During the divorce, Mom fought for custody of my older sister. Dad fought for my younger brother. I was the middle child. Nobody fought for me. They all thought I was a lost cause, but as it turned out, I was the one with the real drive. After graduation, my sister barely got into community college, and my brother dropped out entirely. I ended up as the state valedictorian with a perfect SAT score. Suddenly, Dad and Mom were practically throwing punches trying to claim me. I brushed their hands off my arms and pulled two legal documents out of my backpack. "A kid who’s been thrown away once doesn't exactly have a high sense of security," I said coldly. "How about this—" "Whichever one of you is willing to sign this irrevocable will, leaving every single dime you have to me, gets to be the proud parent of the valedictorian." 01 My dad was a cop, and my mom was a trauma surgeon. To outsiders, they were two successful professionals with glamorous, respectable careers. But to me, they were just eternally busy. It got worse after the divorce. Every time I asked Mom for lunch money or cash for school fees, she was always rushing out the door. "I'm on my way to save a life," she’d snap. "Call your father." But when I called Dad, he sounded just as exhausted. "I'm in the middle of a manhunt," he’d say. "Go find your mother." They played this game of hot potato, each convincing themselves the other had already taken care of me. In reality, I was always hungry. When things were really tight, I’d buy two dollar-menu breakfast burritos in the morning. That had to last me the entire day. When my stomach cramped from the hunger, I’d put my head down on my desk and tell myself to just hang on a little longer. At lunch, when my classmates went to the cafeteria or out for fast food, I always told them I wasn't hungry. Truth was, I just didn't have a cent to my name. Of course, sometimes I got lucky. My parents would suddenly remember they had a second daughter at the exact same time, and both would Venmo me money. But that kind of "luck" followed no logic or schedule. The hunger was my only constant companion. Once, after going three days without a single real meal, the world started turning black around the edges. I called Dad. I called Mom. They both ignored the calls, sending back texts about being "busy." At that moment, I understood everything completely. In this world, cash is more reliable than love. Love can vanish. It can be ignored. It can be forgotten. But money holds its value. From that day on, I wanted money. Lots and lots of money. Enough to buy all the food in the world. Because if I had that, I would never have to be hungry again. 02 There was one day left before the deadline to pay the dues for senior graduation events and AP exam fees. I still couldn't get ahold of my parents for the money. Their automatic reply was always that they were too busy. But then, my sister and brother updated their Instagram stories. Chloe, my older sister, posted a photo. She was twirling in a brand-new dress, beaming at the camera. Mom was standing right next to her, a gentle hand on Chloe's shoulder. They looked identical—both beautiful, elegant, and perfectly composed. The caption read: 【Thanks for the early graduation gift, Mom! Love you mean it~】 Then, Dylan, my younger brother, updated his story. He was on a basketball court, mid-shot, with Dad right beside him correcting his form. Both of them were wearing matching, brand-new varsity-style Jordan tracksuits. The caption read: 【Dad said I needed to blow off some steam before finals. No pressure.】 I stared at those photos for a long, long time. They weren't busy. They were just busy for me, their discarded daughter. A familiar bitterness spread through my chest, thick as bile. I should have known by now. I was the leftover piece of the puzzle. The one that didn't fit. It was just like the day they settled the divorce. In the mediator's office, when the question of custody came up. Mom didn't hesitate. "I want Chloe," she said. She looked at my sister, her eyes brimming with maternal pride. "She’s responsible, she listens, and her personality is just like mine. She’s going to go far." Dad was just as quick to speak up. "I'm definitely taking Dylan." He slapped my brother on the shoulder, his face lighting up with anticipation. "This kid is a natural athlete. He's going to follow in my footsteps, maybe even go pro, or at least join the force." The mediator glanced down at the case file, frowning. "There’s a third child. Jordan." My parents both froze. "Oh. Right. Jordan." Then, the hot potato game began again. "I've already got one," Mom said, her voice turning sharp. "I can't afford two on my schedule." "She carries your family name, Miller," Dad retorted. "She should be with you." "Jordan is a girl. She needs her mother." "My shifts are chaotic at the hospital. I can't be leaving the OR to deal with a teenager..." I sat in the corner, watching them fight over who didn't have to take me. Finally, I broke the stalemate. "I can live by myself," I said. "Just send me child support." And that was that. I started my life alone, in a small studio apartment, never quite eating enough. I watched the school group chat notifications blow up. Screenshot after screenshot of paid fees. I was the only one left. The homeroom teacher private messaged me, reminding me that if the dues weren't paid by tomorrow, I wouldn't walk at graduation or get my AP scores. I read the message, biting my lip hard, trying to ignore the dull ache in my stomach. I had only eaten a single dollar burrito today because my bank account balance was currently negative. But I couldn't worry about hunger right now. This wasn't just about food. This was about my future. If I couldn't even take my AP exams or graduate properly, I was trapped. I’d be stuck in this cycle of poverty forever. I had to get that money. Since they wouldn't answer my calls or texts, I had to go find them. Mom's apartment was the closest to the school. I decided to start there. 03 Standing before that familiar yet foreign door, I took a deep breath. My fingers trembled as I pressed the doorbell. The door swung open almost immediately. Chloe stood there. When she saw it was me, an expression of utter annoyance washed over her face. She turned her back on me and yelled toward the kitchen. "Mom! Jordan's here." Her tone was thick with disgust. She stood blocking the doorway, making no move to let me in. From the kitchen came the clatter of pots and pans. Mom was busy. "Oh. Well, let her in, then." Only then did Chloe reluctantly step aside, leaving just enough gap for me to squeeze through. I walked into the living room. Chloe had already stretched back out on the L-shaped sectional, taking up nearly the entire couch. I could only sit awkwardly on a hard wooden accent stool in the corner. I felt like an unwelcome panhandler. A few minutes later, Mom emerged from the kitchen carrying a small bowl. A delicate, fragrant steam rose from it. It was some kind of high-end herbal soup. My ravenous stomach immediately began to growl. "Chloe, honey, I made you some ginseng and chicken soup." "I let it simmer for three hours. It’s perfect for restorative energy." "You've been studying so hard, you need to drink this while it’s hot." Chloe took the bowl, smelling the aroma. "Mom, you just finished a twelve-hour shift. You shouldn't be cooking for me. You should have this." "Don't be silly. Mom doesn't need it. You're my precious baby girl. Anything I do for you is worth it." The two of them began a playful back-and-forth about who should drink the soup. In the end, they shared it, smiling affectionately at each other. One spoonful for Mom, one for Chloe. It was a perfectly heartwarming scene of maternal love. And I sat there like an invisible ghost, three feet away, watching this touching family drama. I glanced at my phone. The deadline was looming. "Mom," I started, my voice cracking slightly. "The deadline for graduation dues and AP fees is tomorrow. Can you transfer me the money?" The moment the words left my mouth, the loving smile vanished from Mom's face. The warmth was instantly replaced by irritation and icy disgust. "Look at you. Every time you come here, it’s always for money. You're like a collection agent." "Besides money, is there anything else in that brain of yours?" Chloe chimed in from the couch. "Seriously, Jordan. Do you have to be so materialistic?" "Mom works so hard, and all you know how to do is hold out your hand." My fists clenched slowly, my fingernails digging into my palms. "I'm asking for school fees, not pocket money for a shopping spree," I said, keeping my voice level. "This is mandatory." "And besides, it's your legal obligation to support me." "Obligation?" Mom let out a cold, sharp laugh. "I’ve raised you this long. What value have you ever provided to me?" "All you know how to do is spend money. You're utterly useless." "A couple hundred bucks for school fees isn't money to you? Do you think my cash grows on trees?" Hearing those words felt like a physical blow to my heart. I slowly stood up. My eyes fell on the exquisite white ceramic soup bowl on the table. There was still half a bowl of that ginseng soup left. I had walked past a high-end health food store a few days ago and saw the price tag on quality ginseng. Hundreds of dollars. That single bowl of soup probably cost more than my entire school dues. She was willing to spend hundreds to give Chloe an energy boost. But she wouldn't spend a dime to make sure I could graduate. And she dared to talk to me about cash not "growing on trees"? What a sick joke. All the humiliation and grief I’d packed away for years exploded in that single second. I reached out and grabbed the soup bowl. "Jordan, what do you think you're doing?" I didn't answer. I slammed the bowl down onto the hardwood floor. The sound of ceramic shattering exploded in the quiet apartment. The broth splashed everywhere. "Have you lost your mind?" Mom’s eyes widened, staring at me in disbelief. Slap! A resounding blow landed across my left cheek. A burning stinging sensation immediately radiated across my face. But I didn't step back. Instead, I looked her straight in the eye. "Give me the school money." "You ungrateful little bitch!" Mom was shaking with rage. "Over some stupid school fees, you dare to act like an animal in my house?" I repeated, "I need the school money." She was utterly enraged by my attitude. Her hand trembling, she grabbed her phone. Ding. The notification for a Venmo transfer sounded on my phone. She threw the phone onto the sectional. "Take the money and get out. Don't waste Chloe's study time." I checked the Venmo transfer amount. It was exactly half. A hundred and some change. "Why is it only half?" Mom smirked coldly. "I'm divorced, Jordan, not widowed. The mediation agreement was very clear. Your expenses are split fifty-fifty between me and your father." "You want the other half? Go find him." With that, she pointed to the door. "Get out." The broken shards of the ceramic bowl glistened coldly on the floor under the lights. They looked exactly how I felt inside. Cold. Broken. Chloe sat on the sectional, watching the whole thing with total indifference. There was even the faint hint of a mocking smile on her lips. Fine. At least I had half the money. It was a hundred bucks more than I had five minutes ago. For the rest, I’d have to go find Dad. 04 Leaving Mom’s apartment, my left cheek was still throbbing. But I couldn't worry about that. I still needed the other half of the fees. Dad's house was on the other side of the city. It took me two hours by bus to get there. When I arrived, the front door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open gently. The living room was quiet. Only the dim flickering light from the television illuminated the space. Dad was crashed on the sectional, watching an old Bruce Lee movie. He was in sweats, his hair a mess, looking completely burnt out. Strangely, the volume was muted. He didn't notice me until I walked directly in front of the TV, blocking his view. "Oh. Jordan. You’re here." "Why is the sound off?" I asked. Dad pointed toward my brother’s room. "Dylan is working on his college essays. I didn't want to distract him." I nodded and sat on the far end of the sectional. On the screen, Bruce Lee was kicking and punching his way through a crowd, but without the sound effects, it just looked ridiculous. Dad turned his head to look at me, and his eyes immediately locked onto my left cheek. "What happened to your face?" "Who hit you?" His expression shifted instantly from exhaustion to raw fury. "I went to Mom for graduation dues and AP fees, and she..." Before I could finish the sentence, Dad was on his feet, grabbing his phone and dialing a number. "Hello? Sarah? Are you out of your mind?" The second the call connected, Dad started roaring: "You actually hit Jordan? She’s a kid! How could you lay a hand on her?" On the other end of the line, Mom’s shrill voice came through the speaker. I couldn't make out the words, but I could tell she was screaming back. "What do you mean I haven't fulfilled my duty as a father?" Dad's voice got even louder. "What kind of mother are you? You won't even pay your own daughter's school fees?" "And you have the nerve to talk about me? Look at how you've spoiled Chloe. She’s totally useless." "At least Dylan is responsible, unlike your child..." Their shouting match escalated rapidly. The atmosphere in the living room became thick with tension. Dylan, my younger brother, came running out of his room. "Dad! What are you screaming about? Keep it down!" "Nothing, buddy. Go back to your essays." Dad quickly covered the phone's microphone, his tone instantly becoming gentle. But Dylan had already heard enough. "Dad, is that woman calling to bitch at you again?" His voice was filled with venom. When he said "that woman," he spat the words out. On the other end of the line, Chloe’s sharp voice pierced through: "Dylan Miller, who are you calling 'that woman'? That's your mother. Where are your manners?" Dylan snatched the phone out of Dad's hand and put it on speaker. "Chloe Miller, who do you think you are? You're a fifth-year senior at a community college. You have no right to lecture me." "And besides, my Dad divorced your Mom. She isn't my mother anymore!" Chloe’s voice jumped an octave. "You little punk! Your grades are trash. The only reason you’re even going to college is on an athletic scholarship. You dare talk down to me?" Dylan shot back, sneering. "Oh, big words from someone who is twenty and still taking general ed classes." "I skipped a grade. I'm seventeen and I'm already getting recruited by D1 schools." They were screaming at each other, faces red, utterly determined to destroy the other. And I, the leftover daughter, the entire reason this fight started, sat there like an outsider, watching the war raging around me. What a pathetic family. After the divorce, each parent took their favorite child and treated the other's like a disease. Chloe and Dylan had always hated each other, competing for attention since they were little. After the divorce, it became open warfare. This fight wasn't about me. Not really. They were arguing to prove their own parenting was superior. To prove their chosen child was more successful. Finally, Chloe and Dylan, as if by agreement, both declared they were going to crush the other in life. "I’m going to make so much more money than you, just to make my Mom proud!" "Hilarious. I'm going to be a pro athlete and make you look like a complete failure just to honor my Dad!" The air between them crackled with the intense need to win. After hanging up, Dylan immediately turned to Dad to show his loyalty. "Dad, I’m going back to study." "I promise I’m going to get into a better university than Chloe and her stupid community college, just to make you proud!" Hearing this, Dad’s face immediately relaxed into a satisfied smile. "That's my boy. I believe in you." "You're talented, you work hard. You’re going to a great school." Getting his validation, Dylan held his head high and marched back into his room. The living room fell silent again. Dad finally remembered I was sitting there. He turned to look at me, his expression flat. There was none of the gentle warmth he showed Dylan, and none of the fury he directed at Chloe. Just a flat, dismissive indifference. "Right. You need money for school fees." I watched him pick up his phone and tap the screen a few times. "I just Venmoed you the other half." I checked the amount. It was the exact other fifty percent. Not a penny more, not a penny less. "It’s getting late. Be careful on your way home." With that, he sat back down on the sectional. And went back to watching his silent Bruce Lee movie. "Okay. I'm leaving." I said softly, then turned toward the door. There was no sound behind me. No offer for a ride, no concern, not even a simple "bye." I closed the door gently and stood in the dim, dingy hallway. The motion-sensor light clicked on, blinding me with its harsh white glare. I squinted. I touched my left cheek. It still throbbed. But it didn't matter. I finally had the money. 05 After paying the dues and AP fees. I was utterly flat broke. But luckily, the school had a program for seniors, providing free breakfast and lunch for the final two weeks of the semester. So, the problem of basic survival was solved. I poured every ounce of energy I had into studying. On the rare occasion the teachers let us use our phones to look up information, I’d catch a glimpse of Chloe's or Dylan's Instagram stories. Screenshots of Mom and Dad pampering them, showing off all the "care packages" they were sending to help them get through finals. I glanced at them and immediately closed the app. Right now, I only had one goal. Get the best scores possible. ... The four days of AP exams finally ended. The moment I walked out of the final testing room, I felt a crushing weight lift off my shoulders. Every single concept, every formula, every historical date—it was all information I had locked in my head. But my relief didn't last long. I didn't have any money, so I immediately went to the local shopping district to look for a part-time job. I got a job as a barista at a coffee shop, working twelve-hour shifts. It was exhausting, but it was cash, and they paid daily. I was satisfied. I worked like that for weeks. Results day was finally here. I was wiping down tables at the coffee shop when my phone rang. It was Dad. "Jordan, the scores come out tomorrow. Chloe and Dylan both think they did pretty well." "We're having a big celebratory dinner at a nice restaurant. You should come." I held the phone, surprised. They were actually inviting me? But then I realized why. If both Chloe and Dylan went and I didn't, what would the relatives think of them? "Okay. I'll be there." The celebration was at a high-end steakhouse. I wore the only nice outfit I owned to the dinner. The private banquet room was full of guests—friends and family. Chloe was wearing an expensive white designer dress, smiling brightly as she greeted everyone. Dylan was in brand-name athletic streetwear, chatting confidently with his friends. And I walked in like an unwelcome party crasher. I found a seat in the far corner, quiet and observant. Chloe and Dylan were already arguing about who did better. "I definitely got higher scores. I took an extra year of classes, my foundation is solid." "Pfft. I get an athletic point boost, and I’m definitely ten points ahead of you easily." The relatives laughed at their competitive banter, filling the room with warm energy. "You both probably did amazing!" "Your parents are so lucky to have two brilliant children like you!" Mom and Dad were sitting at different tables, but both had expressions of eager anticipation on their faces. Finally, the time came to check the results. "Let’s go by age. Chloe first!" someone suggested. Chloe confidently walked to the front of the room, inputting her student ID under the watchful eyes of the entire party. A few seconds later, her face completely drained of color. The confidence was instantly replaced by shock, then despair. "What is it?" Mom asked nervously. Chloe’s voice was trembling. "Two... two hundred and twenty." The room fell dead silent. A 220. Not even high enough to get into most state universities, let alone her goal. It was barely community college level. Dylan immediately burst out laughing. "Hahaha! You took an extra year of classes and got that score?" "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one!" Mom's face went white, then red, then purple. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the floorboards. She had spent the last hour bragging to the relatives about how smart Chloe was, and now she had been slapped in the face with the truth. Dad was visibly enjoying her humiliation from across the room. "Sarah Miller, look at your precious daughter." "What’s the point of studying if you don't have any real brains? She’s just a mindless grind." "An extra year of classes, and all she got was a ticket to a trade school!" Mom hissed through her teeth. "Save the commentary. Let’s see your son's scores!" Dylan confidently walked to the front of the room. He entered his student ID, and his expression shifted from confidence to pure, unadulterated joy. "Five hundred and sixty-eight! Almost a hundred points over the state university entrance line!" Dad was ecstatic, slapping Dylan on the shoulder. "That’s my boy! That’s responsible parenting right there!" Mom's face was terrifying now. She looked ready to storm out. Just then, my aunt’s voice cut through the silence. "Jordan is here too, isn't she? Let her check her scores." Every eye in the room suddenly swung toward me. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, my palms sweating as I walked slowly to the front of the room and input my student ID. A few seconds later, the results appeared on the screen. Reading & Writing: 800 Math: 800 AP Lit: 5 AP Calc BC: 5 AP Gov: 5 AP Bio: 5 Total SAT: 1600 State Rank: 1 The entire room went dead silent, followed by a burst of confused laughter. "Haha, a 1600? A perfect score? What kind of glitch is this?" "She must have entered the wrong student ID." "She probably just didn't get any results and it defaulted to zero or something." Chloe, seeing that my score was ostensibly lower than hers, smirked with cruel delight. "A perfect zero. Literally the stupidest person in history." Dylan was practically rolling on the floor with laughter. "Sister, at least you got a two hundred. She got a perfect zero! Hahaha!" The relatives whispered among themselves, their eyes filled with mockery and disdain. Dad and Mom both looked furious, clearly feeling that I had completely humiliated them in front of the family. I stood at the front of the room, enduring their laughter and insults. I knew exactly what this result meant. But I didn't say a word. I just quietly walked back to my seat in the corner. 06 Dad was immediately surrounded by relatives, everyone begging him to share his secrets of responsible parenting. He made a show of being humble, waving his hands dismissively, but his voice was thick with pride. He kept shooting triumphant glances toward Mom. His entire vibe was screaming, See? I told you I was the successful parent. Watching her ex-husband basking in the glory only made Mom’s fury burn hotter. With no other outlet for her rage, she turned on Chloe, who was shrinking into her chair. She started tearing into her, her voice loud and harsh. "An extra year of classes, and you got a 220? How can I hold my head up in front of these people?" "It’s not even just about Dylan Miller beating you. You can't even get into a halfway decent university!" Chloe ducked her head, her eyes welling with tears. Hearing Mom lay into Chloe only made Dad even smugger. He cleared his throat, deliberately raising his voice. "Actually, there is no real trick to parenting. The key is to be present and to lead by example." Everyone nodded in agreement. "Take Dylan. I've been cultivating his athletic talent since he was a kid." "True intelligence is having both physical prowess and mental acuity." His words were deliberate stabs at Mom's open wound. Just as the tension was about to reach a breaking point, the double doors to the banquet hall slammed open. Two groups of people entered at the exact same time. The first group was wearing formal business suits, carrying elegant portfolios. I immediately recognized them as university recruitment officers. Dad’s eyes lit up. He practically leaped to his feet, smoothing his suit jacket with an arrogant smirk. "They must be here for Dylan!" Dad’s voice trembled with excitement as he rushed toward the group. "Welcome, officers! You’re here to recruit my son, Dylan Miller, right?" His tone was dripping with arrogance, already imagining the jealous stares of the relatives. However, the lead recruiter looked confused. He glanced down at his notes, his brow furrowed. "Excuse me. We are here to find a student named Miller." "But..." He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd. "We are looking for Jordan Miller." The banquet hall fell dead silent. Every head in the room snapped around to look at me in the corner. The relatives who had just been laughing at my "perfect zero" now sat with their mouths hanging open, looking utterly sick. Dad’s triumphant smile froze on his face. He looked ready to choke on his own humiliation. The recruitment officer continued. "Jordan Miller is this year’s state valedictorian." "A perfect 1600 SAT score and straight fives on all her AP exams. Number one in the entire state." "We are here to officially invite her to select Stanford!" Hearing that I was the valedictorian, Chloe’s face turned gray. The shred of superiority she had felt thinking I was a failure disintegrated completely. Dylan stared at me, dumbstruck, not knowing what to do. Mom could barely believe her own ears. "The... the state valedictorian?" While everyone was still processing this bombshell, the other group of people, wearing uniforms, spoke up. "Which one of you is Dylan Miller?" Dylan instinctively took a step back, his voice trembling. "I... I am." Dad, thinking he understood what was happening, wiped his brow and managed a smile as he stepped forward. "And you must be here to invite my son to UC Berkeley, right?" I barely contained a snort of laughter. A 568, and he thinks he’s getting recruited by Berkeley? Does Dad own Berkeley now? Sure enough, the officers pulled out a legal document. "We have received a verified report that Dylan Miller used performance-enhancing drugs during his athletic recruitment evaluations." "After a thorough investigation, the report has been confirmed." "His athletic scholarship offer has been rescinded, and his test results have been invalidated. He is required to cooperate with a further investigation into drug use." Dylan’s face went utterly pale. His legs buckled, and he barely kept his balance. "No... that’s impossible... I didn't do that." But the officers already had the evidence. "This is your urine analysis report. The results are positive for prohibited substances." Mom, hearing this, immediately felt her humiliation from earlier evaporate. She looked at Dad, her eyes gleaming with vengeful delight. "Ha! Mark Miller, you still think you’re a great parent?" "So what if your precious son scored high? He’s a doper. A cheater. Like father, like son!" Dad's face went purple with rage. The arrogance from moments before vanished completely. He turned on Dylan, snarling as he slapped my brother hard across the face, then backhanded him. "You ungrateful little cheat! You have humiliated me!" "How could you do something so pathetic and disgraceful!" The banquet hall exploded into total chaos. The relatives were whispering furiously, their eyes darting back and forth. "My God, Jordan is the state valedictorian!" "A perfect 1600! That is insane!" "Dylan Miller cheated. How utterly humiliating!" "The three Miller children... they certainly are surprising."
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