Before the bell even rang, my phone buzzed.
Laura had sent me a voice message:
“Emily Parker, why do you look so happy? Did you forget how your father died? You ungrateful brat!”
My hands trembled.
I opened the photo of the Suffering Scoreboard—the 85 points I had painstakingly earned that week were all erased.
That night, back in the dorm, Sophie and the others had gone out for dinner. I sat alone on my bed, calculating that once again, I’d have no allowance for the week.
Rain drizzled outside.
Staring at the window, an idea came to me.
I rushed outside without an umbrella and stood in the rain for half an hour. Water soaked through my clothes, my hair plastered to my face, leaving me utterly pitiful.
When I returned home, shivering and drenched, Laura’s eyes lit up instantly.
But instead of handing me a towel, her first move was to grab her phone.
“Lower your head a little! Yes, that’s perfect—make your eyes look sadder!” she said, thrilled as she adjusted the angle. “This shot will definitely get Aunt Mary to send another $200!”
Click.
The perfect tragic photo.
Laura immediately typed out a new Facebook post:
“My daughter walked home in the rain to save money on bus fare. She’s sick with a fever now. As her mother, my heart aches, but we truly can’t afford medical bills…”
Post sent.
Almost instantly, my phone buzzed non-stop with payment notifications.
Laura Parker counted the money happily, not even lifting her head.
“Emily, you did well today. I’ll add 30 points for you.”
I stood there, clothes still dripping wet, watching the excitement on her face.
But inside, I felt nothing but emptiness.
On the day final grades were released, I stared at the ranking on my computer screen, my heart pounding out of my chest.
First place.
The National Scholarship.
Eight thousand dollars.
I rubbed my eyes, making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
It was the first time I had ever won something this big.
For once, I felt valuable.
I sprinted out of the dorm and rushed home.
Pushing open the door, I saw Laura flipping through the shabby Suffering Scoreboard, preparing her new Facebook post material.
“Mom! I got the scholarship! The National Scholarship—eight thousand dollars!”
My words tumbled over each other, excitement bubbling out of me. I wanted to shout this good news to the whole world.
She lifted her head, looking oddly blank.
“What scholarship?”