Chapter 2

Mom doesn't come home that night.

Mia finishes her breathing treatment at the hospital. Then she spots some girl from her class in the waiting room. She latches onto Mom's sleeve, bouncing. "Can I go to her house? Please? Pleeeease?" The girl's mom is standing right there, all friendly. "She's welcome to sleep over. Just one night. No big deal."

Mom says yes without blinking. Doesn't even pause.

The other mom tilts her head. "Don't you have another daughter? She should come too."

Mom flicks her wrist. "Nah, that one's tough. She can fend for herself."

Tough. That's the word Mom gave me after every test came back clean. Like a label she slapped on and never peeled off. Like she resents herself for ever losing sleep over me—so now she overcorrects. Hard. I'm not sick. I'm not fragile. I'm not worth worrying about. I'm just tough.

Mia's the delicate one. Mia's the one who matters.

Mia stubs her toe and sobs for an hour straight. Mom scoops her up. Kisses her forehead. Holds her like she might shatter.

I quit waiting for that a long time ago.

I got used to it. The broken promises. The way she picks Mia over me, every single time, without flinching.

Mia needs her. Work needs her. There's always something bigger. Something better.

Always a reason that isn't me.

Mom and Mia roll in the next afternoon.

I drift toward the door before I even realize I'm doing it. My arms reach out—force of habit—ready to pull her shoes off the way I always did. It was never about love. It was survival. The thing I trained myself to do so she wouldn't start yelling.

My hands pass straight through her.

Mom squints around the living room.

"Ava? You still in bed? Get out here. Now."

She toes off her shoes. Wanders into the kitchen for water.

The kettle is bone dry.

Her whole face hardens. "Ava! Seriously? You do nothing. Absolutely nothing. You can't even boil water? What the hell is wrong with you?"

I hover behind her. Watching the rigid set of her shoulders. "Mom," I whisper. "I can't boil water anymore. I can't do anything. I can't move."

She doesn't hear me. She never hears me.

Then Mia starts screaming from the bedroom.

"Mom! MOM! Get in here! Ava took my dress! My white tutu! I told her nobody's allowed to touch it!"

Mom bolts down the hall.

And then she sees me.

My body.

Her eyes zero in on the white dress crumpled against my chest.

Her face goes crimson. She wrenches the tutu out of my arms.

Without it, my body just—collapses. Tips sideways like a sack of trash someone forgot to take out.

Mom doesn't even glance down at me. She's too busy turning the dress over in her hands, hunting for damage. When she spots the creases where my fingers had been clutching the fabric, something in her snaps. She snatches a hardcover textbook off Mia's desk and cracks it against my skull.

"Don't you EVER touch your sister's things!"

My body rocks to the side. Settles back.

"How many goddamn times do I have to say it? Are your ears just decoration?"

"Oh, you wanna play dead? Fine. I'll give you a reason to be dead."

She grabs a wire hanger off the floor and starts swinging. Again. And again. And again.

I don't move.

I just float there and watch.

Watch the hanger come down. Watch my body absorb every blow. No twitch. No whimper. Nothing.

I can't feel any of it.

So this is what dead feels like. No pain. No fear. No nothing.

Mom finally burns herself out. She's doubled over, chest heaving. She delivers one last kick to my shin.

"Get up. Take that dress to the dry cleaner. Then sit your ass down and write me five pages on why you're grounded. You don't eat till it's done."

I don't move.

She stands over me. Waiting. Her jaw clenches. I can see her gearing up for round two—

Her phone goes off.

The hospital.

"Dr. Taylor? The little girl in bed seven is asking for you again. She's saying you're the only one she'll let hold her during her shot. Any way you can swing by?"

And just like that, Mom's voice transforms. Honey-warm. Gentle. "Of course, sweetheart. Tell her I'm on my way."

She reaches for Mia's hand. "C'mon, baby. You're coming to the hospital with Mommy. We'll grab pizza from the cafeteria tonight—whatever toppings you want, okay?"

Mia hesitates. Looks back at me on the floor. Blinks. "But… what about Ava?"

Mom rolls her eyes so hard her whole head moves. "Leave her. She wants to play dead? Let her play dead. She'll come crawling out the second she's hungry enough. Trust me."

Mia shrugs, lets out a little cheer, and skips out the door.

It slams shut.

The apartment goes still.

I sink down beside my own body.

The textbook cracked my head open. But there's nothing leaking out anymore. Not a drop.

Mom, I won't stain the carpet this time.

I won't cry for food.

I won't be a troublemaker anymore.