Chapter 3

My soul seemed to float upwards.

It was light, cool, weightless.

I floated on the ceiling, looking down at the small body curled up below.

It was dark, like a piece of burnt charcoal.

The commotion outside the door grew louder.

Mr. Peterson, our neighbor, smelled smoke and was frantically slamming the door with a fire extinguisher.

"Open up! Quick, open up! Eleanor, what are you doing?"

"Can't you see there's a fire in there? The kid is still inside!"

But Mom clung to the doorknob, like a wild animal guarding its kill, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot.

"Don't interfere! This is my family business!"

"She's reflecting! She hasn't begged for mercy, so she hasn't learned her lesson yet!"

"None of you are getting in! If she gets spoiled, how will she get into college? How will she ever make something of herself?"

Mr. Peterson's face turned purple with rage. He shoved her away. "You've lost your mind! Someone's going to die!"

Mom stumbled but still screamed, "She won't die! She's just faking it! That brat is such an actress!"

"Last time she had a 104-degree fever, she was just faking it to get out of vocabulary drills!"

The hallway was in chaos.

Someone called 911, others were trying to break up the fight.

Mom was being held back, still cursing.

"What are you calling 911 for? Who dares to call 911?"

"If you break the door, are you going to pay for it? That security door costs over two thousand bucks!"

"Ashley! Get out here! Don't think you've won just because I won't go into the fire!"

I looked at her twisted face, feeling no ripple of emotion inside.

Before, seeing her angry would make me tremble.

Now, I just found it pathetic.

The firefighters arrived.

Their orange uniforms stood out starkly in the hallway.

Hydraulic cutters brutally sheared through the deformed security door.

"Pfft—"

High-pressure water hoses blasted in, and billows of white smoke poured out.

The choking smell of smoke permeated the entire hallway.

Mom collapsed on the floor, letting out a cold scoff.

"Oh, you've gotten so clever, learning to team up with strangers to scare your own mother with fire."

"When she comes out, I'll break her legs."

The fire was put out quickly.

After all, the apartment wasn't big, and there wasn't much to burn.

The room was a mess.

The once pristine white walls were now black as ink.

All the 'Perfect Score,' 'Ivy League,' 'Top University' slogans plastered on the walls were gone, burned away.

Only mottled black ash remained, like mocking ghost faces.

The firefighters entered the room.

A few minutes later, two firefighters emerged, their faces grim, carrying something.

It was my body.

Curled, charred, stiff.

To protect the backpack in my arms, my posture was strange, like a shrimp boiled alive.

The neighbors gasped, some aunts covered their mouths, tears streaming down their faces.

The air was deathly still.

Only the lingering smoke drifted.

Mom climbed up from the floor, dusting off her pants.

She rushed over, a look of victorious fury on her face.

Not to embrace me, not to check for injuries.

She raised her hand and slapped the "black figure" on the head.

"Faking death? Ashley, get up!"

"Don't think playing dead will get you out of reviewing!"

"Were you feeling smug just now? Letting you keep silent! Letting you defy me!"

"Smack!"

The slap was crisp and loud.

It landed on the stiff corpse, with no echo, no cry of pain.

My head was knocked to the side, still maintaining that curled posture.

The firefighters froze.

The neighbors froze.

The whole world went silent.

Only Mom was still panting heavily, pointing at my face and yelling:

"Don't pretend! I'll count to three, if you don't get up, I'll sign you up for double the advanced math classes tomorrow!"

I floated in the air, watching the scene.

Mom, this time, I really can't get up.

Even if you sign me up for ten times the advanced math classes, I won't be able to get up.