Chapter 7: Ghosts and Regret

I wanted to find her, but she vanished like a ghost, no news at all. The homeroom teacher said she transferred. How could she just transfer?

After she left the class group chat, I realized she hadn’t added a single friend. Not on Snap, not even on Instagram. I remembered in middle school when she went around asking us to add her as a friend in the yearbook, and none of us did. I really regretted it.

I went to her neighborhood to look for her, spent twenty bucks to rent a delivery uniform and knocked on her door, thought of thirty excuses and pretexts, knocked for a long time, but found they had moved.

The neighbor said they’d moved a week ago, said the kid changed schools. I asked which kid?

The lady pursed her lips, who else? The one you like? My face turned red, I quickly denied it. She said her mom scolded her in the neighborhood, everyone knew she was dating early. She saw how sneaky I looked and knew I was looking for her.

I stammered that I wasn’t dating early. I came to get my money back, she owed me.

The lady sighed. She said she’d watched her grow up.

That’s when I learned. Her mom’s first husband was a golden-haired loser—always drinking, gambling, throwing punches. She left him before Shellie could even walk. Later she married Shellie’s dad, but started missing the daughter she’d left behind. When Shellie was little, she learned all kinds of skills. Later, when her sister came in eighth grade, her mom gradually cut them all off. Her sister couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing, couldn’t paint, and would cry whenever she saw her sing or play an instrument.

Her mom said: “All the kids in the family, no special treatment.” At that time she was young and yelled at her mom. “No, no! She’s not my dad’s kid! Her dad gambles and drinks, she’s not family! If she can’t learn I can’t, why?” Her sister didn’t say anything then.

That night it rained hard, her sister ran away alone in pajamas, not a penny with her. Her mom nearly went mad, she stumbled out with an umbrella to chase after her, her mom snatched the umbrella and threw it away, cursing her as an ungrateful brat.

She was so scared she cried and said she was wrong, her mom kicked her and made her kneel in the rain, cursing her the whole time.

—“If we can’t find your sister you’ll kneel here till you die!”

—“Why? Because I’m your mom! You owe me! You owe your sister!”

—“So petty, you expect me to rely on you when I’m old? Heartless thing!”

She cried in the rain until she almost fainted, the family dog ran out and dragged her clothes to pull her home. She hugged the dog and cried, didn’t dare move no matter who called.

Later, near dawn, her mom and sister finally came back. Her sister was found at her dad’s hospital. They said her mom found her kneeling at her stepdad’s empty hospital bed. Her dad had a relapse and was just sent to the ER.

Her sister cried to her mom, saying she came to see dad, she always saw him as her own dad, so many nights she wanted a dad like hers, she didn’t want a dad who hit people, but she didn’t have one, her mom left before she was one. Her mom hugged her sister and cried.

That night her dad didn’t make it. She waited all night and got the news of her dad’s death. Her mom brought her sister home, never looked at her once.

The lady said. “This kid, once was cherished by her parents for over ten years, loved so much she could see her own toes, but suddenly went from princess to unwanted. Her mom says every day she killed her dad, when she cries, her sister cries harder. You don’t know, her sister always plays the victim—got more tricks than a bag of Halloween candy, bullies her every time. Her mom forces her to admit she killed her dad, how could she admit it, her mom hates her, doesn’t care about her at all—sigh—”

She sighed and rambled. Finally she asked me. “How much does she owe you?”

“I’ll pay for her.”