Chapter 6

The blood blurred my vision into a hazy red.

The throbbing pain in my forehead slowly spread, but as I sat on the floor, I didn't make a sound.

Mom grabbed a dirty rag from the bathroom and shoved it against my head, muttering curses.

"Are you trying to kill us? So much blood! If Mrs. Higgins downstairs sees this, she’s going to start gossiping again."

Dad stood over me, looking at the registration form in my hand with zero remorse.

"Hand over the form. I’ll register Mason tomorrow."

I squeezed my forehead, forcing myself to stay calm.

Mrs. Sinclair had told me that these camp spots were strictly linked to student records. Registration required verifying student IDs and SSNs. Mason couldn't just use it.

I looked up, staring straight into Dad's eyes.

"You can have the form for Mason. But you have to take me to the clinic to get stitches. Otherwise, when Mrs. Sinclair sees me missing from school tomorrow, she’ll bring the police and CPS here."

Hearing the word "police," Dad’s face shifted.

He didn't want trouble, and he certainly didn't want to ruin Mason's future.

"You little brat, you think you can threaten me?"

He spat on the floor, but turned to Mom. "Take her to the small clinic down the alley. Don't go to the hospital. It costs too much and they keep records."

Mom dragged me out of the house reluctantly.

The doctor at the little clinic was a man in his fifties.

He pulled the rag away from my forehead and frowned deeply.

"This cut is very deep. How did this happen? She needs at least five stitches."

Mom let out a fake laugh.

"She was clumsy and tripped over the coffee table."

I sat in the chair and spoke in a clear, calm voice that everyone in the clinic could hear.

"My dad threw me against the coffee table because he wanted to steal my summer camp spot for my brother."

The clinic went dead silent.

Several patients receiving IV drips turned to look at Mom with disgust.

The doctor froze, giving Mom a long, hard look.

Mom’s face turned bright red, and she lunged forward to pinch my arm.

"What lies are you telling?!"

I didn't flinch. I held her gaze and continued.

"Doctor, if they refuse to pay for the stitches, you can call my teacher, Mrs. Sinclair. She was just at our house today."

Mom’s raised hand froze in midair.

She cared deeply about her public image and couldn't bear any more embarrassment. She slammed the cash onto the desk, grinding her teeth.

But she refused to pay for anesthesia.

The stitching was excruciatingly painful. I had to endure it raw.

But I didn't cry. My mind had only one thought:

I am done being the good girl.

When we got home, I tossed the blood-stained form onto the table and went straight to my room.

Mason grabbed it excitedly, shouting in the living room.

"Awesome! I'm going to turn this in tomorrow! I'm going to summer camp!"

I shut my door, keeping the truth to myself: the form was pre-printed with my Student ID and Social Security Number.