First Tier

Saturday, October 1st

If I hear one more time about how my parents went to Yale University, I'm gonna freak.

Seriously, they bring it up in like every conversation they have with me now. I'm not stupid. I know the deadline to turn in my applications is getting closer and closer. I'm painfully aware of that, but it's only October 1st. I've been working on the applications since the common app writing prompts were released.

In addition, I have numerous other responsibilities that I have to take care of. For example, I'm working on homework for AP biology when Dad calls me to dinner. We're having baked chicken, a spinach salad, and brown rice. Mom went on a health food craze a couple years ago, and we're still reeling in the aftermath. Dani and Jack are already at the table, hands and napkins in their lap. I sit down and do the same.

As Dad prays, I go over biology terms in my head. Speciation. Hardy-Weinberg Equilibrium. Disruptive selection. Once he's done with the prayer, the conversation about college picks up yet again.

"So, Riley, how do you feel about Dartmouth?" Dad asks, looking at me as he takes a bite of chicken.

I shrug. "It's okay. I'm not sure about it though. I heard it's got a pretty intense drinking culture." I say as I cut my chicken into 8 small pieces.

Mom nods. "Well, that's true, and it's also one of the lesser Ivies." She states. "I'd be much happier if you went to Harvard or Princeton. Or Yale, of course."

I mostly just nod as they continue the same conversation we've been having for years now. Dani and Jack whisper through most of the meal, occasionally laughing. I'm jealous of their freedom to not feel anything but anxiety and pressure.

The dinner finally ends and I head to go back to my room. "Riley, you've barely eaten!" Mom says as she washes off my plate. I know that. I had 2 of the 8 pieces of chicken and one Spinach leaf.

I shrug. "Wasn't hungry." I say. "I had a big lunch." I lie easily.

She shakes her head. "You need to get your eating patterns under control, missy. You can't eat a crap-ton of garbage for lunch and nothing for dinner." I know, Mom. I know. I feel my cheeks start to heat up as I look down at my shoes. I'm wearing black converse with laces so dirty they look almost brown.

I nod as she continues to lectures me. The pressure in my chest intensifies more and more as she continues to berate me and waste my time. My skin crawls. I feel nauseated even though I've had barely anything to eat today. I begin to shake. I don't want to have a full blown panic attack in front of her, so I jump in when she takes her next breath.

"Okay, Mom, I get it." I say. She looks at me with disbelief. Did I really just interrupt her? Crap. Well, I can't stop now. "I really need to get to work."

"Riley!" She raises her voice as I turn and walk quickly up the stairs. "I wasn't finished. You're grounded, and we will talk later." Her voice is sharp, cold, terrifying.

I lock the door to my bathroom after I close it behind me.

Reaching under the counter, I take out an ugly pink makeup bag that holds a variety of small metal objects. I take a razor and lightly turn it around and around between my fingers, staring at it as it glints in the light. I roll up my shorts. On my upper thigh are dozens of small vertical scars and wounds, some still healing. I close my eyes and press down until I feel like I'm able to breathe again.