Chapter 3: My Name in Her Notebook
For several seconds, I couldn't understand what Maya had said.
Then she repeated it.
“Devin.””
Dad looked at me.
I looked at Maya.
“What does my name have to do with this?””
Maya walked into the kitchen slowly.
Her hands were shaking.
Dad pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.””
She did.
I stayed standing.
“Explain.””
Maya swallowed.
“I didn't want Dad to leave because of me.””
“Then why?””
She looked at me.
“Because of you.””
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
“What did I do?””
“Nothing.””
“Then what are you talking about?””
Maya stared at the table.
“That's the problem.””
Dad sat across from her.
“Maya, start from the beginning.””
She shook her head.
“I don't know where the beginning is anymore.””
“Anywhere.””
She took a breath.
“Mom didn't want me on the trip because she thought I'd tell you.””
“Tell me what?””
Maya looked at me.
“What she did to you.””
I frowned.
“What did Mom do to me?””
Maya's eyes filled with tears.
“She didn't let you apply.””
“Apply for what?””
“Stanford.””
The room went silent.
I laughed.
It came out automatically.
“That doesn't make any sense.””
Maya stared at me.
“You applied last fall.””
“No, I didn't.””
“You did.””
“I never submitted an application.””
“You wrote one.””
Dad looked between us.
“Devin?””
I shook my head.
“I started one. I never finished it.””
Maya whispered, “You did.””
I turned toward her.
“How would you know?””
“Because I helped you.””
My mouth went dry.
“You helped me?””
She nodded.
“Mom told me to delete it.””
Dad's chair scraped violently against the floor.
“She told you what?””
Maya flinched.
Dad lowered his voice.
“Sorry. Keep going.””
Maya looked at me.
“You were asleep. She was standing at your computer.””
I remembered that night.
Or thought I did.
I remembered Mom saying she was checking something for work.
Maya continued.
“She opened your application.””
My heart started pounding.
“She saw the essay.””
“What essay?””
“The one about Grandpa.””
I stopped breathing.
That essay was the most personal thing I'd ever written.
It was about my grandfather dying.
About how Dad had taught me that being a man didn't mean hiding grief.
I had never shown it to Mom.
At least, I thought I hadn't.
Maya continued.
“Mom read it.””
I whispered, “Why?””
“She said it made our family look unstable.””
Dad's face darkened.
“What else?””
Maya hesitated.
“She said if Stanford saw the essay, they'd think Dad was distracted because of the divorce.””
I stared at her.
“Divorce?””
Maya nodded.
“Mom had already been talking to a lawyer.””
Dad closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“You knew?””
“No.””
His voice sounded hollow.
“I didn't.””
Maya wiped her cheeks.
“She didn't just delete your application.””
“What did she do?””
“She emailed the admissions office.””
I felt dizzy.
“She what?””
“She told them you weren't applying anymore.””
Dad stood.
“That's not possible.””
Maya looked at him.
“I saw it.””
“Where?””
“Her email.””
Dad's jaw clenched.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because she found out I knew.””
Maya's voice cracked.
“She told me if I said anything, she'd send me away.””
“To where?””
“A boarding school.””
I stared at her.
“You thought Mom would send you away?””
“She said she would.””
Dad walked toward the window.
His shoulders rose and fell.
Then he turned around.
“What else did she threaten?””
Maya looked down.
“She said she'd tell Dad I stole money.””
I stared.
“You?””
She nodded.
“She planted cash in my backpack.””
Dad's face went completely still.
“When?””
“Last month.””
I remembered that too.
Mom had accused Maya of stealing $400.
Maya had cried.
I had stayed quiet.
I had believed Mom.
My stomach turned.
“I should've said something.””
Maya looked at me.
“I know.””
The words hurt more than if she'd yelled.
Dad sat again.
“What happened this morning?””
Maya took a long breath.
“Mom told me I wasn't going to Denver.””
“I know that.””
“She said you wouldn't care.””
Dad's face tightened.
“She said if I made a scene, she'd tell you I was trying to ruin the family.””
Maya looked at me.
“So I packed my bag.””
“Why?””
“Because I knew Dad would notice.””
“And he did.””
She nodded.
“But that wasn't what made him leave.””
Dad reached into his jacket.
He pulled out the brown envelope.
“No.””
Maya stared at it.
“That wasn't all I found.””
He placed another photograph on the table.
I leaned closer.
It was a picture of our family.
Dad.
Mom.
Me.
Maya.
It had been taken two years earlier.
But someone had cut Maya out.
Not digitally.
With scissors.
The edges were rough.
I looked at Dad.
“Where was this?””
“In your mother's desk.””
Maya's lips parted.
Dad put another photograph down.
Then another.
Every one showed the same thing.
Family pictures.
Maya removed.
Sometimes I was removed.
Sometimes Dad.
But Mom was always there.
Always smiling.
Always centered.
My hands went cold.
“She was making new versions of us.””
Dad nodded.
“Apparently.””
I picked up one photograph.
It was from my sixteenth birthday.
Maya had been standing beside me.
Now she was gone.
There was a white scar where her body had been cut away.
Then I noticed something written on the back.
Black ink.
Four words.
*One family. Three people.*
I looked at Dad.
He had seen it too.
His face was devastated.
“She didn't just exclude Maya from the vacation,” I whispered.
“No,” Dad said.
“She was trying to erase her.””
Maya shook her head.
“Not just me.””
I turned toward her.
“What do you mean?””
She reached into the pocket of her hoodie.
She pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Then she placed it on the table.
I opened it.
It was a handwritten list.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts of money.
And beside each name, a short note.
*Andre — needs to be controlled.*
*Devin — needs to be discouraged.*
*Maya — needs to be removed.*
My heart hammered.
At the bottom was one final line.
*After the cabin trip, everything changes.*
Dad read it.
His expression hardened.
“What does that mean?””
Maya shook her head.
“I don't know.””
I looked at the date beside the note.
It was tomorrow.
Dad slowly folded the paper.
Then his phone vibrated.
A new message.
He looked at the screen.
His face went pale.
“What?”” I asked.
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
The message came from an unknown number.
There was only a photograph.
Dad opened it.
I saw the image over his shoulder.
It was our house.
Taken from across the street.
And in the front window stood my mother.
Watching us leave.
May you like
Beneath the photograph was one sentence.
*You took the wrong child.*
