The Fat Girl Her Family Ignored Finally Stopped Waiting Chapter 03
There was actually a more important reason.
Southern State University Honors College had offered me a full ride. Tuition, dorm, meals — all covered.
Ms. Carter was quiet for a few seconds, then rested her hand on my shoulder. “Lily, if you’re in trouble, you tell me. Don’t just tough it out on your own.”
“Thank you, Ms. Carter.”
A teacher I wasn’t related to by blood could care about me. But the people I shared my blood with only ever made me wait, and looked right through me.
It didn’t matter.
Soon, I wouldn’t have to wait for anyone.
The next day, Mom drove me over to Tyler’s practice field.
Tyler trained for three hours. I stood in the sun for three hours. The second he called a break, I’d jog over with a towel and a water bottle. I didn’t dare sit down.
Same time last year — his regional football game.
Halfway through, I took one phone call, and it made him wait three seconds for his water.
Three seconds.
Dad cut off my food money for two months.
For a solid month, I was so hungry during the day my hands shook. At night I’d buy the cheapest instant noodles and convenience-store donuts.
Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I called him.
He said, “You made your brother wait for water. So you can wait for your dinner.”
That was when I got it.
In that house, I could wait for anyone. But no one could wait for me.
I ended up washing dishes in the back of a small diner near school, just barely holding out until Dad cooled off and started giving me money again.
Three days later, Tyler’s team won the division championship, and Maddie’s dance team placed at regionals.
That night, my grandparents came over to celebrate, and they brought takeout from that expensive deli.
Grandma set the bag on the kitchen island and slid the containers across, one by one.
“Tyler, roast chicken plate, extra mashed potatoes.”
“Maddie, salad and soup, easy on the dressing.”
“This is your dad’s roast beef sandwich.”
“And your mom’s chicken pot pie.”
She handed the last drink to Mom, then paused, as if she’d just noticed I was standing there.
“Oh — Lily. Sorry. I forgot yours again.”
She gave a quick little laugh, brushing it off like it was nothing.
“You just hang tight. They can’t finish all this. You can have whatever’s left.”
I stood off to the side. I didn’t say anything.
For as long as I could remember, my grandparents had bought Tyler and Maddie all kinds of things — food, drinks, clothes.
And every time, they’d say they’d forgotten mine. Told me to wait until next time.
Next time never came.
Maddie ate her chicken, scraping the gnawed bones off her plate into the paper bowl in front of me, then dumped in the soup she couldn’t finish.
“Here. Don’t sit there looking like we’re bullying you.”
Halfway through pouring, her hand slipped. Half a bowl of hot soup splashed onto the back of my hand.
My skin flared red almost instantly. Blisters were rising before long.
Maddie glanced down, then looked away like she hadn’t seen a thing and went back to eating. A minute later, she was pulling up videos of her competition on her phone to show our grandparents.
Tyler was head-down over a chicken leg. Mom and Dad sat next to him, laughing and rehashing the games.
In front of me: half a bowl of chicken-bone soup. I stared at the red, swollen back of my hand, tears pooling in my eyes.
It hurt. But in this house, I couldn’t say it hurt.
Saying it wouldn’t change anything.
I didn’t drink that soup. I kept my head down and started clearing the paper bowls and takeout boxes into a trash bag.
Grandpa noticed and suddenly spoke up.
“Lily. All because we forgot to grab your food, you’re going to pull a face like this?”
Dad shot me a look. His voice went cold.
“Leave her alone. Eats my food. Sleeps under my roof. And still acts like we owe her something.”
I stood there in the corner of the kitchen listening to them talk. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Without thinking, I pulled out my phone and checked my bank account.
Five hundred dollars.
An emergency student fund Ms. Carter had helped me apply for.
Not much.
But enough for a long-distance bus ticket south. Enough to hold me over until the temporary summer dorms opened. Enough for two sets of pajamas, a pair of slippers, and a blanket.
Enough to walk out of this house without asking anyone for anything.
Still, I clenched my fists and told myself I’d try one more time.
One last time.