Page 10 of Power Play

The word came out too quickly.

He looked at me, and I immediately lowered my voice.

“These are only practice problems.”

“Practice is where habits form.”

“I understand.”

“Charlie understood that naturally. He never needed anyone to remind him that preparation was the difference between potential and achievement.”

The room blurred.

My brother smiled from the framed photograph on the shelf across from us. Sixteen forever. Brilliant forever. Loved without conditions because death had removed every disappointing thing he might have become.

“I’m not Charlie.”

My father’s expression changed, and silence expanded between us. The sentence felt cruel the moment it left me, as though saying I wasn’t my dead brother meant I didn’t miss him enough.

“I know that,” my father said.

The disappointment in his voice hurt worse than anger.

“I’m sorry.”

He closed the textbook. “I’m trying to help you succeed, Charmagne.”

“I know.”

“You have every opportunity available to you. The finest school, private instruction, tutors whenever you need them, and parents willing to invest in your future. There is no reason for you to perform beneath your ability.”

“I know.”

“Then stop giving me apologies and show me results.”

He stood and left me staring at the smudged equation until his footsteps disappeared down the hall.

My stomach growled, and the sound disgusted me.

Hunger had made me tired. Being tired made me careless, and carelessness disappointed my father. The logic was simple enough to understand, but eating meant facing my mother and the skirt again.

I carried the tray into the bathroom and dumped the remaining food into the toilet. The chicken took two flushes to disappear. I watched the final pieces vanish, then rinsed the plate so no evidence remained.

Afterward, I stood in front of the mirror and lifted the hem of my shirt.

The reflection had changed since morning. My stomach curved outward beneath the bathroom light.

I pressed my hand against it and turned sideways. The curve remained, soft and obvious. I caught the skin between my fingers, pulling it away from my body while my mother’s voice repeated the word discipline.

I had eaten three pieces of broccoli and half a piece of chicken. The rational part of me knew that amount of food couldn’t change a body within hours.

My eyes insisted it had.

I turned toward the other side and hated that angle more. Squaring my hips the way my mother taught me, I tightened my stomach and lifted my chin. The body in the mirror improved.

When I relaxed, it became wrong again.

My reflection held two girls at once. One knew she was hungry. The other looked like proof that hunger was working.