Chapter 1

At school, I had a nickname. They called me "Mister Wait-Your-Turn."

I waited for the sneakers my brother had grown tired of, the backpack my sister thought was ugly, and the phones my parents had already cracked the screens of.

Even when it came to taking a shower, I had to wait until everyone else was done.

A week ago, Mom had promised me, "On the day of your college entrance exam, you won't have to wait your turn for the shower."

So when I finally stumbled into the bathroom, drenched in sweat and smelling awful, I thought my turn had finally come.

I was halfway through working up a lather when someone started pounding on the door.

"Come out. Let your brother go in."

My eyes stung, and I couldn't tell whether it was from the steam or something else.

I stood there without moving and gritted my teeth. "But you said I wouldn't have to wait on the day of my exam..."

The pounding grew louder.

Mom's voice came through the door, edged with impatience. "Let your brother go first. You can wait a little longer!"

My hair was still covered in foam, and I'd barely managed to pull my sweat-soaked clothes back on when Mom dragged me out.

My brother smiled at me. It was the kind of smile that seemed to say sorry, but there was far more triumph than apology in it.

He said he wouldn't take long.

His version of "not long" was eighty minutes.

By then, my sweat-soaked clothes had dried completely, and the foam in my hair had dried up.

After my brother came my sister. After Mom came Dad.

The temperature on the water heater dropped from 113°F to 32°F.

That was the moment I decided I was done waiting.

Chapter 1

When I came out, dinner was already drawing to a close.

Mom placed a glazed barbecue rib on my brother, Mason Young's, plate and, without even looking up, said, "There's no food left. I saved you a piece of cake in the fridge."

She said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world, as though it didn't matter whether I ate or not.

The class group chat had already gone crazy. It was filled with pictures of feasts and all kinds of nourishing soups.

Then I looked at the plates in front of Mason and my sister, Mia Young, then at my parents'.

There was nothing in front of me.

My chest tightened. I pulled my chair over beside the trash can and asked quietly, "Wasn't there still some pasta left?"

Dad put down his cutlery. "That's for Mason. He's got a fitness test coming up, so he needs to eat more."

Then he turned to Mason. "Keeping up with your training?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Does your ankle still hurt where you injured it last time?"

"Not really."

"I'll take you to the doctor the day after tomorrow and get it checked."

"It's been fine for ages."

"Just get it checked. Your mother and I will feel better."

They worried about him. They didn't care about me at all. They didn't even ask.

I tried to find something to talk about. "Dad, I took my college entrance exam today..."

He gave a vague hum without asking anything else and kept eating.

I waited two minutes, but he still didn't ask.

"There were so many people outside the school today. Some were holding flowers, and others were handing out water..."I clasped my hands together and stood awkwardly at the edge of the table, forcing out a dry little laugh.

But no one responded. It was as if the words coming out of my mouth, just like me, were nothing but air.

Mason kept gnawing on his rib. Mia glanced at me, then pulled out a tissue and wiped her mouth. Mom ladled a spoonful of soup into Dad's bowl without sparing me a single glance.

The table was unnaturally quiet. No one seemed to care that I'd taken the exam, how I'd done, or when my scores would come out. None of it mattered. At least, not to this family.

Finally, Mom turned to Mason. "Your competition is coming soon. Don't catch a cold from the air conditioning these next two nights."

Dad nodded. "There's been a lot of flu going around lately. Better be careful."

Mia chimed in, "If you do well, I've got a present for you!"

"Don't worry. I'll give it everything I've got!" Mason replied before gulping down two mouthfuls of water.

Then he smiled at me and added, "Remember to eat your cake."

I didn't like that smile. Something about it hurt my eyes.

I looked at the piece of cake. The frosting had melted, and the strawberries had gone limp and turned a dull reddish-brown. It was the leftover scrap from Mason's birthday cake five days ago.

I remembered that day clearly because I'd asked Mom for 20 dollars to buy a new stationery set.

When she heard the price, she'd shaken her head. "20 dollars for a few pens and rulers? That's too expensive. We've got three kids. We need to save money."

But then she'd turned around and ordered Mason a fancy mousse-covered birthday cake.

I'd secretly looked up the price on my phone. It cost a full 100 dollars. That was enough to buy 5 stationery sets, 25 sets of practice papers, or decent meals for me for 10 days.

I really wanted to know what made a 100-dollar cake so different from the 10-dollar ones I rarely bought for myself.

But Mom had cut the cake into only four pieces, one for each of them. There hadn't been one for me.

I had swallowed my anger and asked, "Where's mine?"

She had swallowed her bite of cake and mumbled, "That stuff gives you diarrhea. Don't eat it."

Now the cake sat in the fridge, melted and spoiled, because no one wanted it anymore.

So now I was allowed to eat it, and she wasn't afraid it would give me diarrhea.

I carried the cake back to my chair.

Mia suddenly shouted, "Move!"

Before I could get out of the way, a crumpled tissue struck me squarely in the forehead. The grime on it smeared across my eyelid.

Mom scoffed. "How stupid! There are so many places you could sit, and you had to sit beside the trash can? No wonder you're just like the trash. Completely useless!"

My hand froze halfway to my face for only a moment. Then I calmly wiped myself clean and looked up at the family before me.

Four people sat around a square table, with four sets of plates and cutlery laid out before them. Each of them had a place of their own.

Mason liked sitting across from the TV because he could watch the games from there. Mia liked sitting by the window because she said the air was better. My parents sat at opposite ends of the table, with Mason and Mia safely between them.

But there was no place for me.

Chapter 2

From the time I was old enough to understand such things, my place at the table was wherever they needed me. Sometimes, I sat by the kitchen entrance because it was convenient for passing out plates and bringing food to the table.

Other times, I sat beside the trash can so I could replace their side plates and sweep up the bones they tossed aside.

Back then, Mom never thought to give me a permanent seat. She didn't call me useless, either.

That night, I lay awake until dawn and quietly made a decision.

…

Then came the day the whole house was being cleaned.

Mason tossed a battered cardboard box at my feet. "Been waiting long? These are some old clothes from last year. I'm giving them to you."

He said "giving" as though he were doing me some great favor.

Mom saw nothing wrong with it. She even chimed in, "See how much Mason cares about you? Even when he gets new clothes, he thinks of you."

It was true. Thanks to Mason and Mia, I'd never bought anything new in my entire life.

Mom always said, "Wait until Mason gets tired of it. Wait until Mia's done with it."

So I waited for socks with holes in them, T-shirts that had turned yellow, backpacks with broken straps, and shoes with worn-down heels.

At first, I was happy with those things, too.

But then I saw my siblings dressed in the latest fashions, never repeating an outfit, with even their shoes polished until they gleamed.

Meanwhile, I wore oversized sneakers so loose that I had to drag my feet even after I pulled the laces as tight as they would go. The shoes were too loose, and the laces were too long. One wrong step was all it took for me to trip and end up bruised and bloody.

My classmates called me Mister Wait-Your-Turn and laughed that I collected other people's castoffs. My parents turned a blind eye to every bruise on my body.

Whenever I complained, Mom would say, "You don't know how lucky you are. These clothes and shoes aren't even broken, so why can't you wear them? Your grades aren't good enough, but you sure know how to compare yourself to others!"

Dad would shake his head and sigh. "You're still not as sensible as Mason and Mia! You're petty and weak. No wonder you're so hard to like!"

It wasn't as though I'd never thought about buying things for myself.

But Mason took the money from my piggy bank to buy game credits and limited-edition sneakers, then claimed he was spending it for my benefit.

Mom silently indulged him.

Dad even smiled and nodded. "That's just the kind of kid he is. Smart and quick on his feet!"

That was how Dad described Mason.

When it came to me, I was weak and spineless. But they'd never stopped to wonder who had pushed me down and bullied me until I'd become that way.

I took the box and murmured, "Okay."

As if she'd suddenly remembered something, Mom added, "Mason is so good to you. Mason is going for training tomorrow, so go cheer him on and give him some encouragement!"

I looked up sharply. "But I have to go to school to submit my university choices—"

Mom cut me off impatiently, "How well do you think you did? What's there to worry about? Your dad has a meeting tomorrow, and I have to accompany Mia to her performance. You're the only one who's free."

Even the biggest moments in my life weren't important to them. They were just things I was "free" for.

It was just like last year, on the final day of a physics competition.

Back then...

It was pouring rain, and I couldn't get a ride.

Mom had promised to take me first.

But when we walked out the door, Mason was already sitting in the passenger seat.

"Mason has to meet his new coach today. We'll drop him off first," she said.

"Mom, I have my competition today... I'm running out of time!" I protested.

"Mason's in a hurry too. It's on the way. It'll be quick. You can wait."

His destination was on the north side of the city. Mine was on the south side. But as long as it had something to do with Mason, even the ends of the earth were somehow "on the way." No matter how important something was to me, I was always told to wait.

I was leading the rankings at the time, and first place was practically guaranteed.

But because Mom told me to wait, because she drove him to his destination and even stayed to help him buy a new tracksuit, I missed the competition and lost my chance at the gold medal.

Later, at the dinner table, she proudly told the whole family, "Good thing I took Mason first. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gotten that spot in the elite training program..."

Dad smiled. He placed a lamb chop on her plate and a filet mignon on Mason's. He even poured Mia a glass of orange juice with pulp to encourage her. My plate and glass were the only ones left empty.

Mason smiled at me again.

It was a faint smile, but somehow that made it even more painful to look at. He'd seen me stay up until 2:00 a.m. every night to prepare for that competition. Yet as the one who had benefited from everything I'd lost, he said nothing.

He simply followed Dad's example and poured a glass of orange juice for Mia, then one for Mom and another for Dad.

My glass remained empty.

I thought maybe I was sitting too far away for him to reach me, so I picked up my glass, held it out toward him, and called softly, "Mason."

He acted as though he hadn't seen me and set the orange juice back down.

Then he smiled and said, "Come on, let's make a toast!"

There were four people, four hands, and four glasses that reached across me and met in midair, while I alone remained frozen in place with an empty glass in my hand.

I wasn't thirsty. Not even a little. I was just sad about the competition I'd missed, Mom's endless demands that I "wait," and the way this family treated me as though I didn't exist.

As they tilted their heads back and drained their glasses, I lowered mine and quietly sat back down. I hunched my shoulders and desperately shoveled plain pasta into my mouth, chewing as hard as I could.

My tears mixed with the pasta as I swallowed. They tasted so salty.

After that, I never raised my glass again.

...

The next day, I was on the subway when I chose a university as far south as I could get.

My school advisor called me. "Madison, why didn't you go for Fairmont University? Why did you choose a university that's so far away?"

I gripped my phone, my voice slightly hoarse. "Because I don't want to be Mister Wait-Your-Turn anymore."

Chapter 3

There was another, more important reason. High-achieving students at that university had their tuition and fees waived in full.

My school advisor paused before saying, "If there's something you're struggling with, you can tell me."

"Okay."

An advisor who had no blood relation to me cared about me. He was willing to think about my future, yet the people closest to me only ever told me to wait.

Mason trained for three hours, and I stood there for all three. Whenever he took a break, I'd hurry over with a towel or a bottle of water, afraid he'd go home and tell Mom I "wasn't putting in any effort."

It had been the same around this time last year, when he took part in a district soccer tournament.

Back then...

Mom had gone to Grandma's house and told me to take the day off school so I could stay with him.

At one point, I took just three seconds to answer a phone call.

I made him wait three seconds. That night, Dad's face turned cold as he told me I didn't care enough about Mason.

He withheld my allowance for two weeks that month.

After living on plain pasta until I couldn't take it anymore, I finally called him.

"You made Mason wait three seconds for his water, so you can wait three seconds longer for your dinner!"

That was when I understood. In this family, I was expected to wait for everyone, but I could never make anyone wait for me.

Later, I found a job washing dishes at a little restaurant behind our house and barely scraped by for half a month.

…

Mason and Mia had both done well in their competitions.

That evening, my grandparents came over. They brought the city's famous truffle mushroom soup and roast chicken from a renowned old restaurant.

As always, they divided everything among exactly four plates. There wasn't one for me, and I didn't try to squeeze my way in.

Mia ate her roast chicken, then dumped the leftover bones and soup into my bowl. "Here. Now you have some too. You can't say Grandma and Grandpa are playing favorites."

My chest ached a little. Apparently, waiting for their old clothes and shoes wasn't enough. Even when it came to food, I had to wait until they'd finished with it.

Halfway through, Mia's hand grew tired.

Half a bowl of soup spilled across the back of my hand.

My skin immediately turned red. Soon, blisters began to form.

I couldn't tell whether Mia genuinely hadn't noticed or was only pretending not to. She simply told me, "Eat. Grandma and Grandpa said there'll be more next time."

But she was lying. All my life, my grandparents had bought Mason and Mia countless things to eat, drink, and wear. Every time, they'd told me to wait. Wait until next time. It was as if I were waiting for a promise that would never come true.

My name was Madison, but in this family, I was really Mister Wait-Your-Turn. My classmates called me Mister Wait-Your-Turn too.

But whenever there was something good to eat or something fun to do, they always made sure I got some first. They'd grin at me and say, "You spend all your time waiting for Mason, Mia, mom, and dad at home. At school, we won't make you wait."

I stayed silent.

I stared at the blisters on the back of my hand. They slowly turned white, swelled, and became translucent.

I could hear Mia whining playfully to my grandparents. I could hear Mason chewing loudly as he stuffed his mouth with one piece of meat after another. My parents laughed as they talked about the funny things my siblings had done.

And me? All I had was a blistered hand and half a bowl of soup filled with chicken bones.

Pain throbbed through my hand with every beat of my heart. It hurt badly, but I endured it. In this family, I didn't have the right to say I was in pain. Even if I did, it wouldn't change anything.

Mom would tell me, "Go run some cold water over it."

Dad would say nothing. He'd just give me a look that said I was useless.

Mia would offer a half-hearted apology.

Mason wouldn't even look up from his food.

I closed my eyes and drank the rest of the soup in one gulp. I didn't dare leave any behind.

Otherwise, Mom would say, "Such a waste."

Dad would say, "You're too young to understand how hard it is to put food on the table."

But when it came to Mason or Mia, they always had a different explanation.

"He's a clean freak. He doesn't eat food that's already been in someone else's mouth."

"She's a dancer. She needs to watch her figure."

I lowered my head and carried the bowls, plates, and cutlery into the kitchen.

Grandpa suddenly spoke up. "Is Madison upset because he didn't get any chicken?"

Dad glanced at me and gave a cold snort. "Leave him alone. That's just how he is. He eats my food, drinks my drinks, and still has the nerve to give his mother and me attitude."

Chapter 4

I stood in the shadows of the kitchen. As I listened to those words, I couldn't stop my hands from trembling.

Almost instinctively, I pulled out my phone and checked my bank account. The $500 my school advisor had transferred to me was still there.

It wasn't much, but it was enough for a sleeper berth on a train south. Enough to tide me over until university started if I worked at a coffee shop. Enough for two sets of pajamas, a pair of slippers, and a comforter.

I wouldn't have to hear that something was too expensive. I wouldn't have to wait for someone else's hand-me-downs.

It was enough to let me walk out of this prison without asking anyone for money. Enough to spare me from those cruel, knife-sharp words.

Dad's cold reprimands continued.

Mason and Mia had finished eating long ago and slipped off to their rooms.

My grandparents sighed and tried to persuade Dad to calm down, but before long, they joined in the judgment against me. Only Mom remained silent.

I clenched my fists. I wanted to try one more time. Just one last time.

I thought about the scores on my computer and the university choices I'd submitted. Then I picked up the rag and walked over to her.

"Mom... I got—"

She didn't let me finish. She didn't even give me the chance.

She kept tapping away on her phone without looking at me. "Mia's going overseas for further training, and Mason needs a new coach. Money's a little tight right now. Your university tuition... you'll have to wait."

I would have to wait some more.

In this family, in their eyes, I would always come last. I would always have to wait.

Even though I'd won first place in the state physics competition. Even though I'd ranked first among all the students in the city.

It felt as though my heart had been ripped open. It didn't hurt much. Or maybe I'd been hurting for so long that I'd gone numb.

I lowered my head and watched my blistered hand move the rag back and forth across the table. No one noticed the tears slipping between my fingers. No one noticed that my hand never stopped shaking.

My parents sat nearby and chatted with my grandparents.

"Mia has really done us proud. She's become the lead dancer in her company and won third place at the Rose Cup."

"Mason's done well too. He's become a starting forward, and making the state team is practically guaranteed."

They didn't ask about me, even after I'd wiped down the table, swept the floor, and washed all the dishes.

My parents didn't mention me either.

This time, I didn't wait.

At 4:00 a.m., I pulled a bag out of my closet.

I didn't pack the old clothes or blankets I'd spent years waiting to receive. Instead, I packed the dozen or so competition notebooks I'd carefully kept throughout high school. I took my ID, put on my new clothes, and quietly closed the door behind me.

When I reached the entryway, I put the house key back where it belonged.

By the time the train pulled away, the sky was already bright.

Mom tagged me in the family group chat.

[@Madison, your dad and I have talked it over. For now, the family's money will go toward Mason and Mia. You can wait another year for college.]

"Wait again."

But they'd never once considered making Mason or Mia wait.

I replied in the group chat: [Let's talk after the TV reporters come to the house.]

For the first time, I was the one making them wait.

Then I left the group chat and sent the reporter my home address.

-

At 2:00 p.m. that afternoon, after hours without hearing from Madison, his mother, Sophia Johnson, exploded in the family group chat.

[Madison, what reporters? What are you talking about?]

No one answered.

She called him, but his phone was switched off.

His father, Liam Young, gave a cold snort.

[He's probably talking nonsense. He's just trying to scare you.]

Mason chimed in.

[Exactly. He's such a coward. What reporter could he possibly convince to come here?]

Mia complained unhappily.

[Did he get himself into some kind of trouble? Is he trying to ruin the family's reputation?]

Just then, the doorbell rang.

The moment Madison's parents opened the door, a sea of cameras greeted them.

"Is this the home of Madison Young? He's this year's top scorer in the city. We're from the local news station, and we'd like to interview him!"