Chapter 1

To teach me "gratitude," my mom had enforced a strict Family Points System since I started middle school.

Doing a load of laundry for the whole family earned me 0.5 points. Turning over my school scholarship to help with household expenses got me 2 points.

But having meat for dinner cost me 1 point. Buying a tampon cost me 0.2 points.

On my eighteenth birthday, clutching the 15 points I'd scraped together over three years, I pleaded with my mom, "Mom, I need 103 dollars for the SAT registration and The Official SAT Study Guide. Can you give it to me?"

My mom slashed a big red X across my notebook and said, "You're an adult now. According to the family rules, it's time to settle the cost of raising you for the past eighteen years.

"These 15 points reset to zero. Now you're in the red by a thousand points."

Before I could respond, my brother, Jason Wiley, who was hopeless at applying for any college, kicked the door open.

He said, "Mom, I've got my eye on a laptop. It's 9,000 dollars."

My mom's face instantly lit up. Without a second thought, she gave Jason the money. "Go ahead and buy it, sweetie. Treat yourself."

Looking at my hands, rough and cracked from years of scrubbing laundry in freezing water, I didn't break down in tears or demand why Mom always took Jason's side.

I calmly withdrew my hand, ripped the Family Points Notebook to pieces, and tossed it in the trash.

Then I said, "Alright, Mom. It's good that accounts are settled."

The living room fell silent for a moment.

My mom looked at the shredded notebook in the trash, contempt flickering across her face. "Oh, look at our adult girl. She suddenly gets some attitude, huh?

"You think tearing up the notebook wipes out your debt? Listen up, Selah Wiley, so long as you're living in this house, you play by my rules.

"Since you're a tough girl now, skip dinner. That's 3 points off. Think of it as tuition for learning what gratitude really means."

With the sound of plastic tearing, a shoe box came skidding to a stop at my feet.

It was Jason's dirty, limited-edition designer sneakers.

Mom said, "Go clean Jay's shoes. The uppers are delicate, so no washing machine. Use cold water and a soft brush, and scrub them bit by bit. If they're spotless, you get 0.5 points."

Jason was hammering away on his new keyboard, shooting me a warning glare from the corner of his eye. "Those sneakers cost me over 1,300 dollars, and I had to hunt down a personal shopper to get them.

"Don't mess them up with your hands rougher than sandpaper. If you ruin them, selling you wouldn't cover the loss."

I looked down at the mud-caked sneakers at my feet.

Then I looked at my hands again.

For eighteen years, to scrape together those pitiful points, I'd washed every bit of laundry in this house, clothes, sheets, and the reeking socks.

The backs of my hands were mottled with purple-red chilblains, deep bloody cracks splitting my knuckles, old scars crisscrossing fresh wounds.

"What are you spacing out for? Get your ass over there and wash them." Mom's impatient voice rang out. "If you don't finish, forget about sleeping tonight."

I picked up the sneakers and headed for the bathroom.

I turned on the hot water faucet. Scalding water gushed out, and steam quickly filled the whole bathroom.

I didn't bother washing the shoes.

I tossed those 1,300-dollar "treasures" into the nearby trash can.

Then I slowly slipped my hands, raw and covered in chilblains, into the steaming hot water.

Mom burst in at the sound of running water. When she saw the sneakers tossed in the trash, she let out a shriek. "Selah! What are you doing? Are you crazy? I'm docking your points. That's ten points off."

I ignored her.

The moment frostbitten skin met warmth, I was hit with a bone-deep, torturous itch and searing pain. But what followed right after was the familiar, forgotten warmth of blood rushing back.

I reached for Jason's fancy hand wash, the one that cost hundreds of dollars, squeezed out a big, fluffy mound of foam, and carefully worked it into every wound and crack on my hands.

That warmth felt so unreal that my nose prickled, and before I knew it, my tears were falling, mixing with the steam and splashing into the sink in big, hot drops.

I turned around and looked at Mom, who was fuming, keeping my voice steady and my face calm. "Go ahead, take the points off. How about you taking my life, too?"