The words didn’t quite register at first. It was like my brain couldn’t process what I just heard. I must have misunderstood. He couldn’t have actually just said that. Ava was scrolling through her phone, not even pretending to look guilty. If anything, she looked satisfied, vindicated even. My fork paused halfway to my mouth. I set it down carefully like I was diffusing a bomb. My pulse was doing that pounding thing again, loud in my ears.
“You used the medication money,” I said slowly, “to buy a phone.”
“Lena, don’t start.”
My mom’s voice had that warning edge, the tone she used when she thought I was about to make a scene.
“Don’t start what? Asking about medication a doctor said I needed immediately?”
“The phone was important,” my dad said, finally meeting my eyes. “Ava’s presentation is 30% of her grade. She needed professional equipment.”
I stared at him, at this man who taught me to ride a bike, who came to my sixth-grade science fair, who used to call me his smart girl, and I didn’t recognize him at all.
“Right,” I said. My voice sounded distant, like it was coming from someone else. “Then I guess you didn’t read the warning label the pharmacist sent.”
My mom’s hand froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.
“Warning label?”
Her voice cracked just slightly, just enough for me to catch it.
“What warning label?”
My dad asked, but his face had gone pale. Ava sighed dramatically, setting her phone face down on the table.
“Lena, don’t make this about you again. I needed the phone for my project. It’s not like you’re dying or anything.”
The silence that followed was so complete, I could hear the clock ticking in the hallway. I leaned forward, looked my father directly in the eyes, and said very quietly.
“The doctor said the medication prevents neurological damage. Neurological damage, as in the kind that doesn’t go away.”
All the color drained from his face. Even his lips went pale. My mom made this small sound like someone had punched her in the stomach.
“Lena, you—you didn’t say it was that serious.”
“I told you it was urgent. I told you the doctor was concerned. I told you I needed to see a specialist within a week.”
My voice was still eerily calm.
“What part of that didn’t sound serious?”
“Well, you should have been more clear.”
My dad snapped, but his hands were shaking.
“I was clear. You chose Ava’s phone over my health.”
Ava’s face had gone from smug to uncertain. She picked up her phone, then set it down again.
“I didn’t know it was that serious,” she mumbled.
“Didn’t you?”
I turned to her.
“Or did you just not care?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?”
I almost laughed, but it came out wrong. Brittle.
“You want to talk about fair?”
