Chapter 3

A smile tugged at Maya's mouth before she quickly hid it.

"Are you sure that's okay? Where will Lena sleep?"

"There's still that spare room," Mom said. "She can move in there."

The so-called spare room was tiny, packed with old boxes and junk.

I didn't argue.

I nodded, gathered my things, and moved into the storage room.

Caleb and Noah were even kind enough to carry my bed in for me.

Noah looked around once it was squeezed against the wall.

"That's all that fits? Just the bed?"

For the first time in a while, he sounded almost sorry for me.

"Lena, just apologize to Maya. She's kind. She'll ask your parents to forgive you."

"I already apologized for taking her money without asking. That part was my fault."

"That's not what I mean. I mean the peanuts."

"I didn't put them there."

Noah sighed. "So you're saying I did?"

I fell silent.

Then I sat on the edge of the bed and said quietly, "It doesn't matter anymore who did it."

"Why are you always so stubborn?"

I still remembered being little, when Noah told me I looked like a broken princess. He'd promised he would protect me.

By then, Maya already had all of Mom and Dad's attention, so I spent most of my time with Noah instead.

He was smart. His grades were always near the top of the class.

I used to trail after him and beg him to help me with homework.

Then, at some point, Maya started doing the same thing.

Noah would tell me to wait while he helped her first.

I kept waiting.

He simply never came back.

After that, the only things that stayed beside me were textbooks and stacks of practice papers.

I looked down at the boy crouching in front of me.

His eyes had long since lost the warmth I remembered.

"It's fine," I said. "I won't be living here much longer anyway."

After I made Noah leave, I scratched the first tally mark into the wall.

Ten marks, and I could leave this house for good.

The next morning, contractors walked into what used to be my bedroom.

Anything I hadn't managed to pack was tossed into the hallway.

Mom looked uncomfortable.

"If there's anything you still want, hurry and pick it up before they throw it away."

I looked down at a faded headband on the floor.

Mom had bought it for me at an amusement park when I was four, right before my first round of chemotherapy.

Beside it was a brown teddy bear.

Caleb had given it to me when I was five because I'd been terrified before a major surgery and couldn't stop crying.

Then there were three matching family T-shirts.

When I was six, the doctors told Mom and Dad that my condition was finally improving. They were so happy they'd had the shirts made, each one printed with our handprints.

I'd treasured those things for years, tucked safely in the back of my closet.

I stared at them for a long time.

Then I turned away.

"I don't want any of it. Throw it out."

Later, still wearing a washed-out T-shirt of my own, I helped carry several huge bags of new clothes into Maya's expanded room.

"Mom and Dad bought all of these for me yesterday," she said proudly, lifting a brow.

When I didn't react, her expression soured.

"And you still owe me five hundred dollars. When are you paying me back?"

"Give me three days. I found a job."

On the first day, I came home so exhausted I nearly collapsed outside the door.

On the second, my arms hurt so badly I could barely lift them, but I forced myself up and went back to work.

On the third, I handed Maya all five hundred dollars.

She tossed the money onto the table and told me she was going to a party, so I should iron her dress.

On the fourth day, my body finally started adapting to the hard labor. Ray, the site supervisor, told me I could keep up with anyone on his crew and bumped my pay by fifty dollars.

On the fifth, the whole family sat around discussing which college admissions consultant to hire for Maya. They even talked about buying an apartment near whichever school she chose so she wouldn't have to suffer in a dorm.

On the sixth, they planned a family trip.

Maya told them to buy five tickets and bring Noah too.

I stopped in the hallway for half a second.

I felt like a stranger passing through someone else's life.

Maya seemed delighted that I left early and came home late every day.

By the time I returned from work, my clothes were soaked with sweat and I smelled like I'd been standing under the sun for hours - because I had.

Maya would sit in the air-conditioning eating watermelon, pinch her nose, and complain, "Ugh, what is that smell? Lena, what kind of job did you get? Cleaning out dumpsters?"

Noah would get up and crack a window for her.

Caleb would glance at me and mutter, "Looks pretty healthy to me. So much for being sick."

I never answered.

Most nights, I didn't have the strength.

When I returned to the storage room that evening, I scratched the final tally mark into the wall.

Then my phone rang.

...

I bought a flight for before dawn.

With nothing but a backpack, I slipped quietly out of the room.

At the front door, I turned and took one last look at the house where I'd spent eighteen years of my life.

Memories flashed through my mind one after another.

Seven years of being cherished.

Eleven years of being ignored.

All because Mom and Dad kept insisting everything had to be "fair," I'd spent my life in that house trying to take up as little space as possible.

At dinner, I never reached for the best food.

Even though we had a car, I never asked for a ride. I'd taken the bus for eleven years.

And somehow, Maya still thought I had too much.

It didn't matter anymore.

From now on, my life belonged to me.

The front door clicked softly shut behind me.

No one noticed I was gone - not until a news van pulled up outside and a reporter knocked on our door.