Every time our school had an Open House, Dad would go to Mason’s classroom, and Mom would go to Tommy’s. I once asked Mom, “Who is going to my classroom?” Mom didn’t even look up from washing Tommy’s face. “You’re a big girl now, Summer. You’re mature. Can’t you just sit in your seat and listen to the teacher by yourself?” I thought she was right. I was the easiest, most trouble-free kid in the house. So, every Open House, I sat in my seat and pretended my mother was sitting in the empty chair next to me. I would sit up straight, keeping my back rigid, and write down every single word the teacher said. Today, our midterm results came out. I ranked top of the class. I couldn’t wait to go home and tell Mom and Dad the good news. Clutching my report card, I ran home, bubbling with excitement. I pushed the door open. Mom was hugging Tommy, and Dad was patting Mason on the shoulder. They had bought a big KFC bucket to celebrate Mason ranking fifth in his class. No one looked back at me. No one cared about how I did. I stuffed my straight-A report card back to the very bottom of my backpack and quietly zipped it shut.
My stomach growled loudly at the worst possible moment. At lunchtime, I had opened my lunchbox only to find the food Mom packed had turned sour. I couldn’t swallow it, so I just drank half a bottle of cold tap water. Standing in the entryway, I stared at the steaming bucket of fried chicken on the table and swallowed my spit. Mom finally heard me. She glanced over. Her eyes flickered with guilt for a split second, but she quickly stood up and clapped her hands. “Gosh, kid, do you have to walk like a ghost? No sound at all.” She fished through the bucket and pulled out a bony wing tip—the one with the least meat—and shoved it toward me. “Your brother got fifth place. This chicken is for his celebration. You can chew on the bone and taste the flavor.” I didn’t want the bone. I gripped my backpack straps tight and looked up at her. “Mom, the teacher said tomorrow is the School Open House. I want you to come with me.” The room went dead silent for a second. Tommy immediately threw a tantrum, screaming, “Mom is mine! Summer, you can’t have her!” Dad frowned, shielding Tommy in his arms. “Didn’t you hear your brother? Why are you just standing there? Go to the kitchen and wash the dishes.” I didn’t move. I kept my eyes locked on Mom, stubborn. “But the teacher said a parent must attend.” Mom curled her lip, tossing the bony wing tip back onto the table. “What’s the point of being top of the class anyway? It’s a waste of money to educate a girl. Tomorrow I’m taking Tommy to the amusement park. I don’t have time.” Dad chimed in. “Mason’s school has their Open House tomorrow too. I’ll be going to his.” Panic set in. My voice began to shake. “But everyone else’s parents are going…” Mom’s eyes widened in fury, and she pointed a finger at me, raising her voice. “Summer! How many times do I have to tell you? Can’t you be reasonable for once? Do you have to make trouble for this family right now?”
Whenever Mom used that line, I knew I couldn’t ask for anything anymore. I turned around and walked into the kitchen. The sink was piled high with greasy plates and utensils. I stepped onto the little wooden stool, plunged my hands into the freezing water, and began scrubbing them one by one. After the dishes, I carried the family’s dirty laundry from yesterday into the bathroom, squatting on the floor to scrub the clothes by hand. My hands turned bright red from the cold, but my mind was still on tomorrow’s Open House. When I finally finished and went back to my room, what I saw made me freeze in my tracks. My backpack had been dumped out. My things were scattered everywhere. Tommy was sitting on the floor, holding my perfect-score midterm paper, tearing it into tiny pieces. I rushed over and shoved him away. “Don’t touch my things!” Tommy immediately threw himself onto the floor, screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. Hearing the noise, Mom and Dad stormed in. Without asking a single question, Dad kicked my shin hard. I lost my balance and fell heavily onto the sharp pieces of torn paper. “How dare you hit your brother! Have you lost your mind?” Dad roared, pointing at my face. Mom scooped Tommy up, cuddling him and patting his back. I pointed at the shredded paper on the floor, tears finally spilling over. “That was my test! I got a perfect score! I was first in the class!” Mom snapped back, exasperated. “It’s just a stupid piece of paper! Your brother is younger than you. Why can’t you just let him have his way? If you’re this petty now, how are you going to survive in the real world?” Mason leaned against the doorframe, chewing on a piece of chicken, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So what if you’re first? Mom and Dad don’t even want you. How embarrassing.” I didn’t argue. I knelt on the floor under the dim light of my room, picking up the torn pieces of my paper one by one. That night, I stayed up until my eyes were bloodshot, using glue to piece my test back together.
The day of the School Open House arrived. The classroom was packed. Every student had their parents sitting proudly beside them. The chair next to me remained empty. I sat up straight, looking directly ahead, trying my best to pretend Mom was sitting right there. As long as I didn’t look at the chair, I wouldn’t cry. Then, it was my turn to give the student representative speech on stage. But looking at the crowd of parents staring back at me, my throat locked up. Mrs. Sinclair looked at me warmly. “Summer, please invite your mom to join you on stage.” My hands, clutching my speech, sweat profusely. “My mom couldn’t make it.” The parents in the audience began to whisper among themselves. Mrs. Sinclair paused, then walked over and took my hand. Her hand was incredibly warm—a kind of warmth I had never felt at home. She took the microphone. “Summer is an outstanding student. Today, I will stand in as her parent.” At that moment, the tears I had held back all night almost spilled over. After the Open House, Mrs. Sinclair pulled me into her office. She poured me a cup of warm water, her eyes falling on my red, swollen wrists. “Summer, tell me the truth. Is your family treating you badly?” I shook my head. “Mom says there are three of us. I have to be the mature one. I shouldn’t fight for things.” Mrs. Sinclair’s face flushed with anger. She slammed a stack of documents onto her desk. “That’s not being mature, that’s abuse! You got the highest score in the class. There is a fully-funded state summer camp opportunity, and our school only got two spots. It requires a parent’s signature. I am coming to your house today.” Taking my hand, Mrs. Sinclair walked me out with determination.
Mrs. Sinclair held my hand all the way to my house. When she pushed the door open, the apartment was a total mess. Tommy was throwing his toys everywhere, and Mom was chasing him around with a bowl, trying to force-feed him. Seeing Mrs. Sinclair, Mom froze, quickly wiping her hands on her apron. Mrs. Sinclair didn’t waste time on pleasantries. She placed the summer camp registration form on the table. “Mrs. Miller, why didn’t you attend the School Open House today?” Mom’s face turned red, and she tried to defend herself. “Teacher, we have three kids. We have to be fair. Summer is mature, so naturally, we have to spend more time worrying about the two who aren’t.” Mrs. Sinclair cut her off sharply. “Her being mature is not an excuse for you to neglect her! Summer’s grades are exceptional. She won a spot at the prestigious state summer camp. It needs a parent’s signature, and I hope you won’t let her down again!” Hearing the words “state summer camp,” Dad, who had been watching TV on the couch, suddenly stood up. “Summer camp? Can we transfer that spot to Mason?” Mrs. Sinclair was shocked. “Summer earned that spot with her top grades! How could you give it to her brother?” “What’s the point of a girl getting an education? Mason is the future of this family!” Dad said, completely shameless. Mrs. Sinclair was speechless with anger. She warned them that if they didn’t sign, she would report the situation to the school board and social services. As soon as the teacher left, Mom rushed over and snatched the registration form from the table. “This is perfect for Mason. You’re just a girl anyway. It’d be a waste for you to go.” I grabbed the corner of the paper with a sudden surge of strength. “It’s mine! Mrs. Sinclair said only I can go!” Dad marched over and slapped me hard across the face. I lost my footing and fell, my forehead slamming violently against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my head. Warm liquid began to trickle down my forehead and into my eye. Mom shrieked. “Richard! Look what you did!” For a second, I thought she was finally going to care about me. But she didn’t come to help me up. Instead, she frantically pulled Tommy back. “Move out of the way, Tommy! Don’t let this girl’s blood ruin your new sneakers!”
The blood blurred my vision into a hazy red. The throbbing pain in my forehead slowly spread, but as I sat on the floor, I didn’t make a sound. Mom grabbed a dirty rag from the bathroom and shoved it against my head, muttering curses. “Are you trying to kill us? So much blood! If Mrs. Higgins downstairs sees this, she’s going to start gossiping again.” Dad stood over me, looking at the registration form in my hand with zero remorse. “Hand over the form. I’ll register Mason tomorrow.” I squeezed my forehead, forcing myself to stay calm. Mrs. Sinclair had told me that these camp spots were strictly linked to student records. Registration required verifying student IDs and SSNs. Mason couldn’t just use it. I looked up, staring straight into Dad’s eyes. “You can have the form for Mason. But you have to take me to the clinic to get stitches. Otherwise, when Mrs. Sinclair sees me missing from school tomorrow, she’ll bring the police and CPS here.” Hearing the word “police,” Dad’s face shifted. He didn’t want trouble, and he certainly didn’t want to ruin Mason’s future. “You little brat, you think you can threaten me?” He spat on the floor, but turned to Mom. “Take her to the small clinic down the alley. Don’t go to the hospital. It costs too much and they keep records.” Mom dragged me out of the house reluctantly. The doctor at the little clinic was a man in his fifties. He pulled the rag away from my forehead and frowned deeply. “This cut is very deep. How did this happen? She needs at least five stitches.” Mom let out a fake laugh. “She was clumsy and tripped over the coffee table.” I sat in the chair and spoke in a clear, calm voice that everyone in the clinic could hear. “My dad threw me against the coffee table because he wanted to steal my summer camp spot for my brother.” The clinic went dead silent. Several patients receiving IV drips turned to look at Mom with disgust. The doctor froze, giving Mom a long, hard look. Mom’s face turned bright red, and she lunged forward to pinch my arm. “What lies are you telling?!” I didn’t flinch. I held her gaze and continued. “Doctor, if they refuse to pay for the stitches, you can call my teacher, Mrs. Sinclair. She was just at our house today.” Mom’s raised hand froze in midair. She cared deeply about her public image and couldn’t bear any more embarrassment. She slammed the cash onto the desk, grinding her teeth. But she refused to pay for anesthesia. The stitching was excruciatingly painful. I had to endure it raw. But I didn’t cry. My mind had only one thought: I am done being the good girl. When we got home, I tossed the blood-stained form onto the table and went straight to my room. Mason grabbed it excitedly, shouting in the living room. “Awesome! I’m going to turn this in tomorrow! I’m going to summer camp!” I shut my door, keeping the truth to myself: the form was pre-printed with my Student ID and Social Security Number.
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