Chapter 3

Later that day, I found my father in his study, going over the receipts for Caleb's party. The sheer amount of money being spent on decorations, a cake, and a DJ for a community college acceptance party was staggering.

I walked in without knocking. "Why did you destroy my letter?" I asked, my voice devoid of the emotion that had choked me the night before. It was cold, clinical.

He didn't look up from his papers. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ethan. And I'm busy."

"Don't lie to me," I said. "I know one of you did it. Was it you? Mom? Sarah?" I paused. "Or was it Caleb?"

At the mention of Caleb's name, he finally looked up, his eyes hard. "Leave your brother out of this. He's been through enough with your tantrums."

"My tantrums?" I laughed, a humorless sound. "I get a full ride to one of the best universities in the world, and you call my reaction a tantrum?"

Caleb appeared in the doorway then, a pained expression on his face. He was an artist when it came to feigning hurt. "Ethan, please," he said, his voice soft. "Don't be mad. I told Mom and Dad we could all go to the same college. It would be fun."

The condescension in his tone was infuriating. I ignored him and looked at my father. "I need to buy another plane ticket for orientation. It's next weekend."

My father scoffed. "And where do you think that money is going to come from? We're spending a lot on this party for your brother. He deserves it."

"He deserves it?" I repeated, incredulous. "What about what I deserve? I earned that scholarship. I worked for it."

"Your problem, Ethan," my father said, standing up and towering over me, "is that you're arrogant. You think being book-smart makes you better than everyone. It doesn't. Family is what matters. And right now, you are tearing this family apart with your selfishness."

I felt the last of my resolve crumble. It was useless. I was arguing with a brick wall. I nodded slowly, a sense of profound defeat washing over me. "Fine," I whispered. "You're right." I turned and left the study, my shoulders slumped. I would go through the motions. I would help with the party. It didn't matter anymore.

An hour later, I was in the backyard, hanging streamers. Caleb came out, holding two sodas. He offered one to me.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. "No hard feelings, right? We're brothers."

I didn't take the soda. I just kept hanging the cheap, colorful paper.

He put his hand on my shoulder, a gesture that was meant to look brotherly but felt like a brand. "Come on, Ethan. Talk to me."

I shrugged his hand off and turned to walk away. As I did, he let out a loud cry and suddenly collapsed onto the grass, clutching his ankle.

"Ow! My ankle!" he howled, his face contorted in a mask of agony that was almost believable. "Ethan, why did you do that? You tripped me!"

Instantly, the back door flew open. My mother, father, and Sarah rushed out, their faces a mixture of alarm and fury.

"Ethan!" my mother shrieked, kneeling beside Caleb. "What did you do to your brother?"

"I didn't do anything," I said, my voice tired. "He faked it."

"He's hurt! Look at him!" Sarah yelled, pointing at Caleb, who was now writhing on the ground. "You're just jealous! You can't stand that he's getting some attention for once!"

My father grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my bicep. "Apologize to your brother. Now."

I looked down at Caleb, the master manipulator, a pathetic actor in a play of his own making. I looked at my family, their faces twisted with blind accusation. And then I looked back at the house, a place that was supposed to be a home but had only ever felt like a cage.

A strange calm settled over me. I pulled my arm from my father's grasp and took a step towards Caleb. I looked down at him, my expression unreadable.

"I am so, so sorry, Caleb," I said, my voice dripping with a sarcasm so thick it was almost tangible. "I can't imagine how much pain you must be in. I hope your incredibly fragile ankle makes a full recovery in time for your big party."

The shock on their faces was absolute. It was the first time I had ever fought back with their own weapon: insincerity. And in their stunned silence, I felt a tiny, cold spark of victory.