Chapter 1
I slammed the bright orange sneaker box onto our marble kitchen island so hard that Jordan jumped.
The lid flew open.
Inside sat a pair of expensive gray sneakers.
Brand-new.
Perfectly clean.
And worth more than the shoes I'd been begging my stepmother to replace for three months.
"You bought HIM new shoes again?!"
My voice cracked.
Jordan stood across from me in his gray hoodie, looking like he wished the floor would swallow him.
Denise didn't even flinch.
She folded her arms across her burgundy sweater and gave me that familiar disappointed look.
"Maya, lower your voice."
I stared at her.
"Are you serious?"
"Don't start another argument."
I grabbed one of the sneakers.
The price tag was still attached.
Three hundred and forty dollars.
My stomach twisted.
Three hundred and forty dollars.
Last week, I'd asked Denise for seventy dollars to replace my worn school shoes.
The sole on my left sneaker was separating.
Every time it rained, water soaked through.
She told me the family budget was tight.
She said I needed to stop expecting expensive things.
Now Jordan had another pair of shoes.
His fourth since Christmas.
"You told me there was no money for me!"
Denise rolled her eyes.
"Jordan needed them."
I pointed toward the mudroom.
"He already has three pairs!"
"He's growing."
"He's eighteen!"
Her expression hardened.
"Stop being jealous of your brother."
I felt tears burning behind my eyes.
There it was.
That word.
Jealous.
Whenever Jordan received something and I questioned it, Denise called me jealous.
When he got a new phone and I kept my cracked one, I was jealous.
When she paid for his senior trip but told me my science competition was too expensive, I was jealous.
When she threw him a huge eighteenth-birthday party and forgot mine until dinner, I was jealous.
I wasn't jealous.
I was tired.
Tired of pretending I didn't notice.
Tired of being grateful for leftovers.
And tired of living in a house where my father's money somehow belonged to everyone except me.
Jordan reached toward the box.
"Maya, I didn't ask her to buy these."
I turned toward him.
"Then why do you keep accepting them?"
He looked hurt.
"I didn't know she told you no."
Denise immediately stepped forward.
"Jordan, you don't have to explain yourself."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course he doesn't."
She pointed toward me.
"That's enough."
"No, it's not!"
My voice rose.
"Why does he always get everything?"
Denise's eyes narrowed.
"Because he knows how to appreciate what people do for him."
The words struck hard.
I stared at her.
"Are you saying I don't?"
She shrugged.
"I'm saying your attitude is exhausting."
I felt my face grow hot.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I looked down at my shoes.
The torn rubber.
The faded fabric.
The shoelace I'd repaired with a knot.
I had stopped asking for things because I hated feeling like a burden.
And somehow, even that wasn't enough.
Then the front door opened.
I heard the familiar sound of my father's suitcase wheels.
"Maya?"
Dad walked into the kitchen carrying a red travel bag.
Marcus Johnson had been away for four days on a business trip.
He wore his navy button-up shirt, and his trimmed beard made him look more tired than usual.
He stopped when he saw us.
His eyes moved from my tearful face to the orange sneaker box.
Then toward Denise.
"What's going on?"
Nobody answered.
I swallowed.
"Ask her why only Jordan gets everything."
Dad frowned.
"What?"
Denise immediately smiled.
"Marcus, welcome home. Maya's having another one of her moods."
My stomach dropped.
Dad looked at me.
"Sweetheart?"
I pointed toward the shoes.
"She bought Jordan another expensive pair."
He glanced at the box.
"Okay."
"But she told me we couldn't afford seventy dollars for school shoes."
His expression changed.
I continued before Denise could interrupt.
"She said there wasn't enough money."
Dad slowly placed his travel bag on the floor.
Then he looked directly at Denise.
"Didn't I transfer money for both kids before I left?"
Denise stiffened.
I stared at him.
He'd transferred money?
Dad continued.
"I sent fifteen hundred dollars for their clothes, school expenses, and anything they needed this month."
My heart stopped.
Fifteen hundred dollars.
I'd been wearing broken shoes while Denise controlled fifteen hundred dollars.
Dad looked toward Jordan.
"Did you need these sneakers?"
Jordan hesitated.
"No, sir."
Denise snapped.
"Jordan, don't start."
Dad turned toward her.
"Denise, answer me."
She crossed her arms.
"What?"
"Did you use the money I gave you for both children?"
She looked away.
Then her expression changed.
The pleasant smile disappeared.
Her voice became cold.
"Jordan is my son. Maya is your daughter."
The kitchen went silent.
I felt something inside me break.
I'd lived with Denise since I was nine.
For eight years, I'd tried to earn her approval.
I'd called her Mom once.
She'd smiled and told me I should probably keep calling her Denise because I already had a mother.
My biological mother had died when I was six.
I remembered crying that night because I thought I'd done something wrong.
Now Denise had finally said what she'd apparently believed all along.
Jordan was hers.
I was Dad's.
And that meant I mattered less.
Dad stared at her.
"Say that again."
Denise lifted her chin.
"You heard me."
He stepped beside me.
"So you used my money to favor your child?"
She threw up her hands.
"Then buy Maya whatever she wants yourself!"
Dad became frighteningly calm.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
"Fine."
Denise frowned.
"What are you doing?"
He opened the banking application.
Then tapped the screen.
"Removing your access to the family spending card."
Denise's face changed.
"Marcus!"
He didn't look up.
"From now on, I'll handle Maya's expenses directly."
She stepped toward him.
"You can't embarrass me like this!"
Dad finally raised his eyes.
"You embarrassed yourself when you decided my daughter deserved less."
I stared at him.
For the first time in years, somebody had said exactly what I'd needed to hear.
But I wasn't relieved.
Not completely.
Because the sneakers weren't the only thing Denise had purchased.
And the other things were much worse.
My hands began shaking.
"Dad..."
He turned toward me.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
I swallowed.
"The shoes aren't the only thing she bought with your money."
Denise went pale.
"Maya, don't."
Dad looked between us.
"What else?"
I looked toward the orange box.
Then back at Denise.
She was staring at me with pure panic.
May you like
I took a trembling breath.
And prepared to tell my father the secret I'd been afraid to reveal for months.
