Four Against One

My family believed in democracy. Every decision was settled by a family vote. Dad, Mom, my brother Dylan Conley, and my sister Tessa Conley each got one vote. So did I. The problem was, four against one meant I never won. During my junior year of high school, my brother wanted a new computer. The vote was four to one. The money I'd saved for three years of tutoring was gone. In senior year, when it was time to submit college applications, I earned early admission to Northbridge University, but Tessa cried and said she couldn't stand the thought of me moving so far away. So the family held another vote. Dad pinned my application form beneath his hand. "Majority rules. You're going to the local teachers college." I told him I'd worked myself to the bone for that spot at Northbridge. Mom frowned. "Why do you have to be so stubborn? Northbridge is so far away. Who's going to take care of you if you get sick?" Later, when Dylan needed money for his startup, Dad held my college acceptance letter and said they'd use my tuition money to tide him over. Tessa looped her arm through mine with a cheerful smile. "We all voted on it. Don't kick up a fuss just because you didn't get your way." I stared at the acceptance letter they'd just voted away from me and suddenly found the whole thing almost funny. So this was what they called democracy. Just the four of them deciding, by majority vote, what I had to lose next. That night, I stopped arguing. I went online instead and filled out an application for a classified research program at a remote facility in the Northwest desert. From now on, the only person who got a vote in my life was me.