Chapter 1

Our family's pie shop opened at 4:30 every morning, but my parents always made me wake up at 4:00.

They kept saying my brother, Alex Harper, was too young, that waking up early would mess with his growth, so he got to sleep in until school started.

On the first day of summer break, my dad brought home a yellow timesheet ledger.

Alex worked the cash register for two hours every day, and next to his name, it said thirty dollars.

The new part-time worker got paid forty dollars for three hours of work.

I worked from before dawn until noon, flipped through the whole ledger, but my name was nowhere to be found.

"Dad, did you forget to write my name down?" I asked.

My dad was counting money, not even looking up.

"Why would I pay my own daughter for helping out at home?" he said.

I nodded, thinking he had a point. After all, we were family; we didn't need to keep score.

But when payday rolled around at the end of the month, Alex spent his eight hundred dollars on a new pair of sneakers. Dad even praised him for knowing how to earn money.

The blisters on my wrist from baking had already scabbed over, and all my mom said was to remember to order two more bags of flour for tomorrow.

I used to think they left my name out because I was family, closer than any employee.

But then I realized that when Alex worked two hours, they called it helping out. When I worked the whole morning, they expected that from me.

That yellow timesheet ledger didn't miss a single dollar.

But from the very start, they never intended to recognize the value of my work.

*****

After wrapping up at noon, I packed up the last batch of pies in a food container, then dug out the school's admission notice from the secret pocket in my backpack.

Registration was set for September 3rd. With the train ticket, dorm gear, and health check fees, the total came to more than six hundred dollars.

My student loan had already been approved, and the school even reserved a work-study spot for me in the cafeteria. As long as I showed up ten days early, I could get my dorm key ahead of time.

I slid the expense breakdown over to my dad. "Dad, can I borrow seven hundred dollars first? I'll pay you back once I'm at school."

My dad was checking the day's earnings on his calculator, and when he heard the number, he frowned. "Seven hundred dollars? Why do you need that much?"

"The train ticket is two hundred dollars, dorm supplies are one hundred, and the rest covers the health check and my meals for the first month," I explained.

"Doesn't the school cover food and housing?" he asked.

"I still have to pay for the dorm, and I have to buy my own meals," I replied.

My mom set a bowl of half-washed beans in front of me. "Other kids can go, so why do you have to be so picky? Pick out the bad beans. We need them for tomorrow morning."

I kept my head down, picking out a few bad beans, still waiting for Dad to answer.

On the other side of the cash register, Alex flipped open the yellow timesheet ledger and checked off his name.

He was forty minutes late today, but Dad still logged him for two hours.

"Dad, my phone's running out of storage. It keeps lagging when I play games," Alex said.

He waved his phone at Dad. "I found one on sale for only 1,300 dollars."

Dad tapped his calculator, grinning as he teased him. "You've only been earning money for a few days, and you're already thinking about a new phone? How about this? You pay half, and I'll cover the rest as a reward."

My fingers stopped on a shriveled bean. "So what about my travel money?"

The smile slipped from Dad's face. "Why are you always comparing yourself to Alex? He bought his phone with money he earned, but you're using family money for school. That's different."

"I work in the shop, too," I said.

"Here we go again." Mom pushed the beans toward me. "We're family. Do you have to keep score of who does what? Isn't that exhausting?

"Alex is going to take over the shop in the future, so he needs to learn how to earn. You're the older sister; helping your parents and still asking for money? What would people think?"

I didn't say anything else.

Six years ago, when I first climbed up on a stool to make pie by hand, Mom praised how nimble I was and promised that once the business picked up, she'd make sure I got my share.

And business did pick up.

We changed the sign twice, added three more freezers, and Alex upgraded from basic sneakers to limited-edition ones.

But that promise about not shortchanging me never moved past that moment, six years ago.

That afternoon, my homeroom teacher, Rachel Ford, gave me a call. "Emily, the Work-Study Office is checking the list. Did your family say it's okay for you to come to school early?"

I glanced at the yellow timesheet ledger. Dad had already marked thirty dollars next to Alex's name for today's pay.

"Yeah, it's fine," I said.

"Then make sure you reply to the email tonight. If you miss this chance, the spot will go to someone else," Rachel added.

After hanging up, I tossed the bad bean into the trash.

Mom poked her head out from the kitchen. "What are you standing around for? Once you're done with the beans, go check the warehouse inventory. We've got a delivery tomorrow. Don't order too few again."

I nodded, picked up my phone, and entered my name at the bottom of the confirmation email.

The success page stayed on my screen for a long time.

This time, no one was logging my hours for me.

But I put it there myself.