Chapter 1

The day my acceptance letter arrived, I finally realized—I was the only one heading to the West Coast.

Back when we were filling out applications, Ethan told me, "Amanda applied to the same school. The three of us will go together. We'll look out for each other."

I believed him.

Growing up, my dad always thought I was too independent. My stepmom, on the other hand, constantly shielded Amanda. And my brother Noah never called me anything but "Summer," though he always called Amanda "sis."

My birthdays were forgotten. My room was cleared out. Even when I pulled straight A's, all my dad would say was, "Don't put too much pressure on Amanda."

Only Ethan, when I was left out in the cold, said he'd always stand behind me.

In the family group chat, Noah sent an excited voice message, "Now Amanda and Ethan can be together every day!"

I stared at the screenshots of their two matching acceptance letters, and my eyes stung.

Outside the study, Amanda asked softly, "Do you think Summer will be mad at you?"

Ethan was quiet for a moment.

"She's strong. She'll figure it out on her own."

"I'll stay here and take care of you first. Once you're settled, I'll explain it to her."

Strong?

Holding that letter to the West Coast, it suddenly hit me—maybe the West Coast wasn't such a bad idea. At least no one could ignore me there anymore.

I didn't open the study door.

Their voices drifted out. "But what if Summer actually gets angry?"

Ethan's voice was utterly certain. "She won't. Once I explain, she won't stay mad. She's always been like that."

Right. Always been like that.

Because I cared, I never dared to actually get angry when they hurt me. So even when my birthday was forgotten, even when I had to give up my room, even when I was told my good grades were just me pressuring Amanda—I never let myself get angry.

I thought Ethan was different. So I held on even tighter.

But in the end, they tricked me into changing my application. The two of them went to the same school, leaving me to go to the West Coast alone.

I turned around, went back to my room, and tucked the acceptance letter into my backpack.

Then I pulled out a Specialized Training Program confirmation form.

Back in senior year, my homeroom teacher handed me the materials and said it was a joint training project between the university and a western research base.

The early stages involved closed training at the base, with follow-up research. Project location and personnel files were only disclosed to the program team and authorized contacts.

I hadn't planned on joining. I gave it up willingly because of one sentence from Ethan—that he wanted to go to the same university I did.

But I didn't need to now.

When I got back to my room, Amanda was crouched in front of my closet, organizing clothes. She hung one of her dresses in the slot I used most.

My old desk was covered with her university acceptance letter and the checklist Ethan had made for her.

She saw me, her hand still resting on the closet door.

"Summer, you're back."

"Mom said since you're leaving for the West Coast soon, your room would just be empty. I figured with the university close by, it'd be convenient to come back on weekends to study, so I just put a few things here first..."

I didn't say anything. I just looked at her.

That desk. My dad built it with his own hands for my tenth birthday. He worked late that night, cut his finger on a screw, and still grinned as he patted my head. "Our Summer's going to university someday. She'll have lots of books. Needs a big desk."

After my mom died, what I dreaded most was someone asking, "Where's your mom?"

In third grade, a classmate called me a kid nobody wanted and threw my backpack in the trash. I hid in a bathroom stall, crying, too scared to go back to class.

It was Ethan who grabbed my backpack for me and chased those kids away. He was only ten, too. The back of his hand got scratched and bled, but he stood in front of me, fierce and defiant.

Later, my dad came to get me and bought two hot chocolates. I asked him through tears, "Dad, since I don't have a mom, does nobody like me?"

My dad stroked my hair and said, "Who told you that? You have a dad. Dad will always like Summer."

I drank that hot chocolate so happily.

But later, both my dad and Ethan forgot the things they'd said. One found me a stepmother, the other gave his affection to my stepmother's daughter.

"Summer?"

Amanda said my name again, her eyes slightly red. "Are you upset? I can take my things away if you want..."

Her mouth said that, but her hand never left my closet.

My dad walked in with a plate of fruit. He saw Amanda standing by my closet and immediately frowned.

"Summer, are you giving Amanda attitude again?"

I looked at him. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to." My dad set the fruit plate down. "That face of yours is scary enough. Amanda's timid. Stop always making her feel like an outsider."

"An outsider." Those three words should have been for Amanda. But over the past four years, the one who really felt like an outsider was always me.

Amanda had been in our house four years and still called my dad "Mr. Wilson." The more she acted like a guest, the more desperately my dad tried to prove this family didn't shortchange her.

Deborah walked in to smooth things over. "Honey, don't talk to Summer like that. She's been without a mom since she was little. It's normal she's a little stubborn."

"Summer, Amanda's just putting a few things here for now. You're the kindest. Just give way a little for her, okay? She just got into university. She's already nervous. Don't let family stuff affect her mood."

There it was again. She always sounded like she was speaking up for me, yet somehow turned me into the unreasonable one.

I was tired.

"Got it," I said. "She can put whatever she wants."

"That's more like it."

My dad didn't ask about my acceptance letter. Didn't ask about the West Coast. Didn't ask if I was scared, going so far away all alone.

Because they'd long since decided the answers for me. Summer isn't scared. Summer can handle it. Summer should give way.

I pulled open a drawer and took out the training program confirmation form.

[Confirm early check-in. Please keep communication open for seven days and await your designated assembly notice.]

I pressed confirm.

[Summer, your early check-in application has been submitted.]

Amanda was still discussing with my dad whether to put a new storage bin next to my desk. My dad nodded. "Fine. Summer's going to the West Coast anyway. Won't be back much."

I smiled a little.

Right. Won't be back much.

Then I just won't come back at all.