I figured we’d spend the remaining days locked in this stalemate. Mom was too stubborn to
back down, and I wasn’t about to apologize.
But then, on Wednesday evening, as
temperatures plummeted, Mom spoke to me. “Your dad’s going to the grocery store. What
do you want?”
I was stunned. Before I could respond, she
snapped, “Well? Spit it out! I haven’t got all
day!”
That night, she actually cooked. She made her
famous spicy chicken, placing the platter right
in front of me. Dad gave me a pointed look.
“Chicken was $15 a pound. Plus the spices…
you’d pay a fortune for this at a restaurant!”
The pungent smell of chili peppers made my
throat itch. I covered my nose, but I couldn’t
<
11:19
help it. I started coughing, a deep, racking
cough that left me gasping for air.
“BAM!” Mom slammed her chopsticks on the
table. “Stop being so dramatic!”
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“Eat it or don’t! Don’t appreciate it, fine!” Dad
soothed Mom, then plopped the biggest piece.
of chicken into my bowl. “You love spicy food.
Your mom made this especially for you. Try it.”
I didn’t love spicy food.
When I lived with my aunt and uncle, the school
provided lunch, but we had to bring our own
sides. My aunt packed food for Brittany, but
never for me. I didn’t have any money, so I’d
sneak a half spoonful of chili sauce into my
lunchbox and mix it with the rice.
It was salty and burned my throat, but it was
better than nothing. I savored every bite, eating
the plain rice first, and only when it became
<
11:19
unbearable would I add a tiny dab of the chili
oil, saving the actual flakes for last.
48
I had constant canker sores back then, and
spent hours after school in the bathroom, crying.
as I went to the toilet.
Eventually, my aunt hid the chili sauce. I
resorted to digging through the trash cans for
discarded ramen seasoning packets. The flavor
powder was good enough to mix with rice, and
if I was lucky, I’d find an intact sauce packet.
Those were the best. They melted over the hot
rice, came in all sorts of flavors, and sometimes.
even had little bits of meat. Half a packet was
enough to flavor my entire lunch.
After years of that, my stomach was ruined, and
I couldn’t stand the taste of spicy food
anymore.
But Brittany loved it. Spicy chicken was
Brittany’s favorite. Mom always made it when
<
we came home from school.
“I don’t eat spicy food,” I said quietly. “And my throat hurts.” Dad frowned. “Just one piece. won’t kill you. Drink some water. Your mom went to all this trouble. Don’t hurt her feelings.”
Mom snorted. “See? Always complaining about me favoring Brittany. I make the same dish for both of you, she eats it, you don’t. How is that favoring her?”
“Some people are just ungrateful…”
Before she could finish, I shoved the chicken in my mouth. The spice exploded in my sinuses. I struggled to suppress the cough, my body trembling. But the food felt like shards of glass scraping down my raw throat. I started
coughing again, harder this time. I felt like I was coughing up my lungs.
I spat into my hand, a bloody mess. Mom
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11:20
48
screamed. “Disgusting! Get away from me! You ruined dinner!”
See, Mom? See how much you disgust me, too?
- 8.
The coughing kept me up all night. My tongue started to throb. I took extra cough medicine, finally drifting off near dawn.
I woke up to get a drink of water and overheard
Mom and Dad talking.
“It’s not like I meant to accuse her. Brittany was just talking about how her boyfriend, Jason, bought that expensive house in Seattle, how they’re looking at wedding venues. I just wanted to check how much we had saved, you know, to help Brittany out, make sure she’s not embarrassed. I just…misplaced the gold when I put it back.”
<
11:20
“It’s not my fault. If she wasn’t always sneaking around, I wouldn’t have suspected her! Why didn’t I suspect anyone else, huh?”
“When do you think Jason’s going to propose?
They bought the house three months ago.. What’s the hold up?”
“He will. He’s crazy about her. Why else would
he be so nice to me? Even Mr. Henderson at
work noticed. He keeps bringing me gifts, trying to suck up.”
So, they found the gold.
But Brittany still posted on Instagram: “Living with a thief? Not fun.”
Someone commented, and she replied: “Yen the same one you’re thinking of. She struck again.”
“Stole from her own parents. My aunt’s
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11:20
devastated.”
48
“Not a huge amount, but enough to land her in
jail.”
“Yep, she’s famous for it back at Central High.
“Thanks for the concern, guys. I’m going home
soon. Not bringing any valuables. And my phone
is glued to my hand.”
“Hopefully, she won’t scare my fiancé.”
“He’s away on business.”
“We’ll send out wedding invites soon.
It seemed her followers were old classmates. I
wasn’t in contact with anyone from high school.
I didn’t have any friends then.
After the parent–teacher conference incident,
<
my reputation in middle school was ruined. My classmates avoided me, and the teachers‘
gazes turned from kindness to contempt.
I got into Central High, the best school in the city, on a full scholarship. I thought it would be
a fresh start, but the rumors followed me.
Within weeks, whispers filled the halls: “The
new girl, the smart one…she’s a thief.”
Courtesy of Brittany, the new “it” girl at the
regular high school next door.
Soon, my roommates started complaining to the teachers about missing items. They cried and embellished stories about my suspicious
behavior, practically claiming they’d seen me
stealing with their own eyes. No one wanted to
room with me.
The school, exasperated, gave me a tiny room
in an off–campus apartment they rented. Of
course, everyone saw this as further proof of
L
my guilt, another “punishment” for my crimes.
I texted Jason: “Hotel? You in?”
He replied quickly: “What’s up?”
“What do you think?”
He typed for a long time, then sent a tentative:
“Sex?”
He deleted it almost immediately and started
typing again.
