***
That night, I sat at my desk under Dad’s note. The blue tack had faded, but the shaky handwriting still made my chest ache.
I opened my email. I found Mr. Harlan on the scholarship committee page. He was a former English teacher with kind eyes and a biography that moved me to tears.
“You have the truth, Halle.”
I read what I was going to email him four times. My finger hovered over “send.”
I thought about Dad in the kitchen, breathless, flipping something black in a pan and grinning as if he’d invented breakfast.
I thought about Brittany’s smirk and my stepmom’s dismissiveness.
I thought about staying small, then remembered my dad’s words.
I hit “send.”
I thought about Brittany’s smirk.
The little swoosh sound was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. I sat back in my chair, terrified, weightless, and completely uncertain whether I’d just saved my future or handed it to a stranger to bury.
The following day, one of us would walk into that interview room with a lie. And I had no idea which of us would walk out.
***
Interview day. Brittany walked in wearing a cream blazer, glowing as if she’d already framed the acceptance letter.
