My pen tore through the paper.

Neville glanced over, annoyed. "Forget it. I'll get the answers from a friend tomorrow. She's useless like this."

I stood up, scattering the sheets.

Otis scowled. "What are you doing?"

"I've got late-stage cancer," I croaked, forcing out each word.

...

Colette's hand froze mid-air, while Otis's frown deepened.

Neville scoffed, "Faking it to skip my homework? Pathetic."

I pulled out the diagnosis and placed it on the table. The stamped report, bearing the doctor's signature, was laid out clearly before their eyes.

Colette muttered in disbelief, "How could it be?"

Neville snorted, "That's obviously a fake. My buddy uses those to skip school all the time."

Otis rushed over and slapped me across the face. "Now you're buying fake medical records? What did we teach you?"

I crouched down, picking up the scattered sheets one by one. Blood dripped from my nose, staining the paper.

Neville kicked my shoulder. "Hurry up. I need to sleep."

I kept picking, blood still oozing from my hand.

Otis frowned at the mess. "So weak. David worked with a broken hand and never complained."

Colette came out of the kitchen, hesitating at the sight of my bloody hand. "Need a Band-Aid?"

I shook my head. "No."

Otis smirked. "Guilt-tripping? David never complained over a scratch."

I nodded. "Yeah, he wouldn't."

My voice, barely audible, was laced with bitter self-mockery.

Neville yawned. "I'm out. Answers on my desk by eight tomorrow."

I clutched my stomach, sinking to the floor.

Otis glanced at me. "Get some rest. You've got work tomorrow."

Colette turned off the light. "Don't stay up too late. Electricity's not cheap."

They left me alone in the dark, and the pain in my stomach surged like a tidal wave.

My phone rang. It was the hospital.

"Ms. Gordon, you need to be admitted immediately, or..."

I hung up without a word.

I wasn't without hope. I just knew where it came from and where it broke.

Getting up, I walked to Neville's room.

The door wasn't locked.

I pushed it open and found him fast asleep on the bed. A fashionable new phone lay by his pillow.

I'd worked at that store, knowing the phone cost over ten grand.

There was no way he could afford it. Our family pinched every penny.

I picked up the phone, a message glowing on the screen. [Got the competition answers. 50 grand.]

My hands shook.

They spent 50 grand on the answers but would not spare a few bucks for my painkillers.

I put the phone down and left.

From my parents' room, I heard hushed voices.

"Lenora is looking rough. Could she really be sick?" Colette's voice wavered.

Otis brushed it off. "Kids get sick. Remember when David was little?"

I pushed open the door and saw stacks of cash on the bed, glowing under the dim lamp.

And my parents were counting them.

Colette quickly covered them with a blanket. "Lenora, why aren't you asleep?"

I stared at the blanket, laughing mockingly and bitterly.

"I need a thousand bucks," I said.

Otis's face twisted with anger. "A thousand? For what?"

I looked at them calmly. "My illness is real."

"What illness?" he asked.

I pulled out the crumpled diagnosis and smoothed it out.

Otis scowled. "Neville already told us it's fake. Why are you still lying to us?"

Colette lowered her voice. "Did you mess up? What's the money for? You're in trouble?"

I met their eyes. "I have stomach cancer. I'm not lying."

Otis got up, pacing. "If it's real, where would we get that kind of money for your treatment?"

Colette covered her face. "What do we do? Neville's got his competition tomorrow."

The last shred of hope I had been clinging to died.

"I'm not getting treated," I said.

They both sighed in relief.

Otis nodded. "Treatment might not even work anyway."

Colette wiped her tears. "You've got to understand how hard this is for us."

I turned around and shut the door.

The walls were thin, and I could hear their whispers.

"How did she learn to lie like that?"

"Did we mess up raising her?"

"We can't call her out too hard. If she makes a fuss, it will affect Neville's exams."

"She's nothing like David. He was so easy."

...

In the living room, a huge photo of David Gordon loomed over everything.

It had been ten years, but his face was still painfully perfect.

"Write," Otis barked, slapping a pen in front of me. "David's handwriting had strength. Yours is weak."

I gripped the pen, but my stomach ached again.

My every stroke mimicked that flawless brother who never made mistakes.

Neville came downstairs and deliberately knocked over the table.

The ink bottle spilled, black liquid swallowing my half-hour of work.

"Oops, Lenora's writing is ruined again," he yelped innocently, smirking with glee.

"On your knees!" Otis roared, unleashing his anger on me.

I knelt before David's portrait. Pain surged through my stomach.

Cold sweat rolled down my forehead, but I bit my lip to stay silent.

Otis's voice boomed above me. "Think hard about when you'll be half as good as David."

I looked up at David's perfect, smiling face, frozen forever at 18.

He never messed up, never disappointed Otis, and never got punished like this.

Colette's voice was soft as a breeze. "Neville, finished your homework yet?"

"Two pages left," Neville whined playfully.

"I'll make you some hot milk," Colette smiled.

Blood filled my mouth. I knew I was about to cough it up.

"Lenora's kneeling there, and it's distracting me," Neville complained.

Colette leaned close, whispering, "Keep it down. Don't bother him."

My whole world collapsed.

I was drowning in pain, and she was worried I'd disturb Neville.

Blood surged up my throat, and I quickly clamped my hand over my mouth.

Still, it seeped through my fingers, dripping onto the floor.

I frantically wiped the blood with my other hand, terrified of another beating if they noticed.

Neville's confident reciting echoed from upstairs.

Colette bustled in the kitchen, making a late-night snack for her precious son. Otis watched TV on the couch, occasionally glancing at me with disappointment.

I knelt in the center of the house like an invisible person.

Blood kept flowing, blurring my vision. Neville's smug grin swam before my eyes, mocking my misery.

I was David's shadow, a clumsy copy. No matter how hard I tried, I could never be the light.

...

At school, my deskmate shoved a milk carton into my hand.

"You didn't eat breakfast again?" Noah Carter asked, frowning.

I pushed it back. "My mom made me chicken soup. I just don't like milk."

The lie came out of my mouth easily.

Noah stared at me for a few seconds but said nothing.

I gripped the milk, my knuckles turning white.

The poster of the citywide math competition hung in the school hallway. The first place would be awarded five grand, a certificate, and a trophy.

I remembered my parents' promise. If I did well, they'd buy me a used phone.

I threw myself into practice, sleeping less than four hours a day.

"You're gonna burn out like this," Noah said worriedly.

I ignored him, determined to prove I wasn't useless. I wanted that gold medal to shatter my "flawed substitute" label and show them my worth.

On competition day, I won first place.

Taking the shiny trophy, the heavy certificate, and the cash, I happily ran home.

This time would be different. They'd be proud.

I could buy a phone and have enough left for medicine.

I burst through the door and found Neville on the couch, playing video games.

"Dad, Mom, I won the math competition!" I shouted excitedly.

Colette poked her head out of the kitchen, took the trophy, and set it on the shoe rack.

"Alright, don't make a scene. You'll disturb Neville," she hushed.

"How much is the prize?" Otis asked without looking up.

"5 grand."

"Give it to your mom for household expenses."

I froze. "What about the phone?"

Colette paused, irritation creeping into her voice. "I'm still using my old phone, you know."

Otis frowned. "What does a kid need a phone for?"

"But you promised," I reasoned.

"Promised what?" he snapped. "I don't remember that. We're broke, and you're whining about a phone? Can't you give us a break?"

"We give you food and clothes. What more do you want?" Colette handed me a worn pencil case. "This was David's. Use it carefully."

I took it, feeling the scratches under my fingers. David's name was faintly penciled on it, nearly faded.

"Look at this, Lenora," Neville said, waving his new phone, its screen bigger than my face.

"Got this for improving my test scores. Cool, right?" His voice dripped with pride, his eyes mocking.

I stared at him, the phone, and then my parents' indifferent faces.

Neville smirked. "You won something too? Where's your prize?"

My chest tightened. I could barely breathe.

"I'm stepping out," I said, turning to leave.

"Get back here!" Otis yelled.

I rushed out of the house but ran into Noah, who appeared out of nowhere.