Chapter 3

I was 12 when Grandma passed away. She died without warning. The night before, she had been sitting there, mending my socks. By morning, she never woke up.

I held on to her hand and cried all day. I wept until my throat was raw, until my tears ran dry, and until I felt like there was nothing left inside me.

Later, my parents came home for the funeral.

Olivia trailed behind them in a pretty floral dress, an ice cream cone in hand. She took one look at my tear-streaked face, pouted, then ducked behind Mom.

After the funeral, Mom told me, "You're coming home with us. You'll be going to school there from now on."

I had no choice but to let them take me to that so-called home.

From that day on, my life became one long nightmare.

My parents' expectations had become downright cruel. I had to get perfect scores on every test. One point less, and I got beaten.

A 99 meant getting my palms whipped, and a 98 meant being sent outside to stand on the porch for two hours. Anything below 95 meant I didn't get dinner that night.

I remembered one math test when I'd scored a 97 after missing a single multiple-choice question. Dad stared at the paper for a long moment before slapping me hard.

The blow snapped my head to the side, and tears welled up in my eyes. But he only called me an idiot, a failure, and said I didn't deserve to be his daughter.

That night, I lay in bed, my face swollen and my ears still ringing.

Olivia pushed the door open. She held her test paper and waved it in front of me, showing off her 62.

"Hey, Victoria, guess what? Dad just gave me a hundred dollars. He said I'm finally getting better."

She flashed me a smile, leaned closer, and whispered, "You're so pathetic."

As she turned to leave, I saw Mom standing at the end of the hallway, beckoning her over. And in her hands was a little dish of freshly made panna cotta.

Meanwhile, I was left hungry, the mark from Dad's slap still visible on my cheek.

I studied like my life depended on it. However, it wasn't because I loved learning, but because I was terrified.

I was afraid of being hit, being forced to stand outside for hours, and going hungry. So, I worked nonstop—drilling problems, memorizing everything I could, and grinding through practice tests—until I'd turned myself into a studying machine.

I came in first in my grade on every exam. I won first place in a statewide math competition, took first in a citywide speech competition, and placed second nationally in a writing competition.

Even then, none of it meant anything to my parents.

When I came in first, they never praised me. They only said, "Do it again next time."

When I got a perfect score, they didn't smile. They simply said, "That's what you're supposed to do."

But Olivia?

If she got a 60, our parents would take her to KFC. If she got a 65, they'd buy her a new dress. Even when all she did was finish her homework on time, Mom would kiss her and say, "That's our good girl."

One year, I ranked first in the school on my finals. Meanwhile, Olivia barely passed and ranked third from the bottom in her class.

That night, Dad sat in the living room, wiping her tears. "It's okay. Just work harder next time."

Then, he turned to me and said coldly, "Rewrite every question you got wrong ten times."

I wanted to tell him I hadn't gotten a single question wrong, that I'd gotten a perfect score. But in the end, I said nothing.

I knew it all too well. No matter how well I did, I would never measure up to Olivia in their eyes.

No. It wasn't that I fell short. I was never worthy to begin with.

…

That night, I barely slept. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the words over and over in my head.

"We've got someone lined up."

"As soon as the acceptance letter comes in, we'll throw a big party for you."

"You two look identical. Who's going to know the difference?"

Then, I began retracing everything that had happened since we were children. Everyone knew Olivia had always struggled in school.

She had barely managed to keep up in elementary school, and by middle school, she had fallen to the bottom of her class.

My parents had hired tutors for her, but it had barely made a difference.

In high school, her grades had plummeted, and she was constantly near the bottom of her grade. On her third practice SAT test, she scored 670.

But from freshman year through senior year, I ranked first in my grade on every major exam.