Chapter 5
Things stayed quiet for a while after that until Jocelyn's school held its big arts festival.
She was scheduled to perform the piano piece that closed the show.
The whole family was expected to attend and cheer her on.
Early that morning, Mom came up and unlocked the attic door again.
She called out, "Ashley, Jocelyn's got her big performance today.
"You're coming with us.
"We're family.
"We should be there together."
I burrowed deeper under my blanket.
I replied, "Nope, not going.
"Too sleepy."
Mom held onto her patience.
"Just think of it as getting some fresh air," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
"How long have you been cooped up in this attic?" she asked, sounding a bit exasperated.
"Aren't you worried you'll start to mold?" she said, her tone half-joking, half concerned.
I rolled over.
"Getting moldy sounds fine," I muttered from under the blanket.
"At least I won't dry out in the sun," I added, dripping with sarcasm.
Mom finally lost it.
"Ashley," she snapped. "Don't you dare push it!
"You're going, end of story. Whether you like it or not."
"Patricia," she called out.
"Find her something decent to wear," she ordered.
"If you have to tie her up to get her there, then do it," she added, not even bothering to hide her frustration.
I sat up.
Mom looked ready to explode, her face flushed with anger.
"Fine," I said, my voice flat and cold. "I'll go. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Mom blinked, surprised.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
I kicked off the blanket and got out of bed.
"Nothing," I said flatly.
"Guess I'll just be the control group." I shrugged.
"Back to my usual role," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Don't worry," I said, my tone casual.
"This time, I'll play my part even better," I said, with a hint of mockery in my voice.
*****
The theater was packed, the lights blazing bright.
My parents led me to the front row, the VIP section.
James stayed backstage with Jocelyn while she got ready.
Mom leaned over and whispered a warning.
She said, "Sit still. Don't make a scene.
"And clap for your sister when she's done."
"Do you understand?" she said, her voice sharp and no-nonsense.
I nodded. "Oh."
The lights dimmed.
The show began.
There were songs, dances, comedy skits, and poetry readings.
The place was buzzing.
Finally, the host returned to the stage.
He said, "And now, for our grand finale, please give a warm welcome to Jocelyn Allen from Grade 11, Class 3.
"She will be performing a piano solo—Für Elise!"
The applause thundered through the hall.
Under the spotlight, Jocelyn glided onstage in a white tulle dress, looking every inch a proud white swan.
She paused, offered a poised bow, then settled at the grand piano.
Her fingers moved lightly across the keys, and the familiar, flowing melody of Für Elise began—soaring, polished, effortlessly beautiful.
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.
Mom and Dad were transfixed, their faces glowing with pride.
People were whispering all around.
"Is that really the real Allen heiress?" someone whispered.
"She plays beautifully," another person exclaimed.
"I heard the fake one... well, let's just say she's not exactly presentable," someone else muttered.
"Yeah, I heard she steals stuff and picks fights," another person added. "They keep her locked in the attic most days. Why'd they even bring her out tonight?"
"Who knows? Maybe she's up to something again," another said.
I sank back into the plush seat and closed my eyes, just letting the music wash over me.
The piano piece was soothing, almost like a lullaby.
Not bad. Almost put me to sleep.
The final notes faded, and applause surged through the hall like a wave.
Jocelyn stood up and took her bow.
She flashed her sweetest smile into the spotlight, glowing like the star of the night.
Then her gaze swept across the audience and landed squarely on me.
A faint, taunting smirk curled at her lips.
It was meant for me, a silent challenge.
And then, suddenly, she stumbled.
Her body jerked forward as if she'd tripped, and a sharp gasp escaped her.
She was lurching toward the edge of the stage.
There a stack of metal stage frames stood, their edges sharp and exposed.
"Jocelyn!" Mom and Dad cried out together.
The crowd went wild.
James went berserk and rushed onto the stage.
I kept my eyes closed.
I didn't budge.
Totally saw that coming.
Here came the big dramatic moment.
As the control group, this was my moment—pushed out to take the blame or serve as the contrast, all to make her innocence and misery stand out.
Too bad.
This time, I couldn't even be bothered to open my eyes.