Chapter 5: New Rules

Carrying a big duffel bag, I arrived at the lavish Sullivan home.

I dragged my worn-out bag behind me, sneakers squeaking on the polished floors. Rachel watched from the staircase, arms crossed, face unreadable. The house smelled like money and secrets.

Rachel and I were placed in the same school and class. That day, she specially gathered our classmates and said arrogantly to me, “Your dad is my dad’s help, so you are my help. Whatever I tell you to do, you have to do.”

In the fluorescent-lit classroom, Rachel smirked at me, making sure everyone heard. Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her eyes were ice. The other kids looked from her to me, unsure whether to laugh or feel sorry.

She took out her homework notebook, wanting me to copy her handwriting and do her assignments from now on.

She slammed her spiral notebook on the desk, flipped it open, and pushed it toward me. “Start copying,” she whispered, like it was a privilege. The pages were filled with perfect, looping letters—the kind that got gold stars and smiley faces from teachers.

The classmates were surprised, asking how she could get away with not doing homework and what if her grades suffered.

Whispers fluttered through the room: “Isn’t she scared she’ll fail?” “What if the teacher finds out?” A couple of kids snickered, while others watched me for my reaction, waiting to see if I’d fight back.

She shoved her homework at me. “You’re my assistant now. Like in those movies where the rich girl has a personal lackey.”

Rachel started to say something, then hesitated, changed her words, and smiled, saying it didn’t matter—she was smart enough to get into a good college even without doing homework.

She opened her mouth, ready to brag about her plans—maybe Yale, maybe Stanford, or even heading abroad. But something held her back. Instead, she just smiled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” she said breezily. “I’m smart enough to get into college without this stuff.”

I knew she wanted to show off that she would eventually study abroad.

She’d let it slip before, when she thought no one was listening—about boarding schools and life far away from this small, coal-stained town. The dream hung over her like a halo, separating her from the rest of us.

But she couldn’t say it, because she still had to keep up the act.

As long as her family needed to keep up appearances, she was trapped—just like me, but with prettier clothes and more expensive problems.

The only one who took the childhood promise seriously was my father, still dreaming that I would marry the Sullivan girl.

Every letter from prison mentioned it. “Just wait, son,” he wrote. “You’ll see—Rachel’s the key. Everything will be different then.” His dreams clung to me like a curse, impossible to escape.

But everyone knew, how could the help ever be worthy of the boss’s daughter?

It was a story as old as America—rich girl, poor boy, and a wall between them you couldn’t climb. No matter what my father believed, everyone else knew the ending.

Rachel saw that I didn’t respond, and she was afraid—

For the first time, I saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Maybe she realized the rules were starting to change.