Chapter 2: The Girl Who Never Got to Be a Girl
I hid my laptop beneath a stack of old sweaters before going upstairs.
It wasn't much of a plan. The laptop was the only computer I owned, and my mother knew exactly how much my education depended on it. But after the way she'd looked at my scholarship letter, handing it over felt like giving her the keys to a door she had spent eighteen years trying to keep locked.
“Where is it?”” Denise demanded when I entered her bedroom.
She stood beside her dresser in a catering uniform, counting cash into small envelopes. Her hair was pinned into a tight bun, and the room smelled of perfume, laundry detergent, and the fried onions she had cooked for the next day's catering order.
“My laptop?””
“No, Zarya, the president's laptop. Yes, your laptop.””
“Why do you need it?””
She stopped counting.
“Are you seriously questioning me now?””
“You said we needed to take care of the university business. I want to know what that means.””
“It means I'm going to help you make a responsible decision.””
“I already made one.””
Denise slid the money into an envelope and wrote SUPPLIES across the front.
“Your decision is selfish.””
“My scholarship covers everything.””
“Not everything. You think you won't need money for emergencies? Clothes? Things those rich students have that you won't?””
“I can get a campus job.””
“And leave me to manage everything here? No.””
She stepped closer and held out her hand.
“Give me the laptop.””
I looked at her fingers.
Those hands had spent years kneading dough, lifting roasting pans, and counting tips at two in the morning. They had also pulled me out of bed to babysit, pushed grocery bags into my arms, and tapped on my bedroom door whenever she needed another favor.
I knew those hands.
I had never imagined being afraid of them.
“I need to finish an assignment,” I lied.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What assignment?””
“An orientation form.””
“Then you can fill it out later.””
“It's due tonight.””
“Everything is always due tonight when you want to avoid helping me.””
She grabbed the envelope from the dresser and shoved it into her purse.
“Friday is a major event. I need you in the kitchen at three, and you will stay until every tray is washed. No excuses. After that, we'll discuss whether you have earned the privilege of going anywhere.””
“Earned it?””
“Yes. This family has supported you.””
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny, but because the statement was so upside down that my mind couldn't find another response.
My mother had never paid for a college application. Mrs. Bennett had helped me locate fee waivers.
A retired teacher from my high school had given me a used SAT preparation book. I had saved money from occasional tutoring jobs to buy my own notebooks.
Even the clothes I planned to take to Westbridge had come from clearance racks and thrift stores.
The family had given me a roof.
I had repaid it with my childhood.
“Mom,” I said carefully, “if I stay, I'll lose my place.””
“Then you'll apply again when things are easier.””
“When will that be?””
She turned away.
“I'm not discussing this.””
“That's what you said last year.””
She spun back toward me.
“What did you say?””
“Nothing.””
“That's what I thought.””
She pointed at the door.
“Get downstairs. Your sisters need dinner.””
I went.
I always went.
That night, I made spaghetti while Maya sat at the kitchen counter scrolling through videos and Lila colored beside the fruit bowl.
The kitchen was warm from the stove. Steam fogged the windows. A stack of catering containers occupied half the counter, and the refrigerator door was covered in notes reminding me to buy milk, bread, detergent, and chicken.
I stirred the sauce and tried not to think about Westbridge.
I had imagined my first night in the dormitory so many times that I could practically see it. White sheets. A small desk beneath a window.
Books arranged on a shelf. Nobody shouting my name from another room.
Maybe I would stay up late talking to someone who didn't know me as the dependable daughter.
Maybe I would make a friend who asked what I wanted to do instead of what I could do for them.
It wasn't that I wanted to escape my sisters.
I wanted to discover who I was when nobody needed me to rescue them.
Maya finally put down her phone.
“Are you really leaving?””
I kept stirring.
“Yes.””
She looked toward the stairs.
“Mom says you're abandoning us.””
“I'm not abandoning you.””
“Then why are you going?””
I turned off the burner and faced her.
“Because I want to become a teacher. Or maybe a lawyer. I'm not sure yet. But I want to have a future I chose for myself.””
Maya picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.
“What about Lila?””
“I'll call her. I'll visit when I can. And you'll both be able to call me whenever you need me.””
“But Mom says you'll forget us.””
Something twisted beneath my ribs.
I crossed the kitchen and sat beside her.
“Maya, listen to me. Leaving home doesn't mean I stop loving you. It means I finally get a chance to build a life, and I want you to believe you can do that, too.””
She looked down.
“Sometimes I wish I could leave.””
I stared at her.
“You do?””
“Not because of you,” she said quickly.
“You make everything easier. But Mom gets mad when things go wrong, and somehow it's always your fault. If dinner is late, you didn't start it early enough.
If Lila forgets her homework, you should have checked her bag. If Mom doesn't have enough money, you should get a job.””
Her voice became smaller.
“Sometimes I think she doesn't know how to do anything without you.””
Neither did I, I thought.
That was the trap.
I'd become so useful that nobody had noticed I was disappearing.
Lila climbed onto the chair beside us, clutching her purple marker.
“Zarya, will you still braid my hair when you go?””
I brushed a strand from her forehead.
“Of course.””
“Every morning?””
I hesitated.
She noticed.
“It's okay,” she whispered.
“I'll learn.””
I pulled her into my arms.
“You don't have to take care of Mom for me, okay? You're eight. Your job is to go to school, draw your flowers, and be a kid.””
She hugged me tightly.
From the doorway, Denise watched us.
For a moment, I thought she'd heard enough to understand.
Instead, she said, “If you're finished with the emotional speeches, the dishes aren't going to wash themselves.””
Maya lowered her head.
Lila climbed down from the chair.
I returned to the sink.
My mother stood beside the counter, scrolling through her phone. A notification appeared on her screen, and she quickly turned the device facedown.
I caught only a few words before it disappeared.
Student portal access confirmed.
My hands stopped beneath the running water.
“What was that?”” I asked.
Denise looked up.
“What?””
“Your phone.””
“It's none of your business.””
“Was that something from Westbridge?””
She shoved the phone into her pocket.
“Why would Westbridge be contacting me?””
“I don't know. That's why I'm asking.””
“Finish the dishes.””
She walked away.
I stood frozen, listening to her footsteps cross the living room.
Student portal access.
I had received an email from Westbridge that afternoon reminding me to complete my housing forms. The university had instructed me to create a password and keep it private. I had written the password in a notebook tucked inside my desk drawer.
Nobody knew it.
Nobody except—
My thoughts stopped.
Two weeks earlier, I'd left my laptop open on the kitchen table while I helped Mom unload catering supplies. When I returned, she had been sitting in front of the screen.
She told me she'd been looking for a recipe.
I hadn't questioned her.
I had never questioned her.
After midnight, I slipped into my bedroom and checked my laptop. It was exactly where I'd left it, beneath the sweaters.
I opened the university website.
The login page appeared.
My password worked.
I exhaled shakily and checked my admission status.
*ACCEPTED. FULL SCHOLARSHIP AWARDED.*
Everything looked normal.
Then I noticed a small notification beside the financial aid tab.
Your scholarship status was updated recently. Please review your account activity.
My pulse began to race.
I clicked the notification.
A blank page appeared, followed by an error message.
This information is temporarily unavailable. Please contact the financial aid office.
I tried again.
The same message.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
It was the unknown number from earlier.
I'm serious, Zarya. If your mother is trying to access your school account, change your password immediately.
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
Then another arrived.
And don't let her use your laptop. She may already have done something.
I typed with trembling fingers.
Who are you? How do you know about my scholarship?
The reply came almost immediately.
Someone who knows what your mother is capable of.
Before I could ask anything else, I heard the floorboards creak outside my door.
I slammed the laptop shut.
The doorknob turned.
“Zarya?”” Denise called softly.
Her voice was suddenly gentle.
Far too gentle.
“Open the door, sweetheart. I need to talk to you about Westbridge.””
I stood motionless in the dark.
May you like
Then she added a sentence that made my blood run cold.
“I think I've found a way to solve this whole problem.””
