God forbid anyone saw I was happy.
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: