Page 8 of Power Play

I stayed after the review ended and rewrote the problem on a clean sheet. Then I rewrote the entire set so the final page contained no corrections, eraser marks, or evidence that I’d ever answered anything incorrectly.

The clean copy went into my bag.

I folded the first one and buried it beneath other papers in the trash.

By the time I returned home, hunger had sharpened enough to make me light-headed. My mother was in the sitting room reviewing flower samples for an upcoming Harlen Foundation dinner. White roses, white lilies, and ivory peonies covered the table in small arrangements that appeared nearly identical.

She glanced up as I entered. “How was rehearsal?”

“Fine.”

“No corrections?”

“Coach said the second run was better.”

Her smile softened. “Good. You always perform beautifully once you settle yourself.”

I waited for the praise to feel complete, but the word once remained inside it. I was beautiful after I settled myself. I performed correctly after I fixed whatever had gone wrong.

“What did you eat at breakfast?” she asked.

“Fruit and eggs.”

“Good girl.”

The words filled the empty place instantly. My mother returned to the flowers without knowing the eggs had gone into the trash.

“The skirt looked much smoother when you left,” she said. “Standing correctly makes an enormous difference.”

I looked down at my body. The uniform still felt tight, but her approval made the hunger beneath it feel connected to something I had done right.

“May I go study?”

“Your father wants to review the algebra material with you after dinner.”

“I already attended the review.”

“He knows. He wants to be certain you understood it.”

“I did.”

My mother’s expression changed slightly. It wasn’t anger. Concern arranged itself carefully enough to make resistance look like evidence that she had reason to worry.

“Then showing him shouldn’t be difficult.”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

I went upstairs.

My algebra notebook remained open on my desk where I’d left it. I sat, pulled out the clean practice sheet, and studied until every problem became familiar enough to solve without pausing.

Hunger moved beneath everything.

I ignored it.

At five, my mother sent a tray to my room. Grilled chicken, vegetables, and a small dish of rice sat beneath a silver cover beside a note written in her careful script.