Chapter 13
The contest flyer crinkled in my pocket as I set the table for dinner. I’d read it at least ten times since Ms. Rachna gave it to me. Poetry, short stories, essays – all the things I was actually good at.
All the things that could finally make someone notice me for the right reasons.
“Dinner!” Mom called from the kitchen.
I finished placing the forks and sat down in my usual spot. Dad came in from the living room, folding his newspaper. Ava bounced downstairs, her hair freshly curled.
“How was everyone’s day?” Mom asked as she served the meatloaf.
“Great!” Ava chirped. “Madison and I planned the most amazing sleepover for this weekend.”
“That sounds wonderful, sweetheart.”
Dad looked at me. “And how was your day, Avery?”
I could feel them all watching me. Waiting to see if I’d slip back into attitude mode.
“It was good.”
“Just good?” Mom pressed.
“We had English class. I participated in the discussion.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Dad said. “Your teachers always said you were bright.”
Always said. Past tense. Like my intelligence was something they used to acknowledge but had forgotten
about.
“Actually,” Ava said, cutting a piece of meatloaf, “Avery was really talkative in English today.”
The way she said it made it sound like a problem.
“Talkative how?” Mom asked.
“Just… answering lots of questions. The new teacher seemed to really like her answers.”
Dad raised an eyebrow. “New teacher?”
“Ms. Rachna,” I said. “Mrs. Patterson is on leave.”
“And she likes your participation?” Mom sounded surprised.
“I guess.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dad said, but his tone was careful. “It’s good to see you applying yourself again.”
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Again. Like I’d stopped trying instead of being ignored.
“She kept Avery after class today,” Ava mentioned casually, taking a sip of milk.
Our parents looked at me sharply.
“What for?” Mom asked.
“Nothing serious. Just feedback on an assignment.”
“What kind of feedback?” Dad wanted details.
I touched the flyer in my pocket. “Just about my writing.”
A
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“Your writing has always been good,” Mom said. “Remember those stories you used to write when you were little?”
I did remember. And I remembered how they ended up in the trash while Ava’s finger paintings got framed.
“Ms. Rachna mentioned a literary contest,” I said carefully.
“A contest?” Ava’s fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“For the school magazine. She thought I might want to enter.”
“That’s… nice,” Mom said slowly.
Dad cleared his throat. “Now Avery, it’s wonderful that you’re getting back to your studies. But remember what we talked about.”
“What did we talk about?”
“About family being the most important thing. About supporting each other.”
I knew where this was going.
“Your sister has always been the creative one in the family,” Mom said. “With her performances and her natural charm.”
“I’m not trying to compete with Ava.”
“Good,” Dad said. “Because competition between sisters isn’t healthy.”
“Why would it be competition? Can’t we both be good at things?”
Ava set down her fork. “Of course we can both be good at things. I think it’s great that Ms. Rachna likes your writing.”
But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“The thing is,” Mom said gently, “Ava has always been our little star. The one who shines in social situations. It
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would be… challenging… if suddenly that changed.”
“Changed how?” I said, fully catching on to the undertone of her words.
ଝଟି ଓ34
“Well, if you started drawing too much attention to yourself, it might overshadow Ava’s natural gifts.”
I stared at them. They were literally telling me not to succeed because it might make Ava feel bad.
“I don’t understand.” I said again.
“It’s simple, sweetheart,” Dad said. “Be smart, but don’t steal the spotlight. Support your sister’s strengths instead of trying to outshine her.”
“But what if I’m good at writing?”
“Then write as a hobby,” Mom suggested. “Not for contests or attention.”
“Why can’t I have attention?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Silence fell over the table.
“Avery,” Dad’s voice had that warning edge. “What did we discuss about your attitude?”
“I’m not having an attitude. I’m asking a question.”
“The question sounds like attitude to me.”
I looked at my plate. This was the trap. Ask for fairness and get labeled as difficult.
“I just meant… wouldn’t it be good for both of us to succeed at things?”
“Of course,” Mom said. “But success looks different for different people.”
“What does success look like for me?”
Another pause.
“For you,” Dad said slowly, “success is being a good sister. Being supportive. Being part of the family team.”
“And for Ava?”
“Ava’s success is being herself. Sharing her light with the world.”
I felt the contest flyer against my leg. Ms. Rachna thought I had something worth sharing too. But my own family couldn’t imagine me being anything more than Ava’s supporting actress.
“Do you understand, honey?” Mom asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
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::.
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“Good. We’re just looking out for both of you. Imagine how sad Ava would be if suddenly everyone preferred you to her.”
I glanced at Ava. She was watching me with those wide, innocent eyes. But I could see something else underneath. Relief that they were putting me back in my place.
“I wouldn’t want Ava to be sad,” I said.
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a good sister.”
We finished dinner talking about Ava’s sleepover plans and Dad’s work presentation. Normal family conversation where I existed but didn’t matter.
After helping clean up, I went to my room for homework time. I pulled out the contest flyer and spread it on my desk.
The deadline was in two weeks. Two weeks to write something that could change everything.
But even as my parents told me to dim my light for my sister’s happiness and satisfaction, I found myself waking to where my papers and pencils were kept.
I weighed it all. As of now, my phone is the only way I can secretly talk to my friends and build a separate life aside from the one I had and I also remembered dad’s threat of taking my phone away next time I had an attitude.
My hands hovered over the case of pencils, pausing halfway. ‘Or should I not?‘
I paused halfway at the silent creek of a door opening, my hands hovering over the case of pencils.
Chapter 15: The Anonymous Submission
I walked into English class that morning feeling tired. I dragged my feet as my eyes felt heavy and my whole body ached.
“Good morning, class,” Ms. Rachna said as we took our seats.
I sat down next to Ava, who was chatting with Madison about some movie they wanted to see. The usual morning chatter filled the room.
Ms. Rachna started organizing papers at her desk. “Let’s begin with our poetry analysis,” she said, reaching into her drawer for her lesson plan.
I saw her pause as her hand dug into the drawer.
“What’s this?” she murmured, pulling out folded pages.
I watched as she opened them and started reading. Her face lighting brightily as she went through each page.
“This is remarkable,” she said after a few minutes.
The whole class looked up.
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“Someone left a story in my desk. No name on it.” She held up the pages. “This is really good writing.”
“What’s it about?” Sarah asked.
“Family relationships. Very mature themes for middle school students.”
Ms. Rachna looked around the room. “The problem is, contest entries need names. So I need to ask and I need an honest answer, who wrote this?”
Nobody said anything.
I kept my face blank like everyone else. Just like any other curious student.
“The writing style is sophisticated. It shows real understanding of complex emotions.”
The class still remained silent.
“Avery?”
My name made me look up.
“Did you write this?”
“No,” I said. “It wasn’t me.”
“Are you sure? It has some similarities to your class discussions.”
“I’m sure. You probably offered the contest to other students too, right?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
She set the pages aside and pulled out her actual lesson materials.
“Well, whoever wrote this should come see me after class.”
The poetry lesson started. Ms. Rachna began discussing symbolism and metaphors. Students raised their hands to answer questions.
“What does the garden represent in this poem?” she asked.
Madison suggested childhood innocence. Tommy said growth and change.
“Avery, what do you think?”
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I had been listening, but I didn’t feel like giving a long answer today. “Maybe just a place where things grow.”
“Can you expand on that?”
“Not really.”
Ms. Rachna looked surprised. I had more to say yesterday.
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:
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The lesson continued. When she asked about imagery, I didn’t raise my hand. When she wanted thoughts on the poet’s word choices, I stayed quiet,feigning ignorance.
“The metaphor in line six represents what?” she asked the class.
Several hands went up. Mine stayed down.
“Avery, you’re quiet today. What’s your take on this metaphor?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always have insights about literary devices.”
I shrugged. “Just don’t feel like talking much today?”
She studied me for a moment before calling on Jessica instead.
This went on for the whole period. Every time Ms. Rachna tried to get me to participate, I gave short answers or said I didn’t know.
I could see her getting confused. This wasn’t how I normally acted in her class.
When she asked about the poem’s theme, I said it was just about nature. When she wanted analysis of the rhyme scheme, I said it sounded nice. Basic responses that any student could give.
The bell rang and everyone started packing up.
“Class dismissed,” Ms. Rachna announced. “Except Avery. Please stay for a minute.”
My heart jumped.
Students filed out around me. Ava gave me a curious look before leaving with her friends.
I stayed in my seat, gripping my backpack straps.
“Is everything okay today?” Ms. Rachna asked once we were alone.
“Yeah, just tired.”
“You seemed very different from your usual self.”
“I’m fine.”
She walked over to her desk and picked up the anonymous story.
“This piece someone wrote. It’s about feeling overlooked. About family dynamics.”
I nodded like I was listening to something that didn’t concern me.
“The author writes about being invisible. About always coming second.”
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“That’s sad.”
“The writing shows someone who understands that pain very personally.”
“Maybe.” I sticked to giving short answers.
Ms. Rachna sat on the edge of her desk, still holding the pages.
“Avery, I’ve been teaching for several years. I can usually recognize my students‘ writing voices.”
My stomach tightened.
“This story reminds me of how you express ideas in class. The way you see patterns and connections.”
“Lots of people probably write similar things.”
“Perhaps. But there’s something about this voice that feels familiar.”
I looked at the clock on the
.“Can I go to my next class?”
“In a moment. I want to ask you something directly.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“Are you sure you didn’t write this J
“I already said I didn’t.”
à said. But sometimes students aren
“I know what ready to claim their work.”
“Why would I lie about it?”
“Maybe because you’re not sure how people would react.”
“I didn’t write it.”
Ms. Rachna watched my face carefully. “The themes in this story – about family favoritism, about feeling invisible – those are heavy topics.”
“Okay.”
“They’re the kind of topics someone writes about when they’ve experienced them.”
I stood up. “I really need to get to math class.”
“Avery.”
I stopped but didn’t sit back down.
“If you ever want to talk about anything -school, home, writing,my door is always open.”
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“Thanks.”
:
“And if you change your mind about the contest, there’s still time.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
I headed for the door.
“One more thing.”
I turned around.
“Whoever wrote that story has real talent. Even if they’re not ready to admit it.”
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“And for the record…..” she said, making me pause one more time.“…..i had resolved to give the opportunity to only students I found worthy and so far, it’s been just one”
I felt my fist tightening as the realization slowly dawned on me.
“I know it was you, Avery”
I left the classroom and walked quickly down the hallway. My hands were shaking slightly.
My heart was still beating fast. And as I looked up, I saw Ava staring at me ferociously.
My breath hitched.
田
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
