There were two cameras in my bedroom. One was mounted in the corner, angled toward the bed to capture the entire room. The other was clamped to my desk, focused tightly enough to catch every misspelled word on my practice tests and the minute shifts in my facial expressions as I worked. The feeds were wired directly to my mother’s phone. Whenever my mind wandered, her voice would crackle through the two-way speaker. “Joanna, what are you staring at?” “Why did you only score second on the pop quiz today?” “Do another practice test. I’ll check it when I get home.” 01 The moment the lock turned on the front door, my spine went rigid on instinct. I started the silent countdown in my head. “Five.” The heavy front door clicked shut with a muffled thud. “Four.” “Smack—” Her keys and leather tote bag were slammed onto the console table. That meant their owner was in a foul mood today. “Three.” The sound of her taking off her heels and sliding into her house slippers. The soles were worn thin, making a soft, rhythmic “snick-snack” against the hardwood. “Two.” The owner of those slippers marched through the living room, down the hall, and stopped dead outside my room. Without a second of hesitation, she pushed the door open. “Bring me your homework. While I’m grading it, you need to memorize two Shakespeare soliloquies and thirty AP vocabulary words. I’ll quiz you in an hour.” “One.” The countdown ended. I turned slowly, looking toward the doorway. My mother, Vanessa, looked exhausted. Her sharp, calculating eyes did a full sweep of my body from head to toe, then meticulously scanned my immaculate bedroom. Once she confirmed everything was in its proper place, the tension in her jaw relaxed by a fraction of an inch. “Come to the kitchen,” she said. “I bought you that organic detox juice.” The juice was impossibly bitter. It tasted like swamp water. I hated it. But my mother said, “It’s flu season. You need the antioxidants to keep your immune system up. You can’t afford a sick day.” I sat at the kitchen island, staring blankly at the dark green liquid. My mother was a highly respected, fiercely disciplined teacher at the most prestigious magnet school in the county. The classes she taught consistently boasted the highest average test scores. The trophies and plaques she brought home crowded our living room shelves. She was dedicated to a fault, staying hours after the final bell to offer free tutoring to the failing kids. Every student who passed through her classroom swore she was the best teacher they’d ever had. This brilliant, flawless woman was my mother. Therefore, whatever my mother said was the absolute truth, and demanded unconditional obedience. She said I needed the green juice. So, I must need it. “Tap. Tap.” My mother knocked her knuckles against the marble countertop, snapping me out of my daze. “Why are you drinking so slowly today? Chug it. You have studying to do.” I held my breath and tipped the glass back, forcing the rest of the sludge down my throat. The acidity hit the back of my mouth, and my body reacted violently. I gagged, my stomach lurching. “Do not spit that out!” she snapped. “Swallow it!” I slapped a hand over my mouth, forcing my throat to work against its own reflexes. Hot tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Once the nausea was finally shoved down into my gut, I forced a tight smile. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to study now.” She gave a stiff, approving nod. “Good.” 02 “Your recitation is sloppy.” “You missed a letter on ‘sycophant.’ Write the word out a hundred times. Then I’m shuffling the deck and we are doing the entire spelling quiz again.” When I finally passed her inspection, she nodded. “Alright. Go eat your dinner.” I quietly rubbed my aching wrist and practically sprinted to the dining table. I was starving. But halfway through my plate, my mother suddenly stopped eating. She stared at me, her brow furrowing. “Why is your mouth so big when you chew?” I froze. A sudden, inexplicable wave of shame washed over me. The heat rushed to my cheeks. I didn’t know whether to swallow the food in my mouth or spit it into my napkin. On instinct, I tightened my lips, trying to make myself smaller. I swallowed the half-chewed bite whole. She didn’t look away. She stared at me like I was a grotesque specimen pinned to a corkboard. The corners of her mouth turned down in disgust. “I was just… a little hungry today,” I whispered, trying to defend myself. “I was eating too fast.” She didn’t say a word, her eyes continuing to slowly dissect me. “Sit up straight. You’re slouching like a hunchback.” “Just eat. Why do you keep looking at me? You’re so timid. It’s embarrassing. Have some confidence.” I picked up my fork and took a tiny bite. She let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Opening your mouth that small? It’s going to take you all night to finish one plate.” I dropped my head, thoroughly humiliated. My appetite vanished. The rice that had tasted so sweet a moment ago now felt like sawdust on my tongue. My mother, however, seemed to find her appetite. She ate with relish, pulling out her phone and opening the school’s Parent Portal app. Our homeroom teacher uploaded photos of the class every day for the parents. Things like: “Math teacher working with students after school.” “A student utilizing their lunch break to ask questions about the lecture.” My mother tapped on each photo, zooming in, hunting for my face in the background. When she found me, she scrutinized the pixels. “What is this expression on your face? Why do you look so miserable? Look at the other kids, chasing down the teachers to ask questions. And you? You just sit at your desk like a lump of wood. So dull.” “No wonder you didn’t get into the magnet school.” Westfield Magnet was the best school in the state—and the school where my mother taught. “Why are you smiling so big in this one? That girl sitting next to you—you can tell just by looking at her that she has no academic future. She’s always distracting you. Stop hanging out with her.” She swiped to the next photo. “Why are you staring in that direction? Who are you looking at?” I tried to explain that I was just spacing out. I wasn’t looking at anyone. She didn’t believe me. She stared at that photo for half an hour. Finally, she turned on me, her voice cold and accusatory. “Are you looking at that boy sitting diagonally from you? Joanna! Are you dating someone? How many times have I told you? No dating! Absolutely no boys! Do you hear me?!” It took me swearing to God and the universe that I wasn’t dating anyone before she finally, suspiciously, put the phone down. “I doubt you’d have the guts anyway.” I let out a breath. Then, she glanced down at her screen again, a strange, twisted look passing over her features. “Besides, this boy is actually quite handsome. Looking the way you do, a boy like that would never look twice at you anyway.” I just stared at her, stunned into silence. She seemed to suddenly realize what she’d said. She shifted uncomfortably and averted her eyes. “Mom was just making a joke.” I lowered my head, silently picking up the empty plates and carrying them to the kitchen sink. As I turned on the faucet, she followed me, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Joanna, everything Mom does is for your own good. You have to understand that.” “You were barely a year old when your heartless father abandoned us. We’ve had to rely on each other all these years. I’ve worked myself to the bone, waking up before dawn and coming home in the dark, just to make enough money to put you through a decent school.” “You have to make something of yourself. You have to leave that son of his—the one he had with “that woman”—in the dust. Do you understand?” “I want him to regret it. I want him to see how catastrophically wrong he was to leave us!” “Joanna, Mom is the only person in this world who truly, wholeheartedly wants what’s best for you.” … It was a familiar script. She’d recited it a thousand times. I turned the faucet on full blast. The rush of the water drowned out the sound of my ragged breathing and washed away the hot tears threatening to spill. “Don’t cry.” “Don’t let her see you cry.” “Just hold it in. Wait until you’re in bed. Wait until you can pull the covers over your head.” 03 In the pitch black of my bedroom, the camera let out a faint, mechanical “whir-click” as it panned. It was incredibly soft. If you weren’t listening for it, you’d never know it was there. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, keeping my breathing even, pretending to be dead asleep. A long time passed. When the mechanical sounds finally ceased entirely, I faked a heavy shift in my sleep, pulling the edge of the comforter up over my face. Then, I let out a long, trembling exhale. The tears I had been holding back for hours finally broke free, fat drops soaking instantly into my cotton pillowcase. Suddenly, my bedroom door flew open. The comforter was ripped away from my face. My mother stood there in her bare feet, the blue light of her phone illuminating her expressionless face. “What are you crying for?” My heart slammed against my ribs. I tried to play it off, blinking rapidly like I’d just been jolted awake. “Mom… I had a nightmare.” But she just glared down at me, her eyes like ice. “You’re hiding under your covers crying just because I criticized you earlier?” She was so sharp. She pierced right through my fragile little lie. “Are you resenting me?” I frantically shook my head. I was just… hurting. I didn’t even fully understand why. I just felt like I couldn’t breathe. I don’t know what it was that triggered her, but she suddenly reached down, grabbed my arm, and yanked me out of bed. “I put food on the table, I put clothes on your back, and you dare resent me?!” “I’ll beat the ungratefulness right out of you!” The slaps rained down—on my head, my shoulders, my face. I didn’t dare dodge them. I didn’t dare cry out. If I cried, if I tried to protect myself, she would only hit harder. When the storm finally passed and she had exhausted her rage, she collapsed onto the floor, pulled me into her arms, and began to sob. “Joanna, Mommy didn’t mean it.” I sat there, numb, letting her crush me against her chest. I raised a trembling hand and gently patted her back. “I know, Mom. I know.” “I don’t resent you.” “I really just had a bad dream.” She stayed like that for a while until her breathing leveled out. Then she stood up, brushing off her pajamas, completely composed. “Go to sleep. You have an early morning tomorrow.” She turned and walked out the door. As if nothing had ever happened. 04 During study hall the next day, I glanced out the classroom window and saw my mother. She was standing in the hallway, smiling warmly, chatting like an old friend with my homeroom teacher. But from the corner of her eye, she kept shooting glances into the classroom. Some landed on me. Others swept the room, using my desk as the epicenter. A cold sweat broke out on my neck. My entire body went rigid. Right then, my mother locked eyes with me and smiled. It wasn’t the warm, collegial smile she’d just given my teacher. It was the terrifying, tight-lipped smirk she gave me when I failed a test or disobeyed a rule. The corners of her mouth curved up, but her eyes were dead, glittering with a bizarre, almost manic excitement. It chilled me to the bone. The morning sun was pouring through the window, warm and blinding, but I couldn’t stop shivering. Mia, my desk-mate, nudged me. “Hey, you okay?” I gave a tiny shake of my head. “I’m fine.” A few minutes later, my homeroom teacher walked in and called a name. “Noah, can you step out into the hall for a minute?” It was the boy from the photo yesterday. She still didn’t believe me. I looked out the window at my mother, silently begging her with my eyes. “Please. Please don’t humiliate me.” She just raised an eyebrow, completely ignoring my plea. Fifteen minutes later, Noah stormed back into the classroom. His face was an angry, mottled red. He marched straight to my desk and slammed his palms down onto the wood. “Joanna! What the hell did I ever do to you? Why did you have your crazy mother come here to humiliate me?” I stared up at him, utterly paralyzed. “I don’t know,” I stammered. “I didn’t do anything.” The other kids started turning around in their seats, whispering. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Noah was breathing so hard his chest heaved. He pointed a shaking finger at my face. “Your mother just stood in the main office, in front of all the teachers, and called me a shameless predator! She accused me of trying to seduce her precious daughter!” “Joanna, tell them! When have I ever tried to hit on you? We’ve been in the same class for three years, and I swear to God I haven’t spoken more than five sentences to you! Tell them! How exactly did I seduce you?!” Gasps rippled through the classroom. “Holy shit.” “This is unhinged.” I was drowning in embarrassment. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. “I’m so sorry. My mom misunderstood a picture. I tried to explain it to her, but she wouldn’t listen…” Right on cue, my mother stepped into the classroom. “Misunderstood what?” She leveled a venomous glare at Noah. “Your principal and I go way back. If you try anything inappropriate with my daughter again, I will know about it. Keep your distance. Do not interfere with her academic future.” Noah’s neck was flushed purple with rage. “You are out of your mind!” She ignored him. Instead, she pivoted and fixed her glare on Mia. “And you. The second the bell rings, you’re always chattering away at Joanna. It’s obnoxious. Stop distracting her from her work.” She looked Mia up and down with blatant disgust. “For a young lady, you certainly have a big mouth. It’s incredibly unappealing.” Mia was the sweetest, most soft-spoken girl in our grade. At my mother’s words, her face crumpled, flushing scarlet. She cast an uncomfortable, embarrassed look in my direction. I felt like I was going to throw up. I grabbed my mother’s sleeve, my voice breaking. “Mom, please. Stop it. Just stop.” She yanked her arm out of my grip. She swept her gaze over the entire room of wide-eyed teenagers, delivering her final warning. “That goes for all of you.” “If I find out that any single one of you is negatively impacting Joanna’s grades… there will be consequences.” 05 Once my mother finally left, I dragged myself over to Noah to apologize. “I am so, so sorry.” He let out a harsh laugh and took a step back. “Don’t. Just stay away from me. I don’t need your mother ruining my life.” When I walked back to my desk, Mia instinctively shifted her chair an inch closer to the aisle, putting physical distance between us. I looked at her, my heart breaking. “I’m sorry.” She gave me a hesitant look, then quietly turned her face toward the chalkboard. “I guess I do talk too much,” she murmured. “I’ll go to the guidance counselor later and ask for a seat change.” I opened my mouth to say something. To beg her to stay. But my mother’s face flashed in my mind—her mouth moving, her eyes judging. I slumped back in my chair, defeated. After that day, wherever I walked, the students around me would physically part, backing away like I was carrying the plague. They’d snicker behind their hands, avoiding me like a landmine. “Keep your distance, or her mom will come back and go psycho on us.” “Right, right. Can’t distract the “Valedictorian” from her studies.” My actual name was replaced by the sarcastic title of “The Valedictorian.” When I went to the cafeteria, no one sat with me. No one initiated a conversation. If I tried to speak to someone, it was met with exaggerated groans or mocking fake-coughs. An invisible, bulletproof glass box had been dropped over me, cutting me off from the rest of the school. My mother was thrilled. “You are a student,” she said. “This is exactly how you should be living. Total focus on your academics.” I looked at her, my face completely numb. “But I don’t have any friends left.” She scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “You go to school to get into college, not to socialize.” I withdrew into myself. I became a ghost. In the daily photos the teachers posted, I was always the girl sitting quietly at her desk, head buried in a textbook or a worksheet. My mother stared at the screen, finally somewhat satisfied. “At least you finally have the right attitude.” But my grades were tanking faster than ever. When I stared at my textbooks, the words swam on the page. I couldn’t retain a single sentence. I’d spend hours on a single homework assignment, my mind entirely blank. Just walking onto the school grounds made my chest tighten in panic. I felt like a monkey stripped bare, placed in a cage for everyone to point and laugh at. The phantom sounds of their mocking laughter were carved into my brain. Whenever I heard people chatting or laughing in the hallway, my instinct was to curl into a defensive ball. Even though logically I knew they probably weren’t talking about me, I couldn’t stop the paranoia. I became terrified of eye contact. Whenever a teacher walked by, my spine snapped straight on reflex, my expression going dead and serious, terrified that their phone might be raised to snap a candid picture. The only time I could breathe was the walk from the school gates to our front door. But even that freedom was strictly rationed. My mother had mapped the route. She knew exactly how long it took. If I took too long and didn’t trigger the camera in the entryway by her designated time, there were punishments. 06 One Tuesday, I unlocked the front door and immediately noticed the lights were on. My mother had come home early. When she saw me, her brow furrowed. “Your homeroom teacher emailed me your latest test scores. Joanna, what is wrong with you? You dropped fifteen ranks!” I lowered my eyes, my body bracing for the inevitable screaming match. But, entirely out of character, she didn’t yell. Instead, she reached out, her tone sickeningly sweet, and took my hand. “Come here. Starting today, I’m personally overseeing your tutoring.” I was stunned. She was famous for prioritizing her own students over me. I hesitated. “But… don’t you have to stay after school to tutor your students?” The moment the words left my mouth, I noticed a boy sitting in our living room. He leaned around the armchair, flashing a bright, charming smile. “Hey there.”
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