I’ve always lived as my sister's shadow. I endured my parents' cold neglect and the cruelty of school bullies. If it had been my sister, Emily, who was bullied, Mom and Dad would have believed her instantly. They would have burned the world down for her. But none of that matters now. In my next life, I’m going to pick parents who actually love me. 1 After writing those final words, I jumped from the sixth floor without a second thought. Thud. It hurt. Then, I was floating. I watched myself lying in a hospital bed, tubes snaking out of my body like vines. The heart monitor beeped weakly, and my face was the color of chalk. My parents, Professor Thomas Vance and Helen Vance, sat by the bed, looking haggard. Mom broke the silence with a complaint: "I just scolded her a little, and she jumps? I wasn't wrong. She's nothing compared to Emily." True. I never measured up to my dead sister. Even my suicide attempt was messy, a waste of hospital resources. Dad lowered his voice to a harsh whisper: "Helen, stop it. Look at her. Is this the time for complaints? We already lost Emily. Do you want to lose Ava too? We're getting old. It's too late to have another one. Who's going to take care of us when we're senile?" So that’s it. I’m just a replacement and a retirement plan. They didn't believe my note. They didn't care why I jumped. I wish I had just died on impact. A doctor called them into his office. I floated after them. The doctor looked grave. "Professor Vance, your daughter's condition is critical. Multiple organ damage, but the bigger issue is her will to live. It's almost non-existent. You need to stimulate her brain. Talk to her. Read to her. Find something she cares about." They nodded, went home, and returned with a stack of my old diaries. 2 Mom flipped open my elementary school diary with a look of impatience and started to read. June 1, 2010 My name is Ava Vance. My aunt says I was only born because my sister, Emily, said on her deathbed: "In my next life, I want to be Mommy's baby again." Emily died in a car crash at seventeen. Except for a beauty mark under my eye, I’m nothing like her. Emily loved pink. I love blue. But to make Mom and Dad love me, I wear pink. Always pink. Even if the love they give me is really meant for Emily, I take it. Because they are all I have. Today was Children's Day. My deskmate, Mia, wore a beautiful blue dress. I couldn't stop staring at it. Mia saw how much I loved it and offered to switch clothes with me after the school performance so I could wear it for a bit. I was too scared to go outside, so I hid in the bathroom stall to put it on. Mia said I looked pretty, that blue was my color. She was taking pictures of me when Mom found us. She went berserk. She ripped the blue dress off my body and slapped me across the face, over and over, screaming curses. It hurt. I felt humiliated. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. Mia tried to stop her. Mom lost her mind and hit Mia too, boxing her ear until it bled. Mia’s mom came to our house to demand an explanation. My mom screamed back: "Your daughter deserved it! Who told her to trade clothes with mine? Trying to stop me from disciplining my own child? If she hadn't interfered, I wouldn't have hit her! My daughter cannot wear blue!" Mia never spoke to me again. She went partially deaf in one ear. I lost my only friend. The whole class knew. They stayed away from me like I was contagious. Dad sighed after Mom finished reading. Mom defended herself, her voice hard. "When I saw that blue dress... I thought of the day Emily died. She was wearing blue. Our Emily was only seventeen. Seeing that color... it scares me." Scared of blue? No. It’s just because Emily didn't like blue. But even wearing pink, I was never as smart as Emily. 3 The next day, Dad read. April 25, 2010 We got our math tests back. I got an 87. The teacher sighed, looking disappointed. "If it were Emily, she would have gotten a perfect score." But I really tried. After school, I was too scared to go home. No perfect score means no dinner, and probably a beating. I wandered around the neighborhood, waiting for it to get dark. A strange man tried to talk to me. I ignored him. He got angry, grabbed me, and started dragging me into an alley. I screamed and fought. A teenage boy shouted: "Hey! Put my sister down! I'm calling my dad!" The boy pointed at a man walking in the distance. The stranger dropped me and ran. The boy comforted me. I told him why I was afraid to go home. He said: "87 is a great score! Your parents are probably worried sick. Even if they loved your sister more, they can't love you zero. Maybe they're just bad at showing it. Come on, I'll walk you home." His words gave me hope. Maybe he was right. How could they not love me at all? He walked me to my door. I felt a mix of fear and hope. 4 Mom was waiting at the door. When she saw me, her face crumpled with worry. She pulled me into a hug. "Ava! Where have you been? I was worried sick!" Was this a dream? Mom really worried about me? The boy was right! Tears filled my eyes. Her hug was so warm. "This nice boy walked me home," I said. Mom thanked him profusely, looking at me with what seemed like love. The boy left, happy he had helped. I closed the door gently. I turned around. Mom’s face had instantly transformed into a mask of rage. She was holding the long wooden ruler. She snatched my backpack, ripped out the test paper, and saw the score. "87?! I told you, perfect scores only! You useless waste! Is it that hard to get 100? When will you be like your sister? You aren't my child!" It was all fake. The love was a performance for the neighbor boy. The ruler came down on me, harder and harder. I screamed, begging for mercy. A neighbor knocked to ask what was happening. Mom charmed them away, then came back and beat me harder. "Shut up! Stop crying! You want the whole world to know? You think that will save you?" She tied my hands and feet and taped my mouth shut. She switched to a bamboo cane. Pain wracked my body. I twisted on the floor like a worm. She didn't stop until I had a nosebleed and she was exhausted. I limped to my room and curled up in the corner, licking my wounds. I hugged myself. Maybe I really wasn't her child. That's why she beat me so hard. Where was my real mom? When would she come save me? 5 Dad finished reading. Silence filled the room. "Helen," Dad said slowly. "Although Ava isn't Emily, you promised me you wouldn't hit her anymore. The neighbors asked questions. I had to explain... it's embarrassing for a family like ours." Embarrassing. His reputation mattered more than my pain. Mom huffed. "I did it for her own good! Spare the rod, spoil the child. Emily got perfect scores, so Ava has to get them too! That's the only way she'll be like Emily. Besides, her grades went up after that, didn't they? And I haven't hit her since!" Haven't hit me since? She hit me so often she forgot. 6 Dad didn't argue. He acquiesced. I wasn't excellent like Emily. I couldn't bring him glory. No one praised Professor Vance for his parenting anymore. Instead, family friends would look at me and sigh. "Such a pity about Emily. So talented." "Ava just isn't as sharp as her sister." "Emily was accepted to Harvard early. A tragedy." I became obsessed with the ghost of my sister. I wanted to know the person who cast such a long shadow. I wanted to see her room. Mom kept it locked. She cleaned it herself. No one was allowed inside. One afternoon, she forgot to lock it. 7 Dad drank some water and tossed the diary to Mom. She picked it up. September 27, 2013 The door was unlocked. I finally went inside Emily's room. It was pink, just like mine. It was pristine. Not a speck of dust. In the corner, a beautiful ballet tutu hung on a mannequin. One wall was covered in awards. Trophies piled up on the desk. Sister was amazing. I don't have any trophies. There were framed photos everywhere. Emily solo. Emily and Mom. Emily and Dad. The three of them, laughing. They looked so happy. They never smiled at me like that. Mom came home early. She found me. 8 She stormed in, grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me out. She screamed like a banshee: "Who said you could go in there?! You are unworthy of stepping foot in Emily's room! Look at her honors! She is my pride, my treasure! You are a waste of space! A disgrace! I should never have given birth to you! You will never be her!" I hugged her legs, crying. "I know I shouldn't have gone in, but I just wanted to know what I had to do to make you love me! I wear pink because she liked it! I do everything like her! Mom, I'm your child too! Can't you love me just a little?" Mom shook me off, looking at me with cold disgust. "Emily is my only daughter. My love is hers. Even if she's dead. You should be grateful you're alive and enjoying her things. If I knew you'd turn out like this, I would have strangled you in the cradle." She grabbed my hair again, trying to smash my head against the wall. Dad came home and stopped her. 9 Mom cut off my lunch money. "You think you're grown? Go earn your own money then!" Dad said nothing. For a week, I watched my classmates eat lunch. My stomach growled. I lied and said I wasn't hungry. One afternoon, I fainted from hunger. The school called Dad because Mom refused to come. Dad was furious—because he lost face. A professor's daughter fainting from hunger? He yelled at Mom at home. Mom yelled back, blaming him for not noticing. They fought. I got my allowance back. Reading this entry, Mom showed no remorse. "I was teaching her a lesson! Rules are rules! Starving a couple of meals never killed anyone. She needed to learn obedience!" So I stopped asking for love. I learned to lie.
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