Chapter 9: Backlash
Unexpectedly, this post—which I hadn't hidden from my parents—enraged Mom. She yelled at Auntie over the phone: "All you do is take Natalie out to have fun. Doesn't she need to study? If she can't get into college, will you take responsibility?"
The phone rang in Auntie’s purse, the angry words spilling out so loud I could hear them from the kitchen. Auntie rolled her eyes and put the call on speaker for a moment, letting Jamie and me hear the absurdity of it all.
Auntie was angry too: "Natalie's grades are so good. How could she not get into college?"
Her voice was calm but fierce. She looked at me and Jamie, as if to say, "Don't worry. I've got this."
"Good grades? Scoring only 97 in English is good?"
The conversation felt like a broken record, the same argument looping endlessly. I shrank into the sofa, wishing I could turn down the volume on my life.
...Auntie was speechless, and I shivered involuntarily.
Jamie reached over and handed me a tissue. I managed a weak smile, but inside, I was crumbling.
97. Again, 97.
It was haunting. I could see it everywhere—in the lines on my palm, in the crumbs of my cookie, in the way Mom's voice filled every silence.
Is not getting 98 some kind of unforgivable crime?
I wondered if there was anything I could do that would ever be enough. The pressure felt endless, like trying to run up an escalator going down.
97 is already fourth in the class—why can't Mom ever see my strengths or hear my voice? Why is she always so domineering, always above me?
I thought about the hours I'd spent studying, the sacrifices I'd made. Why did she only see the points I missed, not the ones I earned?
At that moment, I suddenly felt that Mom and I were born enemies, that maybe only one of us could survive.
It was a dramatic thought, but in that moment, the gulf between us felt unbridgeable. I wanted to scream, to make her understand how much her words hurt—but all I could do was cry quietly, hoping Auntie’s warmth would hold me together.