Chapter 2: Not Enough
So, getting a 97 in English means I'm destined to be a failure?
It was like the number itself was branded on me—flashing in my mind, echoing in Mom's voice. I stared at the mashed potatoes, the creamy swirls losing their appeal. I didn't dare look up, afraid that even blinking might send the tears over the edge.
After Mom finished, I sat frozen in my chair, staring at the mashed potatoes on my plate, my eyes brimming with tears.
The clatter of silverware and the scent of cinnamon rolls faded into the background. I blinked fast, trying to keep the tears from spilling. I didn't want anyone to see me cry, least of all Mom. I was supposed to be strong. I was supposed to be the good kid.
The number 97 hovered over my heart like a nightmare. I was just one point short of Mom's requirement of 98, yet it felt as if I had committed some terrible crime. It wasn't enough for her to lay into me at home—she had to drag me to the Christmas Eve dinner table for a public shaming.
The ache in my chest grew, sharp and cold. I wondered if anyone else at this table knew what it felt like to always be almost—but never quite—enough. Even the twinkle lights on the Christmas tree in the living room couldn't chase away the feeling of being exposed.
Luckily, the relatives didn't join in with Mom. Instead, they tried to reassure her: "97 is already really good. Natalie works so hard—she'll definitely get into a good college."
Aunt Sarah reached for my hand under the table and squeezed it. Uncle Dave offered me an extra dinner roll. "Don't let her get to you, kiddo," he whispered, trying to keep things light. Their words were gentle, wrapping around me like a warm blanket, even as Mom kept up her relentless pace.
Mom shot me a look of disdain. "If she really worked hard, she would finish her English homework tonight, instead of telling me she'll do it tomorrow morning."
Mom's eyes flashed as she jabbed her fork into a slice of ham. Her voice was lower now, meant for me but still loud enough for everyone to hear. The shame prickled up my neck and into my ears, as if I could never escape it—not even for one night.