Chapter 2

At two in the morning, the station waiting room felt like an icebox.

I tucked the cardboard box near my boots and leaned back against the hard plastic bench to close my eyes. My phone vibrated. A text from Brenda:

"Luna is short three thousand dollars for her fall tuition. Wire your paycheck the second it hits your account."

I didn't reply.

Another buzz followed: "Stop playing dead. What good is that third-rate degree going to do you anyway? Drop out right now and get on the factory line. You’d make an extra few hundred a month."

I blocked her number without hesitation.

At four in the morning, my phone rang again. An unknown local number.

"Is this Stella? It's Mr. Miller, your high school English teacher. Your senior essay received the highest score across the entire state. The State Education Board wants to feature you in an interview. Do you have time?"

I froze.

During all four years of high school, I woke up at five every morning to memorize literature and stayed up past midnight doing practice exams. That *Evaluation Matrix* had labeled me "mediocre," yet my English literature scores had always ranked number one in the district.

"Yes," I answered softly. "I have time."

The panel was held in the auditorium of the downtown public library. Over a hundred teachers, students, and parents attended. I stood at the podium sharing my writing methods, and the applause at the end was deafening.

As people were clearing out, a well-dressed woman approached me and handed me a business card.

"Stella, I’m the director of the Horizon Scholarship Foundation. We read your essay, and we’d like to sponsor the remainder of your undergraduate degree. No strings attached."

Staring at the embossed letters on the card, my eyes stung with tears.

"Thank you."

The foundation provided a monthly stipend of two hundred and fifty dollars. Combined with my three part-time gigs, it was just enough to cover my tuition and rent.

During Thanksgiving break of my sophomore year, Luna called out of the blue.

"Stella, it's my birthday. Mom and Dad gave me three thousand dollars to throw a party at a lounge. Are you coming or what?"

"No," I said, and hung up.

Half an hour later, Brenda called from a landline.

"You won't even attend your own sister's birthday? We raised you for nothing!"

"She called. I declined."

"You have to come! Claire and the rest of the family are here! How will it look if you don't show up? Everyone will think I mistreat you!"

"Don't you?"

Silence hung on the line for two long seconds before Brenda’s voice turned shrill. "Stella, you think you’re all grown up now, don't you? Fine! If you won't come, your sister has an advanced prep boot camp next month. The fee is five hundred bucks. You're paying for it."

"I don't have the money."

"Doesn't that scholarship fund wire you money every month? How much can one girl possibly spend? Cut back on your food and help your sister out!"

I hung up on her again.

I didn't pay a single dime toward Luna's camp. Brenda called over a dozen times to scream at me, but I ignored every single one.

Later, Claire told me that Luna missed the registration deadline. Her classmates mocked her in their group chat for not being able to afford the fee. Furious, Luna smashed two phones in a tantrum, forcing Richard to buy her the latest top-tier model just to calm her down.

The summer before my senior year, I landed an internship at a major digital media company in the city.

One afternoon, while grabbing coffee in the breakroom, I overheard two colleagues talking by the counter.

"Hey, did you hear about the new writer on the content team? The one who scored perfect marks on the state essay? Rumor has it her parents tried to force her to drop out and work an assembly line."

"No way. Who would do that to their own kid?"

"Dead serious. Her parents claimed her younger sister was Ivy League material, and that she was completely worthless."

My hand holding the mug froze for a second. Hearing my own trauma reduced to office gossip still stung.

That night, back in my tiny studio apartment, I opened my laptop and searched for Luna’s name.

She had indeed gotten into a prestigious university, but before her freshman year even wrapped up, she had been placed on academic probation for failing nearly every course. I scrolled through her Instagram. Her latest post was taken at a casino in Las Vegas, captioned: *A little win.*

Someone in the comments asked: *Aren't you supposed to be in class?*

She replied: *Took a leave of absence. Needed to clear my head.*

I closed the tab and shut the laptop screen.