Chapter 3: A Flicker of Hope
"But tonight is Christmas Eve..."
I was so upset I could barely breathe, and I couldn't help but talk back, my neck stiffening.
The words slipped out before I could catch them. My hands clenched in my lap, my voice trembling. It felt like pushing back against a brick wall, but I couldn't help myself. I was so tired of always having to be perfect.
I've studied hard for an entire year, gone to tutoring every weekend. I just wanted to rest for one night with my family on Christmas Eve—was that too much to ask?
Every Friday night, while my friends played video games or hung out at the mall, I was hunched over my textbooks. My weekends disappeared into flashcards and practice tests. Just this once, I wanted to taste a little freedom, to laugh with my cousins, to forget about grades and scores and expectations.
I'm a person too. Can't I at least celebrate the holiday?
The words echoed inside me, small and fierce. I glanced at the window, where snowflakes dusted the edges of the glass. For once, I wanted to feel like I belonged—like I was just a regular teenager on Christmas Eve.
Mom heard my protest and picked up a shrimp for me, her voice gentle but unyielding: "Natalie, if you had scored above 98 in English, it would be fine to relax tonight. But you're already behind. After dinner, go home and do your homework."
She placed the shrimp on my plate with a practiced smile, the kind she wore for church bake sales and PTA meetings. But underneath, her tone was as rigid as ever—nonnegotiable. My appetite vanished completely.
I gripped my fork so tightly my hands shook, a tear falling into my plate.
The silver tines cut into my palm, grounding me to the moment. I watched the tear mix with the gravy, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. My world felt smaller, the Christmas cheer around me like static on a bad radio station.