The turnip cakes had been the only good part—you can’t get those most places because they’re too labor-intensive, and Mrs. Kuo’s chef had been selected solely for her ability to make them as delicious as at a fancy restaurant on the top floor of a Taiwan department store.

Bible study was terrible and ridiculous, but it was my mother’s version of cosmopolitans with Carrie, Samantha, and Miranda, and I had taken it away from her.

With one last look at the gold-trimmed Bible, my mother whispered, “Please excuse me,” to Drew and me, then retreated to her bedroom.

I couldn’t look at Drew; it hurt too much to be reminded of everything I’d done.

To distract myself, I shook the gift from my mother, the rectangular eight-by-five-by-four box making only a few muffled shifting noises, tissue paper rubbing back and forth against cardboard.

I unwrapped it, the skiing-penguins wrapping paper making a satisfying rip to fill the quiet.

“She usually gets me a new dress or makeup or jewelry,” I blabbered, even though he already knew those details from the application.

I froze when I opened the box and saw what was buried beneath crumpled Chinese newspaper. “Oh my God,” I whispered, my hand actually flying to cover my mouth for once.

It was a slip of paper, so easily destroyed or lost, but it held the weight of the world.

“She wrapped it that way as a joke?” Drew said with a laugh, not close enough to see what I was holding. “I didn’t realize she was so funny.”

I hugged the tuition check to my chest. The amount was enough that I wouldn’t need student loans the next academic year.

The massive wave of guilt hit me head-on.

“I lied to my parents about my college applications,” I whispered, referencing a secret I had never told anyone before. “I had to get away from here—it was my only option.”

The tears spilled over my cheeks and splashed onto my thighs. I hugged the check closer, keeping it safe from the moisture, but simultaneously feeling like it was searing into my skin, burning me as punishment for what I’d done.

Drew put a hand on my knee, and the sudden contact made me flinch.

“I don’t deserve your sympathy,” I said, not meeting his eye. I looked down at the gift from my mom, wondering if she would’ve given it to me had she known the truth. “I never applied to Stanford,” I admitted. “I lied and told my parents I was rejected. I couldn’t go there. Even if they didn’t make me live at home—an unlikely scenario—they would’ve shown up every week, unannounced, and I just… I couldn’t.”

“Hey,” he said gently. “You were protecting yourself. Making the best decision for you isn’t something you ever have to apologize for.”