Chapter 2

From the time I was old enough to understand such things, my place at the table was wherever they needed me. Sometimes, I sat by the kitchen entrance because it was convenient for passing out plates and bringing food to the table.

Other times, I sat beside the trash can so I could replace their side plates and sweep up the bones they tossed aside.

Back then, Mom never thought to give me a permanent seat. She didn't call me useless, either.

That night, I lay awake until dawn and quietly made a decision.

…

Then came the day the whole house was being cleaned.

Mason tossed a battered cardboard box at my feet. "Been waiting long? These are some old clothes from last year. I'm giving them to you."

He said "giving" as though he were doing me some great favor.

Mom saw nothing wrong with it. She even chimed in, "See how much Mason cares about you? Even when he gets new clothes, he thinks of you."

It was true. Thanks to Mason and Mia, I'd never bought anything new in my entire life.

Mom always said, "Wait until Mason gets tired of it. Wait until Mia's done with it."

So I waited for socks with holes in them, T-shirts that had turned yellow, backpacks with broken straps, and shoes with worn-down heels.

At first, I was happy with those things, too.

But then I saw my siblings dressed in the latest fashions, never repeating an outfit, with even their shoes polished until they gleamed.

Meanwhile, I wore oversized sneakers so loose that I had to drag my feet even after I pulled the laces as tight as they would go. The shoes were too loose, and the laces were too long. One wrong step was all it took for me to trip and end up bruised and bloody.

My classmates called me Mister Wait-Your-Turn and laughed that I collected other people's castoffs. My parents turned a blind eye to every bruise on my body.

Whenever I complained, Mom would say, "You don't know how lucky you are. These clothes and shoes aren't even broken, so why can't you wear them? Your grades aren't good enough, but you sure know how to compare yourself to others!"

Dad would shake his head and sigh. "You're still not as sensible as Mason and Mia! You're petty and weak. No wonder you're so hard to like!"

It wasn't as though I'd never thought about buying things for myself.

But Mason took the money from my piggy bank to buy game credits and limited-edition sneakers, then claimed he was spending it for my benefit.

Mom silently indulged him.

Dad even smiled and nodded. "That's just the kind of kid he is. Smart and quick on his feet!"

That was how Dad described Mason.

When it came to me, I was weak and spineless. But they'd never stopped to wonder who had pushed me down and bullied me until I'd become that way.

I took the box and murmured, "Okay."

As if she'd suddenly remembered something, Mom added, "Mason is so good to you. Mason is going for training tomorrow, so go cheer him on and give him some encouragement!"

I looked up sharply. "But I have to go to school to submit my university choices—"

Mom cut me off impatiently, "How well do you think you did? What's there to worry about? Your dad has a meeting tomorrow, and I have to accompany Mia to her performance. You're the only one who's free."

Even the biggest moments in my life weren't important to them. They were just things I was "free" for.

It was just like last year, on the final day of a physics competition.

Back then...

It was pouring rain, and I couldn't get a ride.

Mom had promised to take me first.

But when we walked out the door, Mason was already sitting in the passenger seat.

"Mason has to meet his new coach today. We'll drop him off first," she said.

"Mom, I have my competition today... I'm running out of time!" I protested.

"Mason's in a hurry too. It's on the way. It'll be quick. You can wait."

His destination was on the north side of the city. Mine was on the south side. But as long as it had something to do with Mason, even the ends of the earth were somehow "on the way." No matter how important something was to me, I was always told to wait.

I was leading the rankings at the time, and first place was practically guaranteed.

But because Mom told me to wait, because she drove him to his destination and even stayed to help him buy a new tracksuit, I missed the competition and lost my chance at the gold medal.

Later, at the dinner table, she proudly told the whole family, "Good thing I took Mason first. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gotten that spot in the elite training program..."

Dad smiled. He placed a lamb chop on her plate and a filet mignon on Mason's. He even poured Mia a glass of orange juice with pulp to encourage her. My plate and glass were the only ones left empty.

Mason smiled at me again.

It was a faint smile, but somehow that made it even more painful to look at. He'd seen me stay up until 2:00 a.m. every night to prepare for that competition. Yet as the one who had benefited from everything I'd lost, he said nothing.

He simply followed Dad's example and poured a glass of orange juice for Mia, then one for Mom and another for Dad.

My glass remained empty.

I thought maybe I was sitting too far away for him to reach me, so I picked up my glass, held it out toward him, and called softly, "Mason."

He acted as though he hadn't seen me and set the orange juice back down.

Then he smiled and said, "Come on, let's make a toast!"

There were four people, four hands, and four glasses that reached across me and met in midair, while I alone remained frozen in place with an empty glass in my hand.

I wasn't thirsty. Not even a little. I was just sad about the competition I'd missed, Mom's endless demands that I "wait," and the way this family treated me as though I didn't exist.

As they tilted their heads back and drained their glasses, I lowered mine and quietly sat back down. I hunched my shoulders and desperately shoveled plain pasta into my mouth, chewing as hard as I could.

My tears mixed with the pasta as I swallowed. They tasted so salty.

After that, I never raised my glass again.

...

The next day, I was on the subway when I chose a university as far south as I could get.

My school advisor called me. "Madison, why didn't you go for Fairmont University? Why did you choose a university that's so far away?"

I gripped my phone, my voice slightly hoarse. "Because I don't want to be Mister Wait-Your-Turn anymore."