Chapter 3

Maybe I wanted her to notice so badly that the school finally called.

"Mrs. Bennett, are both boys all right? That fight today was serious. I don't want either of them suffering complications, especially Noah. That boy was badly injured—"

Mom's eyes narrowed. Then she laughed coldly.

"Principal Harris, did Noah put you up to this?

"What could possibly be wrong with him? That little animal bullies his brother, then runs off crying to adults."

Her breathing grew heavy with anger.

"You tell him if he's so brave, he can stay gone forever."

I almost laughed. For once, Mom had gotten exactly what she wanted. I really wasn't coming home.

Principal Harris was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, uneasily, "Noah isn't at home?"

"Isn't he with you? Why else would you be calling?" Mom sounded annoyed. "Don't play games with me. This is family business. Noah lies constantly. Don't let him fool you."

She genuinely believed I had hidden at the principal's house and asked him to defend me. She had forgotten that I could barely move by the time I reached the nurse's office. Or maybe she hadn't forgotten, and simply thought I had been acting.

Principal Harris's voice sharpened. "What do you mean, he isn't home? You're his mother. Your child is missing and you aren't even looking for him?"

Mom scoffed. "Ridiculous."

Then she hung up.

Dad came out to see what was happening. When Mom explained, his eyes widened with fury. "So now the little brat is recruiting people to help him?"

He looked toward the attic.

"Playing missing. Pretending to be dead. He's picking up some disgusting habits.

"When he gets back, I'll make sure he remembers this lesson."

His hand went to his belt. That had become his favorite punishment lately. I was too old to cry when they locked me in the attic, but when the belt split the skin across my back, eventually I begged.

Mom nodded as though they shared a private understanding.

I looked down at the scars I no longer physically carried. Even dead, the memories still hurt.

Caleb lowered his head obediently, his voice trembling. "Mom, Dad, it's my fault. I took half the love that should've belonged to Noah. Of course he hates me.

"Please don't blame him."

This was Caleb's favorite trick. Whenever there was even the slightest chance my parents might feel guilty, he defended me just enough to make himself look kind, and their sympathy swung even harder toward him.

For years I had tried to even things out between us. I finally understood that it had never been an even contest. My parents had chosen him before I was old enough to compete, and nothing I did was ever going to change that. Caleb barely had to try.

That night, a half moon hung outside my bedroom window. Caleb lay across my bed and opened my diary, then began tearing the pages out slowly, one at a time.

His face changed when no one else was watching. The softness disappeared, and all that remained was something ugly.

Mom called from the hallway. "Caleb, stop playing in there. That room is filthy. Come eat some fruit."

Their family evenings were always like this. Warm, casual, happy, and always without me.

As far back as I could remember, my parents hated seeing me around the house. They told me to stay in my room and stop wandering out, and whenever I ignored them, I was beaten and cursed.

"How many times do we have to tell you? Stay out of sight.

"Looking at you makes me sick. Do you not understand English, or are you just too stupid to know when you're unwanted?"

I understood. I just kept believing what books told children, that parents loved their kids. Eventually I learned something else: some people should never become parents.

I had almost forgotten the exact moment Mom and Dad decided I was the enemy. It started over something small.

Field day. Parents were invited, and of course Mom and Dad planned to attend Caleb's events. But right before the races started, both Caleb and I disappeared.

When they found us, Caleb was sitting outside the restroom crying and I was on the floor nearby, covered in injuries. Mom didn't ask a single question. She kicked me in the face with her heel. She assumed I'd attacked Caleb because I was jealous that our parents had come for him.

The truth was that this had been the beginning of the bullying. Caleb had brought several boys with him, and they pinned me down, dumped trash over me, and laughed while I screamed. Eventually they got bored and left.

Caleb was the last one there. I finally snapped and tried to hit him back, and that was the exact moment Mom and Dad arrived. They didn't see my injuries. They only saw me fighting back, and they beat me so badly I ended up in the hospital.

That was how it always worked. They had given birth to me, but they didn't love me. I was the older brother, so I was supposed to give in. I was supposed to be mature.

Pain closed over me the way it always had, as if I still had a body to feel it with. I sank to the floor and cried.

Mom and Dad went to bed. Caleb stayed behind. And then he burned my diary.

My diary contained everything: dates, names, descriptions of every incident. Proof.

I threw myself toward the fire again and again, trying to grab the pages, and my hands passed straight through them. I was dead. I couldn't save a single thing.

At two in the morning, someone pounded on the front door. Mom got up, furious, and threw a shoe at the door.

"What are you banging for? Didn't you say you weren't coming home?"

She thought it was me. Her voice became crueler.

"Go stay with your precious principal forever, you little bastard!"

The pounding became louder. Mom grabbed a wooden stick and opened the door ready to hit me.

Instead, she found two police officers. Her expression changed. "What is this? I haven't broken any laws."

The officers exchanged a look. The older one, Detective Ray Alvarez, was visibly angry.

"We received a report regarding your son." He stared at Mom. "He died in the school nurse's office today."

Mom stopped breathing.

Alvarez continued. "You're both his mother and the school nurse. Your own child lay a few feet away from you with life-threatening internal injuries, and you left him there until he died."

The stick slipped from Mom's hand. She gripped the doorframe to keep herself upright.

"No..." Her lips trembled. "That's impossible. He called... there was a call tonight..."

Then something seemed to return to her. The principal's anger. The questions. And the fact that through every phone call, she had never once heard my voice.