My father worked for that family for eleven years before they fired him two years ago. An expensive bottle of bourbon was missing from the liquor cabinet after one of their elaborate parties, and he was accused of pilfering it for himself. Anyone who has ever met my father knew he’d never steal from anyone. He wasn’t questioned. He wasn’t given an opportunity to defend himself. He was simply dismissed for theft, ensuring he wouldn’t qualify for unemployment. With limited skills and no reference from his employer of eleven years, he’d been hard pressed to find work since then.
Withholding three days’ pay from my mother was cruel punishment, but the uncertainty of having a job when she returned to the manor added a heavier weight on her shoulders. To add insult to injury, the question of loyalty wasn’t a rhetorical one. She would have to provide an answer when she returned. She was just as likely to be fired for pledging her allegiance to their family over her own, simply because they’d enjoy her humiliation.
Our little family was barely scraping by as it was. Seeing my mother hopeless and tearful at the small kitchen table only fanned the flames of my hatred toward those who made our lives unbearable. “That’s it. I’m going to get a job somewhere after school. I can be a cashier somewhere.”
“No.” My mother found her firm voice. “If you do that, you’ll mess up any chance you have of getting the scholarship you’ve worked so hard for. We’ll get by, Megan. Don’t worry about anything except your grades and academic clubs so you can get away from here.”
She stood and walked to me, her shoulders back and her head held high. Regardless of what she faced daily at work, she held onto her pride and dignity when she was away from that place and those awful people. She grasped my upper arms and smiled. “We’re so proud of you. Only one more month before you can apply to Harvard then we’ll celebrate when you get your early acceptance letter in December.”
“I hope you’re right. But I still hate thinking about leaving you and Daddy behind.”
“You won’t be leaving us behind, pumpkin. You’ll be moving yourself ahead of the pack. That’s all that matters to your mother and me.” My dad joined us, drawing us into his embrace. “If you’re happy, then we’re happy.”
In my bedroom, I emptied the contents of my book bag onto my bed and dove headfirst into my homework. My parents were right—my grades and test scores were my saving grace from this humdrum existence. If I wasn’t chosen during the early application process for college, the months of waiting until the spring decision was communicated would kill me. Slowly. Tortuously. I’d realized that I had to get away from my life at the end of middle school, with the help of my mom, and focused all my efforts on maintaining high grades and being involved with every academic club I could get into. Every extracurricular activity I included on my college application put me one step closer to my new life goal.
To make the popular crowd envy me rather than the other way around.
