Chapter 2

I held the paper and confronted Mom.

She was frying a steak for Emily.

My breakfast was only a bowl of cold leftover soup.

"Why does this statement about giving up music training have my name on it?" I asked.

Mom flipped the steak, not glancing at me. "The school needed to organize the paperwork, so I signed it for you."

"I never said I wanted to quit," I argued.

"Why bother training you?" she shot back.

Oil splattered onto the stove, making a loud sizzle.

"Emily has only been learning piano for a year and already won first place," Mom said. "You've had math tutoring for two years, and you still only score seventy-two. Every dollar spent on you is wasted."

I gripped the paper tightly. "The teacher said I got the last question's method right."

Mom finally turned around. "But you only scored seventy-two. You're always making excuses. That's why you'll never measure up to Emily."

Emily sat at the table, nibbling on her steak.

She glanced at my bowl of soup, then pushed over the bits she didn't want from her plate. "Here, Helen, you can have this."

Mom snatched the plate back right away. "Let her win first place if she wants steak."

I didn't eat breakfast.

At school, my homeroom teacher, Scarlett Carter, called me into her office.

She was holding the form that said I'd given up music training. "Helen, is this what you want?"

I shook my head. "I don't want to quit. I want to keep studying."

Scarlett studied my test paper for a long time.

She told me I was a bit slow at calculating, but my approach to solving the problems was solid.

She said intelligence isn't measured by a single test score.

It was the first time an adult had ever told me I might not be as dumb as I thought.

Those words stuck with me for a long time.

When I got home, there were two strangers in the living room.

They were measuring the windows and walls.

There was a piece of paper taped to my bedroom door.

It said: [Second bedroom, south-facing, lots of sunlight.]

I asked Dad, "What are they doing?"

"They're here to look at the house," he replied.

"Are we really selling the house?"

"Emily advanced to the next round of the International Music Audition."

He actually smiled when he said that. "If she passes, she'll get to go study overseas. We're finally going to have a real prodigy in the family."

I glanced over at my old desk.

A notch on the corner marked how tall I was back in first grade.

Three certificates were pinned to the wall.

One was for second place in a writing contest, one for first in a craft competition, and one for being an outstanding student.

But to Dad, none of that mattered. In his eyes, those weren't real accomplishments.

The people checking out the house opened up my closet.

"Are you leaving the furniture?" one of them asked.

Mom nodded. "Everything but the piano can stay."

I quickly stepped in front of my desk. "This is mine."

Mom pulled me aside. "Why bother keeping the desk if we're selling the house?"

"And where am I supposed to go?" I asked.

Her hand paused for a moment. "We'll deal with that when the time comes."

The house was sold quickly.

We moved into the old house my grandpa left behind.

There were only two rooms in the old house.

Emily got the big, sunny room, and I was stuck in a tiny room full of junk.

Dad said it was temporary.

But it wasn't long before I saw Mom getting the passports ready.

There were three of them, one for Dad, one for Mom, and one for Emily. There wasn't one for me.

I stood at the door and asked, "Where are you guys going?"

Mom stuffed the passports into her bag. "Emily passed the International Music Audition. A music school abroad accepted her. Your dad and I are going with her."

I stared at the bag. "What about me?"

"You'll stay here and go to school."

"Who's going to take care of me?"

"You're ten. You can take care of yourself." Mom didn't pause. She'd clearly made up her mind a long time ago.

Over the next few days, the house got emptier and emptier.

They sold the fridge, sold the washing machine, and even sold the new sofa.

Dad converted all the cash to dollars.

Every day after school, I'd ask when they were coming back.

Dad told me, "Two years."

Mom said, "When Emily finds her footing."

Emily shrugged. "Maybe soon, maybe not for a long time."

The night before they left, I couldn't sleep.

I stuffed my clothes into my backpack, tucked in a dictionary for comfort, and added two bags of cookies.

The next day, a taxi pulled up at the end of the alley.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and trailed after them.

Dad frowned. "What's with the backpack?"

"I'm coming too," I said.

"Quit messing around."

"I won't be any trouble."

"I can sleep on the floor, and I can help take care of Emily." I clung to Mom's sleeve, refusing to let go.

She glanced down at me, no warmth in her eyes, but pure annoyance. "Helen, I don't have time to waste on you."

She brushed my hand away and shoved a set of keys into my palm. "You'll be living in the old house. There's some flour left in the kitchen. Don't waste it."

The car door slammed shut.

I chased after them, but stumbled and fell right at the entrance of the alley.

The taxi never slowed down.

Grace came up behind me and helped me up.

She took the keys from my hand and asked, "How much did your parents leave you?"

That was when I realized Mom only left me the keys, not a single dollar.

Grace took me back to the old house and searched through the dining table, drawers, and cabinets.

There was nothing.

There was only a small half-bag of flour left in the kitchen.

Just then, the landline rang.

I thought it was Mom calling, so I rushed to pick it up.

But it was a stranger on the other end.

"Is this the Rivers family?" the man asked. "Tell him the old house needs to be handed over in three days. He's already taken all the money from the sale."