Chapter 8 I was actually pretty smart as a kid. But after getting beaten so much, it messed with my brain development. I became what everyone called “the slow one.” Three years after my youngest sister was born, my mom finally had a boy. With that kid, my dad finally felt like he’d accomplished something in the neighborhood. While my little brother got treated like a normal child, me and my three sisters were basically feral. We had to do all the housework, never got enough to eat, and when we got sick, we were on our own. Thanks to public education, I was lucky enough to stay in school. My grades just sucked. If I hadn’t inherited a decent face, and if my dad hadn’t figured out that pretty girls could make more money in “certain industries,” I probably would’ve been pulled out of school completely. When I was twelve, some kids visiting their grandparents brought chickenpox to our neighborhood. All five of us kids caught it. My parents focused entirely on my brother. The rest of us were left to fend for ourselves. Even after all these years, I still remember how hopeless I felt during those sick days. Despite running a fever and itching like crazy, I couldn’t focus on myself. My three sisters had it way worse than me. My oldest sister could barely breathe. The middle one scratched herself bloody. And my youngest sister passed out from fever on the first day she broke out. We were the sickest kids in the neighborhood. noveldramaOther families took care of their kids, and those kids were well–fed and healthy. Unlike me and my sisters–we’d been living on scraps since my brother was born. Our immune systems couldn’t handle it. My middle school was about forty miles from home. Because we qualified for poverty assistance, my dorm fees were waived. The school even let me do odd jobs to cover my living expenses. So as soon as I recovered, my mom shipped me back to school. She was terrified I’d eat into my brother’s food allowance. My grades were mediocre, but my homeroom teacher knew our situation and told me to stay at school during breaks so she could tutor me. Those tutoring sessions became my sanctuary–and my biggest regret. When I finally went home, I found out my sisters all had complications from the chickenpox. My oldest sister couldn’t stop coughing–kept everyone up at night. After getting woken up one too many times, my dad dragged her out of our room by her shirt collar and threw her out of the house. A few days later, someone found her body halfway up the mountain. My middle sister was left with scars all over. Dad decided she was “damaged goods” and not worth the investment, He handed my ten year old sister over to some guy who promised she could make money working in the city. Later I heard from neighbors that she jumped out of the car and ran away. No one’s seen her since. My youngest sister’s brain got fried from the high fever. She was never the same. When she tried to take an apple from my brother because she was hungry, my mom shoved her so hard she hit her head on some farm equipment. She died instantly. So when I came home after a month away, I noticed people giving me weird looks. Anxious, I rushed home and overheard my parents talking by the back door: “Well, that’s a relief! Three less mouths to feed! Do you know how much money we wasted on food for those girls over the years?” “Don’t sweat it! We still got the pretty one. Some guys in town already noticed her. The smarter she gets, the more she’s worth. Now that it’s just two kids, let’s keep her in school. We can use whatever she makes to get our boy set up nice.”