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"You don't even know me."
"I want to," I reply.
"No, you don't," she says, starting to look away.
I move so that she can't escape my gaze.
"Don't you dare answer for me," I almost yell at her.
"You don't understand," she says.
"Then help me to," I reply desperately.
ChapterFive
I stare at the grade written across the top of my test in horror.
"95/100" is written next to the words "Great Job!" in the teacher's handwriting.
The fact that someone thinks a 95% is a great job makes the entire situation that much harder on me.
There is no escaping my fate. I've tried keeping a bad test score from my parents once before. When they finally found out, the consequences had been even worse.
Ever since that time, they've demanded the syllabus from all of my teachers at the start of each semester. There is no escaping what I know is waiting for me at home.
The entire walk home I'm shaking. I wish I could just run away and become someone else's daughter. But then, the moment I think something like that, I feel instantly guilty.
My parents pay a lot of money for my private education. I get to go to school with some of the richest families in New England.
Maybe they're right.
Maybe I am just an ungrateful child.
I take the last few steps up to my house. Like pretty much everyone else I go to school with, I live in a gated neighborhood just outside of the city.
I wonder if people with less money harbor as many secrets as the wealthy. It seems as if big houses afford more closets for skeletons.
I have to put a lot of effort into pushing open one of the large oak front doors. I don't eat much these days. It makes some of the simplest tasks that much harder.
I had been looking forward to dinner this evening, but ever since I got that grade back, I knew I'd be going hungry.
My mother is standing in the front entrance, waiting for me to arrive. She looks beautiful with her blonde hair styled into perfect curls, wearing a soft blue, A-line dress that accentuates her perfect body. Some days I wonder if she really is the woman who gave birth to me. She and I look so different.
She puts a manicured hand out and I place the test into it. Her features are calm, almost emotionless as she looks at the grade on the front page.
"I'm disappointed," she says to me.
I don't say anything back. I learned a long time ago not to say anything back.
She turns around and walks further into the house. I push down every urge I have to run away and follow her instead. I shake more and more with each step. By the time we reach the basement steps, I'm not sure that I'll be able to descend them without losing my balance.
"Hurry up!" she barks at me when I take too long.
I do my best to go faster, losing my footing on the last few steps. I land on my knees, the cold concrete of the floor scraping against my pale skin.
I hiss in pain.
"Clumsy girl," my mother says crossly.
