Chapter 1

I learned what favoritism meant when I was eight years old.

When my sister, Emily Rivers, won the Youth Piano Competition, my parents took her to Wonderland Park to celebrate and locked me at home alone to write a confession.

The topic was, "Why am I so dumb?"

Later, when Emily got into a prestigious school abroad, my parents sold all our family property to go with her.

On the day they left, I grabbed my mom's sleeve. "Mom, I want to go too. I can sleep on the floor."

She pushed my hand away in disgust. "I don't have time to waste on you."

She shoved the keys to the old house into my hand and got into the taxi.

I was ten years old that year. If it weren't for our neighbor, Grace Thomas, who kept me from starving, I would've wasted away alone in that empty house.

Twenty-five years later, I became the chief of surgery and owned shares in three hospitals.

My parents showed up at my door, leaning on their canes. "Honey, you're all we have left."

I looked at their faces, both familiar and strange, and said the words they once said to me.

*****

When I was eight, my sister, Emily, took home first place at the Youth Piano Competition.

When the trophy showed up at our house, my mom, Linda Rivers, wiped down the dining table a few times.

My dad, Richard Rivers, ordered a cake and picked up three tickets to Wonderland Park.

I stared at those three tickets and quietly asked, "What about mine?"

My mom was straightening Emily's dress, not bothering to look up. "You only got a seventy-two on your math test, and you still have the nerve to ask to go out?"

"But the teacher said it was a tough test," I mumbled.

My dad slammed the cake box down on the table. "How can other kids get scores in the nineties?

"Emily grew up in the same house, and she can win first place. Why can't you?"

Emily held the trophy and spun around in front of the mirror. "Helen, if you actually did your homework at home, maybe you'd get to go next time."

She was only a year younger than me, but she already knew how to sound like Mom.

I didn't argue. It never made a difference.

As far back as I could remember, there was only ever one nice thing in our house.

Emily always got the new clothes and the milk first.

Even the chocolate Dad brought home from work, I could only touch it after Emily had her fill.

Mom always said Emily was gifted and deserved the best training.

As for me, they said I should be happy to have food on the table and clothes to wear.

Before they left, Mom pulled out three sheets of paper from the drawer. "Finish your confession today."

I looked at her, my head down. "What am I supposed to write?"

"Write about why you're so dumb," she said.

I stood there, clutching the paper.

By then, Dad was already at the door, his face full of impatience. "Your mom told you to write, so do it. Don't waste our time.

"And if you don't hit three thousand words, forget about dinner tonight."

They walked out the door with Emily.

Once the door slammed shut, I heard the key turn twice in the lock outside.

I rushed over, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted hard. It wouldn't budge.

I leaned against the window and watched them climb into the taxi.

Emily sat in the middle seat, still hugging her trophy.

Right before the car drove off, she waved at me from the backseat.

I couldn't tell if she was saying goodbye or flaunting her win.

The cake on the table was missing a slice.

That piece sat on a paper plate, the leftovers Emily didn't finish before heading out.

The frosting was already melting into a sticky mess.

By afternoon, hunger got the better of me, and I ended up eating it with a spoon.

After I finished eating, I started writing my self-critique.

The first line read: [I'm so dumb. I made Mom and Dad ashamed of me.]

The second line read: [I shouldn't be jealous of Emily.]

The third line read: [I'll try harder from now on.]

By the fifth page, my wrist was starting to cramp.

As night fell, I heard footsteps echoing in the hallway.

I rushed straight to the door. But it wasn't my parents or Emily.

Grace, our neighbor, knocked gently on the door. "Helen, are you home alone?"

"Mom and Dad took Emily out to play," I answered quietly.

"Why is the door locked?"

"Mom said I have to finish my confession."

There was a brief silence outside.

Grace told me to back away from the door.

She got a locksmith to open the door.

When she saw the papers on the table, she picked one up and read a couple of lines. Her face darkened. "Who told you to write this?"

"Mom," I replied.

"What makes her think you're dumb?" she asked.

I handed her my test with a seventy-two on it.

Grace turned to the last question.

The teacher had written a note in red ink.

It read: [Method correct, calculation error.]

She folded up the test and took me over to her apartment.

That night, Grace made me pasta.

My parents didn't get home until almost eleven.

When Mom saw me coming out of Grace's place, her expression soured. "Who said you could get someone to unlock the door?"

I told her, "I was hungry."

"Is skipping one meal going to kill you?" she shot back.

Grace stepped in front of me. "She's only eight years old. You locked her up for a whole day without leaving her anything to eat. Are you even fit to be parents?"

Dad's face went cold. "How we bring up our kid doesn't concern you."

Mom snatched my self-critique out of my hands.

She counted the pages, then tore them up. "Only sixteen hundred words? And you still dared to go eat?"

The scraps were scattered all over the floor.

I bent down to pick them up.

But then Emily pulled a Minnie Mouse headband out of her backpack, waving it around for everyone to see. "Helen, look. I brought this back for you."

I barely reached out before Mom snatched it right out of Emily's hand. "She doesn't get to have it."

Late that night, I overheard voices drifting from the living room.

Dad was saying Emily's piano teacher wanted her to try out for the International Music Audition.

Mom whispered, "If she gets in, where are we going to get the money?"

Dad paused for a moment, then said, "We'll sell the house."

I lay in bed, not daring to make a sound.

This was the only house we had.

If they sold it, where would we live?

The next morning, I went to the living room to look for the application form for the International Music Audition.

The folder was still there, but inside was another sheet of paper.

My name was written on it.

At the bottom, there was a statement that had already been signed.

I voluntarily gave up further music training, and my parents would make all the decisions from now on.

At the signature line, there was my name, Helen Rivers. But that wasn't my handwriting.