Chapter 4: Lessons in Silence

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Mason and I were in the same class. At our school, the scholarship kids and the rich kids were actually separated.

The division was subtle, but you could feel it in the way teachers called on students, in the seating charts, in who got invited to which parties. It was a line you learned not to cross, unless you wanted trouble.

But there was another class—the top fifty in every grade exam, regardless of family background, ranked only by grades.

That class was the school’s pride and joy, a meritocracy in a sea of privilege. It was the only place where money didn’t matter, at least on paper.

My entrance score was second. Evan laughed when he saw it, playing with my hair as he asked, “Lauren, I really don’t get you. Why work so hard? You have me to protect you, you don’t need to try so much.”

He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger, his voice teasing but with an edge that made it clear he expected me to agree.

“Just hang out with friends, buy jewelry and bags, travel abroad, go to charity galas and parties. Isn’t that more fun?”

He listed off the privileges of our world like they were nothing, as if life was just a series of shopping trips and social events.

All of Evan’s friends thought I was his girlfriend, and Evan never denied it, but we weren’t dating.

Sometimes, at parties, I’d catch people whispering behind their hands, wondering when we’d make it official. I never bothered to correct them.

If I had to define our relationship, I was probably just a trophy—something he liked to show off, a bit of arm candy.

Yes, a trophy.

It’s a humiliating thing to admit, but it was true. I was his favorite accessory, like a lucky charm he could show off at will.

Evan said with him protecting me, I didn’t need to work so hard.

He made it sound like a gift, but it always felt like a leash.

I sat beside him memorizing vocabulary, thinking about why I worked so hard.

Maybe it was because when I was little, on nights when my dad didn’t come home, my mom would hold me and cry, saying, “Lauren, study hard. Studying can change your fate. Then your dad will like you.”

Her voice would tremble, her arms tight around me, the smell of her perfume mingling with the salt of her tears. I learned early that love was something you earned, not something you were given.

So I studied hard. I was always first. But whenever I happily handed my report card to my dad, he never even glanced at it.

He’d mutter something about work, flicking through emails on his phone, never looking up. I’d stand there, report card in hand, feeling invisible.

Because he didn’t like his wife, he didn’t like her child either.

I learned to make myself small, to fade into the background, hoping maybe one day he’d notice me.

Sometimes when my mom broke down, she’d hit me, cursing as she did: “Why are you so useless? Why can’t you make your dad happy? Be a little better, Lauren, be even more outstanding.”

Her words stung more than the blows, and I’d curl up in bed at night, reciting vocabulary lists in my head, promising myself I’d do better tomorrow.

I tried so hard to be excellent, but if someone doesn’t like you, what’s the use?

It was a question that haunted me, echoing in the quiet moments between classes, in the hush of the library after dark.

Until Evan’s twelfth birthday. He was the firstborn grandson of the Carter family, the only son in five generations.

That party was the kind of event people in Maple Heights would talk about for years—white tents in the backyard, birthday banners strung from tree to tree, party favors scattered on the tables, and a giant Funfetti cake with rainbow sprinkles. It was the first time I realized just how different Evan’s world was from mine.

Evan was the center of attention. During the cake-cutting, his lazy gaze swept the crowd and finally landed on me. His eyes lit up, and he handed me the first piece of his birthday cake, saying, “I like you. What’s your name?”

Just like picking out a pretty puppy.

The adults laughed, clapping each other on the back, and I felt every eye in the room turn to me, waiting to see if I’d blush or cry. I just stood there, frozen, the cake plate trembling in my hands.

All my efforts and excellence couldn’t compare to Evan’s light, offhanded words: I like you.

The world shifted in that moment, and I realized that sometimes, fate chooses you whether you want it or not.