The Overlooked Daughter's Perfect Score

A week before the trip, I ran to the whole family clutching my tin box.

I pointed at what was inside — five hundred and seventy-six reward coupons, saved up over three years — proud and glowing.

"Mom, Dad, my SAT scores came out. I got a perfect score."

"I met the condition for the graduation trip to Hawaii too. When do we leave?"

Then I excitedly showed them the swimsuits I'd bought and the itinerary I'd put together for all five of us.

I didn't notice at all how my brother had gone quiet behind me, or how forlorn my cousin looked.

It wasn't until my throat was dry from talking that my mother finally cut me off, impatient.

There was no joy in her eyes, only coldness.

"You know perfectly well that Elaine Gilbert can't measure up to you, yet you fight her for everything."

"Haven't you noticed how disgusting you look, showing off like that?"

I froze, stunned where I stood.

She was the one who'd said it — that Elaine had no parents, that I couldn't seem special.

For the sake of fairness, for five years.

Anything Elaine got handed to her, I had to trade reward coupons for.

Even the clothes I wore, the school supplies I used, were her cast-offs.

Unwilling to accept it, I turned to look at my brother and my father.

But they both looked away from me, gathered around Elaine picking out her graduation gift haul.

A ten-thousand-dollar Apple bundle, birthday presents for every year from zero to eighteen, designer bags...

The next day, when the family group chat announced the trip destination had been changed to the Disney World Elaine picked.

I quietly threw the tin box into the trash.

Mom and Dad always said Elaine had no parents, so she was pitiful, so they were good to her.

But I had parents, and a brother too, and I was worse off than if I'd had none.

If that was how it was, then I wouldn't go back to that hollow, empty house.

...

A week later, when I pushed open the front door holding fried dough twists I'd bought downstairs.

The living room was lively, full of laughter.

They were back from the trip.

Elaine sat on the couch, next to my father.

Happily sharing the photos they'd taken in the city.

Talking about the fun parts, she shot a pretend-scolding look at my brother, who was down on the floor tidying gift boxes.

"It's all your fault, insisting on running off to buy red bean cake before the boat cruise. Look how it turned out."

"That's the only group photo we're missing. Such a shame..."

My brother indulgently answered:

"And who was it that just had to have that little snack?"

As the two of them teased each other, out of the corner of my eye I caught the three-person photo on Elaine's phone.

In front of the camera, my usually stern, rigid father.

Had actually put on pink Mickey Mouse ears to play along with her.

The tip of his nose painted red, ridiculous and funny.

My mother, standing off to the side, was laughing so hard she couldn't close her mouth.

Seeing it, a bitterness welled up in my chest.

Sure enough, no matter when.

They were more like a real family.

I gently closed the door.

By chance my mother came out of the kitchen, carrying washed cherries.

Her gaze landed on the thing in my hand and she frowned.

"Elaine can't stand the smell of grease. Go eat in your own room."

Only then did the three of them seem to notice me.

My brother's tone turned a few degrees colder.

"Standing at the door out of nowhere, trying to scare someone? You come home and don't even say a word."

Elaine deftly leaned in and bit the cherry from my mother's hand, smiling sweetly.

"Thank you, Aunt Letitia Henson."

The cozy, happy scene in front of me stung until my eyes burned.

I stopped looking at them and walked back to my room, deflated.

Right after, my mother pushed the door open and came in too.

Like always, guilty yet acting as if it were her right, she shoved the reward coupons into my hand and started explaining.

"Mom was a little harsh last time, but Elaine lost her parents so young. Letting you go on the graduation trip first would upset her, make her read too much into it and feel hurt."

"Mom knows you're the most sensible one. We'll go next time."