Chapter 3: Country Club Cruelty

My stepsister’s been in a terrible mood lately. She slams doors so hard the whole house shakes, and last night she unfollowed at least fifty people on Instagram.

Mrs. Zhao sweet-talked Father on the golf course, getting the prized match with the Senator’s son for Eldest Sister. She bragged about Eldest Sister’s hospital volunteering, said she’d look perfect in the society pages as a Senator’s daughter-in-law.

The sisters went to war over it—you shove me into the pool at the Fourth of July barbecue, I spread rumors about you cheating with your SAT tutor. Neither won. But the whole country club was talking. Rich people eat up this kind of drama.

Someone even posted about it on the neighborhood Facebook group. The whole mess ended with my stepsister losing. She locked herself in her room for three days, only venturing out to raid the wine fridge for bottles of rosé.

Eldest Sister still got married. Her wedding made the local society magazine—ten pages of pure excess.

When my stepsister’s upset, she loves to take it out on us. It’s her favorite stress relief.

Third Sister’s safe—her mom has the best divorce lawyer in the state. You don’t mess with someone like that.

Me? I’m the punching bag. No lawyer, no trust fund, no backup plan.

In the middle of winter, with the pool crusted over with ice and the thermometer reading twenty degrees, my stepsister was pissed. She hurled her Cartier bracelet into the pool and told me to fetch it.

I hesitated. “Can I not go? It’s so cold. The heater’s broken.”

She just sneered, “You wish you could pull off white after Labor Day,” and shoved me with her Ugg boot. “Don’t come up until you find it.”

The shock of icy water stole my breath. My fingers went numb so fast I could barely feel the slimy bracelet at the bottom. By the time I climbed out, my lips were blue and my skin burned with cold.

The northwest wind whipped across the lawn, making my whole body shake. My teeth chattered so hard I thought I’d bite my tongue.

I held out the bracelet to my stepsister like it was treasure, water dripping onto the marble patio.

She barely glanced up from her phone. “It’s dirty. Throw it away.”

I stared at her, stunned. That’s at least three grand down the drain.

I kept it, hiding it away for the next time I could sneak out. There’s a pawn shop on the east side that never asks questions.

The wind howled as I trudged back to my tiny attic room. That night, my body burned with fever, tossing and turning on my Goodwill twin mattress, unable to sleep.

I curled up under my old Frozen blanket and clutched my crumpled bills tight in my fist.

Oh no, the money I just saved won’t last—not with medical bills in America.