Social-emotional Learning Books Novels & Stories

My dad worked as a dishwasher in a restaurant, earning a measly $400 a month. My mom had bad legs, so she could only scrape by collecting trash. When my academically-gifted younger brother was in middle school, they pulled him out of school and made him work to earn extra money so that they could afford to send me to the best school in the state. I didn't let them down and aced my high school, becoming the top student in my state. The day I got my SAT scores was also my birthday. Dad, all hunched over, came to my school with a pink cake, followed by Mom in her tattered clothes and my brother with his face covered in grime. But instead of being grateful, I grabbed a sharp compass and threw it at Dad, drawing blood. "You think you can buy me off with a cake? Get lost! Don't let me see you again!" The principal stared in disbelief. "Yvonne, what are you doing? If it weren't for your family working hard to support you, you wouldn't be this successful!" I held my head high, unperturbed. "So what if I'm the top student in the state? It's no big deal! If they really loved me, they would give me a million dollars so I could live a life of luxury!" Dad's tears hit the ground as he called me an ungrateful brat. Mom wanted to slap me but was held back. Meanwhile, I silently opened the cake box and cut the cake. The next second, everyone was shocked.

During the holiday, I make a rare trip back to my hometown. After dinner, Dad orders me to wash the dishes. I pause for a moment and ask, "Do we not have a caretaker at home?" Mom frowns and says, "Julia works so hard taking care of us every day. Since you are back, you should let her rest. You should be the one doing everything." I fail to fathom the logic behind her reasoning. So, I argue, "I am paying her to be a caretaker here. Is this not exactly what she is hired to do? How does it make sense that I pay and still have to do the chores myself?" My words make the caretaker, Julia Woodard, cry. My parents get angry at me too. The frown on Mom's face becomes even more pronounced. "What's the point of raising you? We barely see you all year. You are not as thoughtful as Julia! At least she stays by our side every day." Dad points at me and scolds, "You might as well stop coming back. From now on, Julia is our real daughter! Go do whatever you want!" I let out a helpless laugh. I am busy working away from home, but I send a large amount of money back every month and even fork out extra money to hire a caretaker for them. But in the end, they think her as their caring daughter and shower her with affection instead. If that's the case, I'll stop sending money and see whether Julia will still act like their "daughter" for free.

My mother threatens to jump off a building in front of me three times. The first time is when I fill out my college application. She stands on the rooftop and forces me to choose a local college. I give in, and with a 1550 SAT score, I end up attending a second-tier local college. The second time is after I graduate and go to Brayton for work. She stands on top of my company building and forces me to quit. I return to my hometown and take a gas station job she finds for me, earning 7.50 dollars per hour. The third time, she stands on a rooftop again and forces me to marry a man I have only met once but whom she is very satisfied with. I obey and marry him, only to suffer domestic violence and miscarry. In the end, I can no longer take it and jump off a building myself. When I open my eyes again, my mother is gritting her teeth as she climbs onto the rooftop. "If you dare apply to a Privy League college out of town, I will jump from here!" I give her one glance before turning around and walking away. "Go ahead. Don't waste my time."

My family's mall was running a major New Year's Eve event. My father, the chairman, sent me to oversee the floor as a shareholder. That night, the crowd built past capacity, and a stampede broke out. I was at the bottom of a pile, suffocating. My boyfriend, an executive at the mall, was reaching past me. He was lifting my best friend out of the crowd. She didn't have a scratch on her. He cradled her and disappeared down the corridor. The comms earpiece on my headset stayed on. His voice came through it. "Vivian, are you okay? How could you listen to her? How could you let her drag you somewhere this dangerous?" "Don't worry about her. She’s built tougher than you—she can take it. But you... You’re too delicate to be marked by scars." They got Vivian out. I had a broken rib and was admitted in critical condition. After the dust settled, I asked Cole why he hadn't prioritized me. He looked me in the eye. "Mall events are managed. Look at you. You're fine. This is my promotion window. You're my girlfriend. If I had pulled you out first, that's favoritism. Don't make a scene. Go check on Vivian. She was scared half to death." I tightened my fist under the blanket. I called my father. "Dad. The stampede at Hartline Mall. I'm calling the hearing myself."

All it took was a single exchange between my sister and Giselle’s lover, and my daughter accused her of stealing a gold bracelet. As a result, my sister was left to die in a warehouse for three whole days. With my sister’s life hanging by a thread, I got on my knees and pleaded before my wife and daughter. “Please, let Lucy go. She won’t speak to Theo again.” Faced with my pleas, my daughter simply let out a cruel smile. “I can release her, but only if she returns the bracelet.” Lucy never took the bracelet in the first place. There was no way she could return something that was never in her possession. Agony ripped through me as I crawled toward Giselle. “Please, Giselle. I’m begging you. Please let her go. She’s going to die at this rate!” Giselle took one cold, hard look at me before uttering, “So she’s been hung to dry for three days. She won’t die. If you really want her release, you should hand over your mother’s keepsake to Theo.”

My mother had a rare disease. After months of dead ends, I found one person in the country who could treat her. She told me there was a price. She said she needed a husband. I agreed. For my mother, I agreed. For six years I was her ATM. I bought her the bags. I bought her the watches. It got worse. She used my money to keep a kept man. She brought him into our bed. The day my mother had her last surgery, she walked out of the operating room halfway through to go celebrate her lover's birthday. The moment they pronounced my mother dead, I decided there and then, she was paying for that with her life.

My name is Adrian Hart. The day my sister Serena found me and brought me home, I thought I finally had a family again. I was wrong. In Serena's eyes, her adopted brother Evan mattered more than I ever would. When he was too scared to marry into a powerful family, I walked down the aisle for him. When he wanted out, I swallowed a fake-death pill and disappeared. Every time, Serena swore it was the last. The seventh time, she poured the pill down my throat herself. And that was the time I actually died. My soul stayed behind. I watched Serena stand over my body in the morgue and fail to recognize me until it was too late. And the cruelest part wasn't dying. It was knowing that, until my very last breath, my sister still wasn't on my side.

My parents suddenly told me that we were living in a novel. I was the frail and favored younger brother destined to get into college, marry my childhood sweetheart, and live an easy life. My older brother, Daniel Luther, on the other hand, was the expendable one. He was destined to fail his SAT and be beaten to death. My parents said that if they wanted to save him, they had to make sure he got into college. They did everything they could to help him, but he still failed his SAT. Meanwhile, I got into the same college as my childhood sweetheart, Priscilla Grimmie, through my own hard work. That night, my parents snatched my college acceptance letter and locked me in a cellar under the backyard. "Let your brother take your place and go to college first. You can retake your exams next year." My foot slipped, and I hit my head hard against a canning jar. Warm blood trickled down my neck. I shouted, "Mom, it hurts!" She didn't even turn around. "Caleb, stop it! Your brother is one step away from his dreams!" Their footsteps gradually faded. I slowly closed my eyes. The next time I opened my eyes, I was already floating in midair.

I've worked with my wife, Naomi Prescott, for seven long years. Yet, she refuses to make my identity public in the company. Naomi claims that she's worried that the entire company might think of me as a man who relies on his partner. Believing her excuse, I stick to myself and keep a low profile all this time. But on the day my project team secures a ten-million-dollar business deal, Naomi is quick to make me give the credit to her childhood friend, Matthias Crowell. When faced with my questions, Naomi retorts in a matter-of-fact tone, "Matt is new to the company. Can't a veteran employee like you take care of him at work?" I'm furious, to say the least. "What if I say no?" Naomi throws a resignation letter at my face. "Well then, you can pack up and get lost, you pathetic loser!" I pack my belongings calmly and leave the company afterward. Three days later, Naomi's company is on the brink of bankruptcy. She sobs loudly as she begs me to return with her. I produce a business card and give it to her. "Sorry, but I prefer being the boss of my own company. It so happens that my company still needs a janitor. I suppose I can reserve that position for you, seeing as we used to be married and all."

I get cyberbullied by the elderly people in my community. Apparently, they've uploaded videos, claiming that my charity kitchen that sells one-dollar meals not only sells bad food, but I've also sold them at ridiculously high prices. During the first year of the kitchen's establishment, I've sunk 420 thousand dollars and given it my all in running the kitchen. But all I receive in return is the Internet's backlash on me, which calls me for being a vile person. So, I decided to go along with the public opinion by shutting down the kitchen entirely. Then, I transform the venue into a card room that costs ten dollars per hour. As soon as the notice is posted, the entire community goes nuts. The elderly people's children soon show up on my doorstep and beg me to reopen the kitchen.