Chapter 2

I spent the night curled up on the narrow cot in my school dormitory.

First bell hadn't even rung before Mr. Hartwell, the guidance counselor, appeared in the classroom doorway and crooked his finger at me.

His office was at the end of the hall.

When I pushed the door open, Sienna was already there—shoulders trembling, a crumpled tissue in her fist, eyes swollen.

The moment she saw me, she flinched back toward Mr. Hartwell's desk.

"Elara. Have a seat."

Mr. Hartwell's voice could have frosted glass.

"Tell me what you did to Sienna yesterday."

I stood in the doorway. My hands stayed at my sides.

Sienna dabbed at her eyes.

Her voice was small, trembling, pitched just loud enough for every word to land.

"Mr. Hartwell, please don't be too hard on her.Yesterday she cornered me in the hallway—called me a parasite, said I stole her family, said she'd make sure I couldn't stay at this school. I'm just… I'm really scared."

Mr. Hartwell's expression darkened. He picked up his phone.

"I've already called your parents. They're on their way."

The door opened before I could process that.

My father walked in first, his face the color of a bruise. My mother followed, her arm already reaching for Sienna.

"What happened this time? Did she bully Sienna again?"

Mr. Hartwell adjusted his glasses.

"Based on Sienna's account, Elara has been engaging in verbal harassment, rumor-spreading, and threats of forced withdrawal against her sister. This is something we take extremely seriously."

My father turned on me.

"How did I raise a daughter like you? Are you determined to humiliate this family until there's nothing left?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

I raised my hand. My fingers started forming I didn't—

His palm connected with my face before I finished the sign.

The crack echoed off the walls. My head snapped sideways. My ear rang—a high, thin whine.

My cheek burned so hot it felt like the skin had split open.

I stared at him. Two tears rolled down, tracing the path of the slap's heat.

His voice was soaked in contempt.

"You're crying? You have the nerve to cry? You do something wrong and then play the victim? That's all you know how to do, isn't it?"

Sienna buried her face in my mother's chest.

"Dad, Mom, please don't yell at her. I don't blame her."

My mother's eyes swept over me.

"Born low, raised low. All you know is how to hurt my Sienna."

The office door was cracked open. Faces clustered in the gap—students, peering in.

"So she really did bully Sienna…"

"She looks so quiet. Who knew she was that vicious?"

"I heard her own parents didn't even want her. No wonder."

I took a breath. Steadied myself. Raised my hands again—slowly, deliberately—and signed three words.

I. Didn't. Do it.

Mr. Hartwell cut me off before I finished.

"Elara, can you stop with the theatrics? If you have something to say, say it. Don't stand there waving your hands around like you're putting on a show."

My fingers stopped in midair.

My only language.

A show.