Chapter 3

By the time I got to school, my right cheek was still burning.

I handed over my early-admission paperwork.

My advisor had just picked up her pen to sign off on the paperwork when raised voices came from outside the office.

“We need an appointment to see our own daughter now?”

My hand froze around my pen.

My advisor stepped outside.

A few seconds later, she came back with Mom, Dad, and Nina behind her.

She hesitated.

“Lena, these are...?”

Dad’s face darkened instantly.

“I’m her father.”

Several teachers in the office looked up at the same time.

My advisor had worked with me for three years.

And she had never met my parents.

Dad slapped my paperwork onto the desk.

“She pays strangers to attend parent-teacher conferences pretending to be her parents, and now she’s secretly applying for early admission to a school out of state.

“And this is the model student your school is so proud of?”

It didn’t take long for students to start gathering in the hallway.

“No wonder she’s always so distant."

“Her parents seem pretty normal to me.”

I lowered my head.

The corner of my application had been crushed yesterday.

Even after I had pressed it flat overnight, the crease was still there.

Mom’s eyes were red.

“We’re not trying to stop her from going to college.

“But she doesn’t even want her own parents anymore. How are we supposed to let her move twelve hundred miles away?”

I looked up.

“I’m going.”

Dad pulled out the last page.

“This requires a parent or guardian’s signature.

“We’re not signing it.”

My throat tightened.

The second hand on the wall clock kept moving.

Suddenly, I asked,

“The time you’re spending at school today isn’t coming out of my three hours, is it?”

The entire office went quiet.

Mom’s expression changed.

“Seriously? At a time like this, you’re still keeping track?”

I wet my dry lips.

“I don’t want to go over.”

Mom’s chest rose and fell.

Then she suddenly reached into her bag and pulled out an old cloth pouch.

The second I saw the brown leather case peeking out, my hands went cold.

“Why do you have Grandma’s tape recorder?”

I held out my hand.

“Give it to me.”

Grandma had never known how to send voice messages.

After I started boarding at school, she recorded cassette tapes for me instead.

“Sweetheart, don’t kick your blankets off at night.

“Even if you don’t do well on a test, make sure you eat.”

The last tape was the one she had recorded before she went into the hospital.

I had never been able to bring myself to finish listening to it.

Mom tightened her grip on the pouch.

“Give up the offer and come home with us.

“Then I’ll give it back.”

My breathing turned ragged.

“Give it to me.”

She didn’t move.

I lunged for it.

Dad stepped between us.

“Your grandmother loved you, but she wouldn’t want to see you fighting your own parents like this.”

“I’m not doing this out of spite!”

I grabbed the pouch and pulled.

“Give it back!”

The fabric ripped with a sharp tear.

Mom stumbled backward.

Her expression changed.

“Fine!

“Take it!”

The recorder slammed onto the floor.

The plastic casing cracked open.

The batteries rolled beneath a desk.

The cassette popped out, spilling a trail of brown tape across the floor.

Someone stepped on it.

“Don’t!”

I dropped to my knees.

Pain shot through them so hard my vision flashed white.

I barely noticed.

All I cared about was carefully pulling the tape out from beneath the shoe.

My hands shook violently.

The thin strip cut into my fingers, but I was too afraid to pull any harder.

“Grandma…”

I shoved the batteries back in.

Then I pressed Play.

Nothing happened.

“Come on…”

“Please.”

My advisor caught my hand.

“Stop pressing it. You could damage it even more.”

Only then did I realize how hard I was breathing.

Tears fell one by one onto the cracked casing.

“Where can I get this fixed?”

The first repair shop shook their head.

“It’s too old. We don’t carry the parts anymore.”

The second said the tape head had shifted and the cassette itself was damaged.

I spent forty minutes on a bus with the recorder cradled in my lap.

Every time the bus braked, I immediately wrapped both hands around it.

The last repair shop was about to close when I rushed inside.

“Please.”

I held it out to the man behind the counter.

“Can you take a look at this?”

The older man studied my face.

“Is it important?”

I swallowed several times before I could answer.

“It has the last recording my grandma ever made for me.”

More than ten minutes later, static finally crackled from the recorder.

I shot to my feet so fast my knee knocked over the chair.

Through the hiss and distortion came a faint voice.

“Sweetheart…”

My lips began to tremble.

I didn’t even have time to answer.

The voice cut off.

The repairman immediately hit Stop.

“Don’t play it again.”

“The tape’s about to snap.”

My outstretched hand froze in midair.

Then my phone buzzed.

Two messages from my advisor.

'Your parents have formally objected, so the school has temporarily put your admission paperwork on hold.

This has to be resolved by five tomorrow afternoon.'

I slowly crouched down and buried my face against my knees.

I bit down hard on my sleeve.

But a small sob still escaped.

Grandma had only managed to call me sweetheart once.

And now, I had only one day left to save my future.