our eldest uncle's son. It's gotten really ugly. Get over here and help.]

My fingers froze. My breath caught.

Getting red-eyed in front of relatives, for this family, was an embarrassment.

Monty getting into a fight at his celebratory dinner was a grievance that needed defending.

My fingers trembled slightly. I didn't reply. I turned my phone off.

I went back to my small room and started packing for tomorrow.

I didn't have much. Everything I owned fit in a single backpack.