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Annie

“Annabel?” my dad mumbles from the head of the dinner table with his mouth full of food It sends shivers down my spine as if he’s scraped his nails over a chalkboard I hate it when he calls me that I tried to tell him once that I want hilared atanything froain Then, he toldother than my birth name would never be welcome at the house

“Yes, Father?” I force er “Father” is easy: it feels appropriately cold and distant It’s calling him “Dad” or “Daddy” that would be odd That would be too war here with him when I don’t

“You will look at antly as he continues eating, and the tone of his voice co at me because he never does It used to hurt and make me feel invisible and unimportant, but that hen I still cared to win his affections, and when I still wanted to o

“I hear you got an A-minus on your ant tone as he carelessly continues eating, not looking at me My eyes flash instinctively over toacross fro table is so vast that I can’t really see her expression But I don’t need to; her body language says enough Her thin, graceful frame is taut with tension, like it always is when , thick, blonde hair is twisted in an elegant bun; her black dress shows off her tanned shoulders; and her perfectly manicured hands rest too still on either side of her untouched plate She avoids lass as she starts fingering the stem

With my curly brown hair, brown eyes, and curvy body, I look nothing like Marisa, and it’s soaze enviously at her seable and so pretty They’re nothing like my enormous breasts, which come with a round, wide ass These body parts ant because they’re so out there I take after the women in my father’s fa “unfortunate”

“Explain yourself,”into his steak “How did you let an A-minus happen?” I clear my throat

“I studied, Father, as I always do I only got one question wrong, but–” I try to explain but aer

“But what?” he asks, cleaning his teeth with his tongue as he sets down his fork and knife to glare at ht I s, trying to find the courage not to back down but it’s hard

“But I … um,” I continue in a small voice, “I’m still at the top of my class”

“Are you now?” he asks

“Yes,” I say in an almost whisper

“Yes, what?” his voice is starting to sound dangerous now

“Yes, Father,” I reply, trying to hold my cool I can sense my mother’s disco to help me

“And do you think you’ll stay at the top of your class by being lazy?” he barks

“Lazy?” I repeat tih I’m unable to completely hide my surprise I work very hard to keep otten along, but he’s never called me lazy before Why would he do that now?

“Clearly, you’re losing your touch It ale,” he insinuates coldly What a ridiculous stateetaze back to my mother, unable to hide my shock This time, she can’t help but protest

“Roger,” Marisa starts, her voice a little croaky froues, but in a way that’s somehow classy “Don’t you think—” but she’s cut off

“I think you’ll speak when spoken to, Marisa Hold your tongue” Toher attention back to her wine glass and avoiding eye contact I feel disgusted It never ceases to amaze me how my parents speak to each other Not that I have much affection for my mother, but I wish she’d at least try to stand up to him For me, if no one else, but she never has