"A dimwit like you—what would you ever do without me?"
A genius who never forgot a single thing, and yet he'd forgotten I was allergic to mango.
But just a moment ago, he'd carefully picked every last sprig of cilantro out of Pat's food.
I coughed so hard my eyes started to water.
I gulped down a big mouthful of water and ignored the out Nicholas was offering me.
He froze for a second.
Then his face darkened, and he set the mango juice down hard in front of Pat.
The dinner broke up on a sour note.
A few classmates picked up on the tension and suggested we all go sing karaoke.
Nicholas draped Pat's coat over her shoulders and spoke first.
"No thanks. We're heading back to rest."
"Pat says staying up late damages the brain, so she makes a point of going to sleep before ten."
Because of that habit of hers.
For three years of high school, I never watched TV again, never listened to a single song.
Even when I wanted to review or do homework, I had to carry a stool out into the hallway.
Now I was finally free, and I wanted to let loose for once.
"Nicholas, you two go on ahead."
"I'm going to sing."
Nicholas was displeased again.
"Clara, can't you be a little more sensible?"
"Your brain was never a match for Pat's to begin with. Are you only happy if you turn yourself into a complete idiot?"
It was just like when he changed my college applications without asking me.
Nicholas always said it was for my own good, but he never once asked what I actually wanted.
I wanted to sing. I wanted to go to the teaching college.
I wanted to decide for myself the path I'd really walk one day.
My pushing back, again and again, drove Nicholas to the edge.
He shot me a vicious glare, took Pat by the hand, and got in the car.
I lowered my head and watched the moonlight stretch my shadow into one long, thin line.
The truth was, Nicholas liked staying up late too.
Back then he used to lie out on the grass with me, watching the stars, listening to the summer cicadas.
But there were no stars in the city.
Only Pat, who had to go to bed early.
Nicholas, who never gave an inch on anything, decided to respect Pat's habit.
Three years of high school. A thousand-some nights.
He compromised for Pat more than a thousand times.
And now he wouldn't turn back for me even once.
By the time the singing was over, it was already midnight.
The other classmates all had family coming to pick them up.
I was the only one who took a cab home alone.
The door had been bolted from the inside.
I sent a few messages in the group chat. No one answered.
I was still hesitating over whether to call them when I heard Pat's voice inside.
"Nicholas, are you really going to lock Clara out?"
"This old neighborhood isn't safe, and she doesn't have money for a hotel. Isn't that dangerous?"
Nicholas's voice came through, mixed with the sound of his video game.
"I'm just teaching her a lesson. We'll see if she still dares to ignore what I say."
"Nicholas is right. That Clara was spoiled rotten by her grandmother, picked up a whole set of bad habits out in the country. She needs a good lesson."
That was Dad's voice.
"Forget it, don't waste your breath on her."
"It's not every day our family produces two kids headed to the top university. Let's think about how to celebrate instead."
That was Mom.
Not one of them was asleep.
And not one of them was willing to open the door for me.
Because of Nicholas, I'd gone all three years of high school without a single friend.
So now, locked out, I had nowhere to go.
From the bottom of the building came the cursing of some drunk.
I didn't dare wander off, so I sat on the stairwell steps all night.
The light overhead was old and broken, flickering on and off.
Like the stars back home.
I pulled my coat tighter around me, and somehow I fell asleep.
