Out of Here With My Empty Suitcase

Mom buys a four-thousand-dollar laptop for my sister, Scarlett Lowine, when we're shopping for school supplies. Dad chooses a luggage bag for her while my brother, Christopher Lowine, buys a pair of noise-cancelling headphones for her. My childhood friend, Jasper Greeson, crouches in front of a shelf, comparing eye-caring desk lamps with a serious look on his face. "Gabby has bad eyes. This lamp's brightness is perfect for her." A warm sensation spreads through my chest. However, the feeling only lasts for a few seconds before Jasper places the lamp in Scarlett's shopping cart. "Be sure not to tire yourself out when you're doing revisions at night, Scarlett," he says, smiling. I stand on the side with my empty shopping cart, feeling like an outsider who's just responsible for watching over their bags. "Aren't you going to buy your supplies too, miss?" the cashier asks. Mom seems to only remember my existence then. She frowns as she looks at me and asks, "Your things are still working, right? They're fine as long as you can use them during university." I look down at the note app on my phone. For the past year, I've written down a list of things that I want to buy for university, including a laptop, bed drapes, a desk lamp, a luggage bag, a pair of sneakers, and more. I've also noted down the price for every item. However, nearly every item on the list has been crossed out. They tell me that Scarlett has a weak constitution, so they need to take care of her. They tell me that it's fine for me to endure a little hardship because I have good results. But they don't know that I've already used my scholarship money to buy a plane ticket to another city. As they pack Scarlett's luggage bag until it's bursting, I'm finally going to erase every trace of myself from this family.