Emma showed up in a sleek white dress, her makeup on point, giving me a look that screamed discomfort.

She didn't wait for me to start talking, she took the lead, dripping with sarcasm.

"Sarah, bragging about that fancy, high-paying job to everyone, and here you are, waiting tables? Mom's heart would break if she knew."

I almost laughed out loud watching Emma put on her act.

Her dress alone costs a cool $6,000, while I make a measly $2,500 a month.

Did I ever really choose this job?

The classmates around us seemed to get the picture quickly.

"Looks like our genius is moonlighting her way through college."

"She's chosen quite the unconventional way to experience life, huh?"

I nodded, "Go ahead and eat, I gotta run."

But Sam caught up with me, his brow furrowed, "Why the cold shoulder toward me?"

He had bombarded me with messages the day before, none of which I answered.

Recalling that kiss with Emma by the gate, I shrugged off his hand.

"I'm on the clock, Sam. No time for chats."

Home was a whole other kind of storm.

There was my sister, theatrically sobbing on the couch, playing the victim to Mom.

"Why does Sarah have to work where I hang out with my friends? She's clearly doing it to embarrass me and make us look bad."

Mom was all comfort and cuddles with her, all fire and brimstone at me.

After a long day of waiting tables, I was too wiped to argue.

I retreated to my room, closed the door, and blocked out their bickering.

Lying on my bed, I mustered up some self-encouragement, "Hang in there, Sarah. You're almost out of here."

Then the exam results came out.

Emma scored 1360, and our parents celebrated as she had just landed on the moon.

I was, as usual, an afterthought.

The only notification on my phone was from Sam: [I'm downstairs, waiting for you.]

Looking out the window, I saw Sam leaning against a sycamore tree, wearing his casual white tee, stirring up a cocktail of emotions inside me.

Feeling my gaze, he looked up and smiled. That warmth in his smile thawed some of the chills in the air.

I had sworn off dealing with Sam, but at that moment, something inside me snapped.

I bolted downstairs, ready to confront him about his silence to my confession—even rejection would sting less.

What was he really up to with Emma?

Steeling my resolve, I blurted out, "Sam, about that note I left in your book—"

But I was cut off by a familiar, intrusive voice.

"Sam! What are you doing here? Looking for me?"

Emma had escaped our parents' clutches and blocked my view, positioning herself right in front of Sam.

From afar, Mom's voice sliced through the air.

"Sarah, is the laundry done yet? Get back home now!"

Under Mom's watchful eye, I backed up and turned, heading upstairs.

As I walked away, Sam's eyes followed me, deep and probing.

But soon enough, Emma redirected his attention.

Upstairs, Emma came bouncing in with a box of her favorite pastries and a bubble tea in hand.

She placed the pastries on the table and clung to Mom's arm, laying it on thick.

"Mom, Sam got these just for me. He's really sweet, isn't he?"

Mom stroked her hair gently.

"My girl only deserves the best."

Emma, nestled in Mom's embrace, seemed to suddenly recall my existence.

She smirked and quipped, "Sarah, how did the exams go for you? You've been pretty quiet about your scores. Did you flunk?"

Mom glanced at me with barely veiled scorn.

"If she even managed to pass, I'd consider it a miracle."

She never really paid attention to my academic progress throughout high school.

Her prejudice against me was deeply ingrained—she always saw me as the lesser daughter, never up to par with Emma.

I responded with a cool tone, "Not too bad, actually. Just outscored you by 110 points."

Emma's face went from shock to disbelief.

"What? That's impossible!"

I'd always performed better academically, which scared Emma enough to sabotage my exam preparations.

She had sneakily added soy milk to my breakfast, knowing I was allergic.

Just a little could make me dizzy and sick—but luckily, I hadn't touched those breakfasts.

Calmly, I confronted her, "You seem upset that I did well. Why's that?"

Emma clutched her chest as tears streamed down her face.

"Mom, I feel sick... something's wrong."

Mom, without missing a beat, hurled a cup at me.

"Stop gloating. Just because you lucked out doesn't mean you get to torment your sister. She's unwell. Get back to your room."

It was laughable. Telling the truth about my grades was now bullying?

What about all the things she'd done to me over the years?

Sam broached the topic of college again.

I paused, then shared my decision.

[Chicago.]

That's where I'd wanted to go all along.

I still had feelings for him, but I wasn't about to let that dictate my life choices anymore.

Sam's response came quickly.

[Then I'm heading to Chicago too.]

I cracked a smile, still holding my phone. I still hadn't asked him that burning question.

With all the jobs I'd been juggling, it had been forever since we'd really talked.

When we meet again, I'm laying everything on the table.

This guy had dominated my thoughts for too long.

But as fate would have it, I never got the chance to see Sam all summer.

He was abroad, visiting his sick grandmother, and wouldn't be back till school resumed.

He sent me daily snapshots of clouds from abroad, sharing snippets of his life.

My days were a blur of jobs, with hardly a moment to spare.

Each night, just before sleep, all I could send was a smiley face in response.

As the fall semester approached, I dragged my suitcase out the door, leaving behind my parents fussing over my sister's luggage.

They packed her favorite snacks and drinks, and Mom had even splurged on a whole new fall wardrobe for her.

There I was, heading to the airport alone, a stark contrast to their doting.

Sam's last message before we parted for the summer was hopeful: [Can't wait to see you at school.]

I was buzzing with excitement, looking forward to our reunion, hoping he'd ruffle my hair like old times.

I couldn't wait to pour out all my pent-up feelings to him.

And really, Sam, do you like me, or what?

If not, why all the sweet gestures?

If yes, why leave me hanging without a word?

And what's the deal with you and Emma, anyway?

All summer, I anticipated our reunion, but all I got was a set of photos of Emma with Sam, her smile as sweet as syrup.

Her caption was cheery: [Looking forward to being schoolmates again!]

Sam had broken his promise and chosen New York—and Emma.