Chapter 2

Mom froze, then gently brushed the wet hair from my forehead.

"Well, if you missed the surgery, you missed it," she said. "It only had a 40 percent success rate anyway. What if something went wrong?"

Dad added, "Exactly. Why do you always have to make such a fuss? How are we supposed to take care of someone recovering from major surgery on top of everything else? Try to be understanding for once."

Their words weighed heavily on me. A 40 percent success rate was a risk they weren't willing to take. But to me, it was my only shot at walking again.

And just like that, because Lisa was nervous about her piano competition and needed new jewelry, they snuffed out my last hope. Now they were using these seemingly reasonable excuses to justify their favoritism.

After getting soaked in that downpour, I developed a high fever that afternoon and was taken to the ER. The room was crowded and noisy, with people constantly coming and going.

I was so cold that the nurse struggled to find a vein, and it took her a few tries to get the IV in.

Mom stood nearby, repeatedly checking her watch with an anxious look on her face.

Dad was rapidly replying to messages on his phone, his brow slightly furrowed.

Lisa sat in a chair nearby, scrolling through her phone out of boredom.

After watching Mom check the time several times, I said, "Mom, just go if you have things to do."

Mom visibly relaxed and immediately grabbed her bag. "Lisa has an important competition this afternoon. We need to get her to rehearsal."

Dad stood up as well, slipping his phone into his pocket. "You can finish your IV here. The nurse is with you. We'll come back and pick you up tonight."

The nurse adjusting my IV frowned and couldn't help speaking up. "One of you should stay with her. Her fever is over 102 degrees, and she won't even be able to get to the bathroom on her own."

Mom looked a little embarrassed, but she still took Lisa by the arm and headed for the door. "We won't be gone long. She can manage on her own."

They left without hesitation. Not one of them even looked back at me.

I watched the IV slowly drip through the tube. I no longer expected them to give me even the slightest bit of attention.

By the time the IV was finished, my fever had come down a little. The nurse helped me call an accessible cab.

While the cab stopped at a red light near the city theater, I looked out the window and saw a red carpet laid out in front of the entrance.

Mom and Dad stood on either side of Lisa. Their faces were lit up with smiles they no longer gave me. Several reporters surrounded them, taking pictures and asking questions.

The driver glanced out the window and said, "That young girl must be something special. They look like such a happy family."

A reporter held a microphone toward Dad. "Mr. Keller, you must have put a lot of time and effort into raising such an accomplished daughter. You must be very proud of her, aren't you?"

Dad smiled warmly, his voice carrying over the loudspeakers. "Lisa is our only pride and joy. She's the center of our lives."

I lowered my head and looked at my useless legs, then gave a bitter smile. To save her, I'd had my kneecaps crushed by an out-of-control truck. I used to be their pride and joy, too.

Now, under the spotlight, they wrote me out of the picture without a second thought. To them, a disabled daughter would only cast a shadow over their perfect image.

"Let's go," I said to the driver.

That evening, they came home bursting with joy.

Lisa placed her trophy right in the center of the coffee table, then walked over to me. Mom and Dad went into the kitchen to cut some fruit, leaving just the two of us in the living room.

She looked down at me with pity. "What a shame you couldn't be there today, Naomi. So many people were there watching me."

I turned a page in my book and ignored her.

When I didn't respond, she stepped closer and lowered her voice. "You're actually jealous of me, aren't you?"