Amber and I moved in an uneasy orbit. Sometimes she texted awkwardly. Coffee? How was your seminar? Mom is freaking out, just so you know.
Slowly, we began saying things we had never said as children.
“I thought you hated me,” she admitted one afternoon.
“I didn’t hate you.”
“You were so quiet.”
“I was tired.”
She looked down. “I liked being the one they were proud of.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t think about what it cost you.”
“That’s what being favored does,” I said. “It makes the cost invisible.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she did not ask me to comfort her.
That was new.
In February, my advisor called me into her office. Dr. Vivian Cole was small, silver-haired, and terrifyingly efficient.
“Maya,” she said, sliding a folder across the desk, “the honors committee has finished its review.”
I opened it.
Valedictorian.
Briarwood University Class of 2025.
