When I was four, my younger sister, Arabella Drexler, and I almost drowned.

After we were pulled out of the water, my mother slapped me hard across the face. "I told you to watch Ella! You almost killed her! Did you do it on purpose?"

From that day on, everything changed. If I took a single piece of Ella's candy, I would be punished by going hungry.

If I touched her doll, my mother would lock me in the basement.

At first, Dad tried to intervene. But Mom would just hug Arabella tighter and say, "She's the reason Ella has learning problems now. I won't let her suffer anymore."

Then, when I was eight, the neighbor, Edward Parker, tried to lure Arabella into his house with a lollipop.

I stepped in to protect her. He beat me really hard.

When I finally came home, covered in bruises, Mom kicked me to the floor. "Priscilla! Ella is sickly because of you, and now you're pulling some disappearing act?

"Can't you give us one day of peace? I wish I'd never given birth to you!"

I didn't say a word. Still bleeding, I crawled to the back of the closet and pulled out a red pouch.

Inside was a gold pendant Mom had given me when I was a baby. It was supposed to keep me safe.

I looked at it for a long time. Then, very calmly, I put it in my mouth and swallowed it.

Mom, I don't want a long life anymore.

I just want you to be happy.

***

The pendant was too big. It got stuck in my throat.

I swallowed hard, gulped down cold water, again and again.

Finally, with a painful gulp, it went down.

My stomach felt heavy and cold, and a dull ache started there.

Mom once told me a story about someone dying from swallowing gold to scare me from putting things in my mouth.

I was scared now, but also relieved.

Maybe when you die, it stops hurting. Maybe your heart stops aching, too.

Mom opened the door and glared at me. "Priscilla, why are you still sitting there?

"Come eat. Ella's hungry. Stop pretending you're pitiful."

I followed her out, but my stomach hurt more with every step, like a stone weighing me down.

I didn't want to make Mom angry, so I forced down a few bites.

Dad noticed my face and reached for my forehead. "Cilla, you look pale. Are you sick?"

Mom slapped his hand away. She gave Arabella a piece of meat, her face hard. "She's fine. She's just acting out for attention.

"Leave her alone. We're taking Ella out for a walk."

Arabella sat next to Mom, grinning at me, clutching a brand-new toy.

The gold pendant in my stomach seemed to move. I almost vomited.

Mom saw me holding my stomach. "Can you behave for once? Even eating, you have to make a scene?" Her face hardened.

I forced a small, obedient smile. "My stomach hurts, Mom."

"If you're not eating, go to your room. I'm tired of looking at you."

My dad opened his mouth, then just sighed.

Mom looked right at me, impatient. "Watch her. Don't let her stir up trouble again. Haven't we suffered enough because of her?"

She wasn't worried about me. She was worried I'd cause trouble for her.

Once, when the boy across the hall bullied me, my mother said it was my fault—that I was ill-behaved and inviting trouble.

Under the thick covers, I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry.

It was hard to breathe, and I was unbearably cold.

I heard my parents come home with Ella.

Arabella was giggling. "Mommy, read me a story!"

My mom's voice turned soft—so soft it felt unfamiliar.

"Okay, my little princess."

Their laughter sounded beautiful, like Ella's favorite music box. The one I was never allowed to touch.

I heard Edward's voice, low, in the living room. "Cilla played herself tired. Fell asleep. I put her back in bed."

Mom said something like, "Good. Saves me the trouble of looking at her."

Dad said something back, and Mom's voice got loud again. "She's nothing but trouble. If only she were the one who'd suffered, then Ella wouldn't end up like this..."

I couldn't hear the rest.

Under the covers, it was completely dark.

My stomach hurt badly, worse than when Mom hit me.

Mom, Dad, I don't feel good. The gold doesn't taste good at all.

If I fall asleep, will you come check on me?

The next morning, the pain in my stomach was gone.

My body felt incredibly light, like I'd turned into foam on the sea, like in the fairy tales Mom used to read.

I drifted up right through the comforter. It was strange. I could see my own small bed below.

The comforter was still bunched up, covering my little body.

Mom pushed the door open, irritation clear on her face. "Priscilla! It's past time to get up! You'll be late for kindergarten!"

I waved at her from near the ceiling. "Mom, I am up! I'm right here!"

But she didn't hear me. She didn't see me either.

She just stared angrily at the lump under the comforter.

Dad appeared in the doorway. "Let her sleep a little longer," he said with a sigh. "She really didn't look well yesterday."

Mom spun around to face him. "Not well? She's just being lazy. Pretending to be sick so she can skip school.

"Look at Ella—she's already dressed!"

Arabella bounced into the doorway. "Cilla's a sleepyhead!"

I wanted to tell her I wasn't sleepy. I didn't need sleep anymore.

But none of them could see or hear me.

Mom walked over to the bed. I floated down, trying to take her hand, but my fingers passed right through her arm.

She didn't pull back the comforter. She just kept complaining, "What a mess. All tangled up."

She picked up the empty glass from my nightstand. "Drank all her water. She's fine."

I drifted through the wall into the living room. Dad opened the front door.

It was Edward, peering inside. "Where's Cilla? Everything quiet over here today?"

Mom poked out her head from the kitchen. "She played too hard yesterday. Couldn't even wake her up."

Edward looked relieved and hurried away.

He was probably afraid I'd told them what he did.

But I hadn't. And I wouldn't, now.

Sunlight filled the room, but I couldn't feel its warmth anymore. A deep cold had settled in me.

In the living room, Mom and Dad were watching cartoons with Arabella.

I lingered by the doorframe, watching them.

Dad glanced toward my room. "Cilla hasn't eaten anything all day. I should go wake her."

Mom cut him off, "Missing one meal won't hurt her. She's just manipulating you because you're soft.

"How scheming. Leave her be. Let's see how long this act lasts."

Arabella imitated Mom, wagging a hand. "Cilla is bad!"

No one came to check on me.

I spoke, though nobody could hear me. "Mom, I'm a good girl.

"I am awake.

"I've been right here, watching, for so long.

"It's just the girl in the bed doesn't want to wake up anymore."

That afternoon, my friend Hilda Ortiz from kindergarten came over.

She was holding a doll. "Mrs. Drexler," she said shyly, "is Cilla here? My mom and I got this for her."

Mom's face changed immediately, turning unpleasant.

She stood blocking the doorway and didn't let them in. Her voice was tight. "She's fine. Just throwing a tantrum, pretending to be sick so she doesn't have to go to school."

Hilda's mother looked uncomfortable. "But Cilla's always been such a good girl," she said quietly.

"When Hilda was being picked on at school, Cilla stepped in and got hurt protecting her."

Mom seemed to snap. Her voice rose sharply. "You have no idea! She's awful, a monster.

"She's the reason her sister is the way she is!

"If she were half as manageable as other kids, I wouldn't be so worn out all the time!"

Hilda started crying, frightened. Hilda's mother's face tightened. She picked Hilda up and left without another word.

Mom shut the door, her chest still heaving with anger. She kept muttering under her breath, "She's not a good child. You're all deceived."

I hovered near her, watching her contorted expression, and felt a hollow sadness.

"Mom, I really did want to be a good girl," I muttered.

Dad came into my bedroom once. He stood by the bed for a long while.

Finally, he sighed and whispered, "Cilla, Daddy knows things haven't been fair for you.

"But your mom... What happened to Ella has taken a huge toll on her. She's suffering too."

He started to reach out to touch me, but his hand stopped halfway and dropped back to his side.

He gently tucked the comforter tighter around me. "Sleep well, sweetie. No more sadness. I'll make you your favorite sunny-side-up eggs tomorrow."

Then he turned and walked out. His back looked stooped.

I spoke at his back. "Dad, I am asleep. And I'm not sad anymore.

"But I don't think I'll be here for those eggs tomorrow."

Later, just before bedtime, Mom came in to check on me. "Just my luck," she grumbled. "Nothing but a burden since the day you were born.

"Sleeping all day long. Even a pet would be more interactive."

She walked over to the bed.

How I wished she would act like she did when Arabella had a fever—press a hand to my forehead and scoop me up.

But she just jabbed her finger hard through the comforter, right where my shoulder was.

"Priscilla, that's enough. Get up this instant!"

I didn't move, of course.

Mom's eyebrows drew together in a tight frown. "So stubborn. Fine. See if I care. Sleep forever."

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The loud noise scared Arabella, who started wailing that she was frightened.

I heard Mom walk past my room, carrying Arabella, her voice suddenly soft as she hummed a lullaby.

"Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop..."

She used to sing that to me before Arabella was born.

She'd rock me and tell me I was her precious girl.

But that was so long ago that it felt like a lifetime.

The next day at lunchtime, I still hadn't risen.

Mom grew anxious. "What if she's really ill? She won't wake."

Dad sounded concerned. "I'll go check on her."

But Mom changed her mind and stopped him. "Don't. She's faking it. If you go now, she'll think she's won."

They believed I was sulking.

But I wasn't sulking.

I just couldn't open my eyes again.

The next day, the house felt different.

Mom had brought home a beautiful cake decorated with pink frosting flowers.

I remembered then. It was Arabella's birthday.

It was also my birthday.

Arabella and I were born on the same day. Mom used to smile and say it was a special bond between sisters.

Later, she changed her tune. She said I had a difficult nature that was bad for Arabella.

A lot of family showed up that day, including all four grandparents.

They brought heaps of presents, all for Arabella—pretty dresses, new dolls.

No one remembered it was my birthday, too.

No one asked, "Where's Cilla?"

Arabella ran around the living room in her new dress, looking like a little princess.

Everyone was laughing, telling her how clever and adorable she was.

Mom was beaming, her whole face lit up with joy.

I found myself smiling too.

Good. Mom was happy.

Grandpa suddenly asked, "Where's Cilla?"

Mom's smile dropped. "Don't bring her up," she said, her voice turning sharp. "She's in her room sulking. Hasn't gotten out of bed or eaten for days. Just trying to ruin everything.

"Let's not let her spoil a perfectly good party."

Grandma sighed. "That child always did have a stubborn streak."

And that was the end of it. No one mentioned me again.

When it was time to cut the cake, Arabella announced loudly, "We have to save a piece for Cilla!"

Mom kissed her cheek. "You're so sweet to think of your sister, sweetie. But she doesn't get any of your special cake today."

Dad was quiet for a moment, then stood up. "I should take her a piece. It's been two days since she hasn't eaten anything."

Mom shot him a warning look. "Don't you dare. This is exactly the attention she's after—making us cave and beg.

"Give in today, and she'll hold it over us forever."

Dad looked at Mom's hard expression and slowly sat back down.

The singing started then from the living room.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..."

It was all for Arabella.

The noise was so cheerful that it kept me from resting.

I spoke soundlessly. "See, Mom? I'm not being difficult.

"I'm not protesting.

"I'm finally out of your way.

I won't ever take Ella's candy again, or touch her dolls, or make you angry."

The cake was finished. Guests began to leave.

Arabella, arms loaded with new toys, scampered toward her bedroom.

Passing my open door, she hesitated, then tiptoed over to my bed. "Cilla, get up. Play dolls with me."

Her new doll slipped from her hands and rolled under the bed. She burst into tears.

Mom was the first one into the room. "Priscilla! Ella tries to include you, and this is how you act? You're impossible!

"Hush, baby, don't cry. Mommy will get it."

She got down on her knees and reached under the bed, groping for the doll.

Her fingers found the toy. Then they brushed against something else—a small, red pouch.

She pulled it out. The pouch lay open in her palm. The gold pendant was gone.

Scrawled in a child's shaky pencil on the inside fabric were the words: "Mom, Dad, I'm sorry."

She went completely still. Her head slowly turned toward the small, silent lump on the bed that hadn't moved for days.

All the color drained from her face. Her voice came out in a trembling whisper. "Cilla?"