At night, Sammie distracts me by telling me stories about the O’Briens and Professor Cox and Mrs. Woodley. I half-hear them. They seem silly and pointless, but I don’t say anything to Sammie. I just let her talk.
When I finally return home Thursday after work, my mom’s on her computer at the dining room table, as usual. My dad’s back, and he’s on the couch watching Wild Kratts with Mila. She’s got her head against his shoulder and her pinkie in her mouth.
No one looks up to say hello to me.
In their world, everything is fine. I am the one who’s acting strange. I am the one who is illogical, emotional, childish. I am the one who’s threatening their perfect harmony for no good reason.
I head to my room and shut the door.
My mom calls out to me: “I did your laundry. Everything in the basket is clean. You just need to fold it.”
I sit at my desk and open my computer. I haven’t checked my e-mail in five days, not because I couldn’t do it at Sammie’s, but because I’ve been on a mission to avoid the world as much as possible. AP scores are scheduled to come this week, but I haven’t checked, mainly because I haven’t been able to face the results.
But now that I’m here, seeing my world as it is—the lies and disappointments that it’s built upon—I figure, what’s another layer of failure?
It’s there. An e-mail from the College Board that my scores are ready, that I just need to log in to my account to see the results.
I take a deep breath.
Here we go.
AP English Language: 2 (Possibly qualified)
European History: 2 (Possibly qualified)
Physics B: 5 (Extremely qualified)
How is that even possible? Physics is my worst subject. How could I have aced the physics exam and bombed both English and history?
I print out two copies of the results. I grab my backpack and stuff it with clothes from the laundry basket. I close my computer, grab a different pair of shoes, fold one copy of my results and put it in my pocket.
I take the other copy to the dining room and throw it on the table.
“I suppose you’ll want to have a talk about why I got screwed up on my AP tests.”
My mom looks up at me. “What?”
“Vivi?” Mila jumps up from the couch. She runs to me and wraps her arms around my waist. “I didn’t see you come in.”
“Hi, Mila.”
My father walks over to the table and picks up the paper.
“I didn’t get perfect scores on my exams like you wanted. In fact, I pretty much bombed them.”
“Where have you been?” Mila looks at my backpack. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.” I kiss the top of her head. “Out.”
He looks at the paper. “You got a five in physics.…”
“But I got twos on my other exams. And two B’s on my report card. So yeah. There goes Stanford. They’ll never accept me now.”
My father looks up at me. “After that photo debacle, I’m surprised you thought they’d still even consider you at all.”
“Wow,” I say, shocked. “Real nice, Dad. Way to support me when I’m down. It’s not enough that I messed up on my exams, you’ve got to remind me about how I messed up my personal life as well—”
My mom snatches the paper out of my father’s hand and crumples it up. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I don’t care about these stupid tests.”
“But he does,” I say.
Mila starts to cry. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you sleeping here?” She pulls at my backpack and then at my arm. “Stay, please. Daddy, can’t you make her stay?”
“Yes,” he says. “Of course I can make her stay. Viviana, you are not going anywhere, not while I’m home, not while you’re living under my roof.”
I laugh. “You know what, Dad? You’re a liar.”
I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t say anything. At least not now. Not in front of Mila.
But I finally see him as he is. After all these years of pushing me to be like him, now for him to just walk in here and pretend like the last six months never happened, like everything in his life isn’t a lie. “You’ll never be able to make me do anything again.”
“Excuse me?” He steps toward me as though he wants to hit me.
“You heard what I said. You’re a liar. And an ass.”
“Viviana!” my mom yells. “Apologize to your father!”
“Vivi, why did you say that? Daddy’s not an ass!”
“Mila!” My mom takes her by the shoulders, urges her down the hallway. “Go to your room! Now!”
But Mila resists. She pulls away from our mom and crawls underneath the dining room table and turns herself into a ball. She covers her ears and wails.
“I said NOW, Mila.”
I’m sorry, Mila, but Daddy’s a liar.
I’m sorry, Mila, but Daddy has another family.
I’m sorry, Mila, but he loves this other family more than anything.
More than us.
I get out of there as fast as I can, before it all comes out.
I run down the hall toward the emergency stairwell. I push the door open and run down the stairs.
I’m on the fourteenth floor when I hear an upstairs door slam.
“Viviana, wait!” It’s my father.
I start jumping down the steps, two, three, five at a time. I need to get away from him.