They said it like it was a compliment, but it felt like an insult. It felt like they were saying, “Thank goodness we don’t have to waste any energy on her. We need all of it for Chloe.”
I remember looking at other families and feeling confused. I saw my friend Sarah’s mom hug her for no reason. I saw Sarah’s dad carry her backpack when she was tired. I asked Sarah once, “Do you have to pay your parents back when they buy you clothes?”
Sarah looked at me like I was crazy.
“What? No, they’re my parents.”
“Oh,” I said. “I just… I thought that was normal.”
It wasn’t normal. None of it was normal, but it was my life, and I was stuck in it. I was the ghost in my own house. I was the extra in the movie of Khloe’s life. And I was starting to realize that no matter what I did, no matter how good or smart or quiet I was, the script was never going to change.
As I transitioned from a child into a teenager, the dynamic in the house didn’t get better. It got sharper. It got more expensive. And the consequences became more painful.
High school is a time when you are supposed to figure out who you are. For me, high school was a 4-year confirmation that I didn’t matter. Chloe was 2 years older, so we were in high school together for 2 years. Those two years were hell.
Khloe was popular, but in a messy way. She was always in the middle of some drama. She was breaking up with boys or fighting with her best friends or getting in trouble with teachers for talking in class. Every night at the dinner table, it was the Chloe show.
“Mom, you won’t believe what Jessica said to me.”
“Dad, I need $80 for a new dress for the dance because I hate all my old ones.”
“The teacher is so mean. She gave me a seed just because I didn’t turn in the homework.”
My parents ate it up. They were obsessed with her life. They spent hours counseling her, reassuring her, giving her money. Meanwhile, I was quietly excelling, and nobody cared.
I remember my sophomore year. I had worked incredibly hard on a science fair project. I had spent months growing bacteria cultures in the garage. I had built a display board that was perfect. I had rehearsed my presentation until I could say it in my sleep.
The science fair was on a Thursday night. Two days before the fair, I reminded my parents.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “Don’t forget Thursday night, 7:00 p.m. in the gym. My project is in row four.”
My dad looked at his calendar on the wall. He frowned.
“Thursday,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. My stomach tightened. I knew that look.
“Thursday is the night Chloe wants us to take her to that concert,” Mom said. “The tickets were her birthday present. Remember?”
“But the concert doesn’t start until 9:00,” I argued. “The science fair is at 7:00. You could come for 30 minutes and then go.”
My mom sighed. It was a long, dramatic sigh.
“Audrey, it’s an hour drive to the concert venue. We want to get dinner beforehand. We want to make it a special night for your sister.”
“So, you’re not coming?” I asked.
“We can’t be in two places at once,” Dad said. “Bring your ribbon home. We’ll look at it then.”
“If I win a ribbon,” I said softly.
“You’ll do great,” Mom said, waving her hand. “You’re so smart. You don’t need us holding your hand.”
I went to the science fair alone. I stood by my display board for 3 hours. Judges came by and asked me questions. I answered them perfectly. I smiled. I pointed to my graphs. But every time I looked up, I saw other kids with their parents. I saw dads pointing proudly at their kids’ projects. I saw moms taking videos. I stood there in my blazer, feeling like a fool.
At the end of the night, they announced the winners.
“First place, Audrey Miller.”
I walked up to the stage. The principal shook my hand. He handed me a blue rosette ribbon and a certificate.
“Where are your folks?” the principal asked me kindly, looking out at the crowd. “I want to shake your dad’s hand.”
I felt my face burn with shame. I had to lie. I couldn’t tell the truth. I couldn’t say they were eating appetizers at a restaurant before my sister’s concert.
“They’re sick,” I lied. “Stomach flu, both of them.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” the principal said. “Well, tell them congratulations.”
I drove myself home. I put the blue ribbon on the kitchen counter. When my parents got home at 1:00 a.m., they didn’t even notice it. They were too busy talking about how much fun the concert was and how cute Chloe looked.