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“Anak, how did your practice exams go?” she asks, locking onto the carrots with more focus than necessary. The way she says this is as sharp as the knife she’s using.

Act like you took the exam, I think. Like the good daughter you are.

“They went by so fast I hardly remember them,” I reply.

“Is that because you didn’t take your practice SAT math exam?”

A boulder plunges down my stomach, all color leaving my face. I open my mouth, my lips dry, but no words slip out.

Her eyes flick to mine, locking me in more focus than she did the carrots, like she’s pinpointing all my secrets.

“I took the practice SAT reading exam,” I say, because it’s the only truth I can tell her.

“But not the math,” she clarifies. “I saw Mrs. Sanderson at the grocery store. She had visited the hospital before and mentioned she was a SMARTake instructor. I told her that your Atè took her SAT class, and now you’re taking it. Then she asked me why you weren’t at the exam.”

Oh, crap. I should’ve known my Atè’s prestige would make any teacher recognize a member of the Padilla family. How was I so irresponsible, remembering the wrong time without double-checking for the correct one?

“We’ll talk more about this when your tatay comes home.”

The rest of the day, expectedly, gets worse. I’ve never felt so awkward in silence until I eat dinner, lumpia shanghai with white rice. My dad eats with his jaw clenched while my mom eats with her eyes hinged on her plate. They’re probably wondering if I have any utang na loob.

I wouldn’t have minded if my mom went against her word, that we’d discuss how I missed an exam now that my dad’s home, but of course she stays true to it. My parents sit on one couch while I sit on the other. My mom drops my bravery photograph on the coffee table, and every ounce of blood drains from my body.

“Is this what you’ve been doing the whole time?” my dad says, sweeping his hand accusingly at my photo. “Is this why you missed your exam?”

He says this as if photography is just as delinquent as sneaking into a school. But to my parents, it’s pretty close.

“I lost track of time,” I confess. At least this much is true. I don’t know how many more truths I have left to tell. Ones I want to tell, anyway.

My mom shakes her head at my photo as if it were an empty liquor bottle. My dad snaps his eyes from my photograph to me, and on his face, I can tell he’s piecing the puzzle together. He thinks I missed the exam because I was taking photographs before then. I want to tell him that’s not true, but the actual truth isn’t any better.

“From now until the end of summer, you are not to use your camera,” he says in a voice so low I have to lean in just to hear him. It’s scary how much trouble I know I’m in when my dad speaks in a voice this low. He has to bottle all his anger so he won’t explode. “And you are to only use your phone when you go out. Siggi?”

“Siggi, po,” I whimper because what else can I say?

I hand over my phone and camera, which I clutch to hold just a little longer, to my dad. The shadows of the good feelings I had earlier have increased enough to darken all highlights from today. Watching my dad take away my phone and my camera, especially my camera, is like watching him drag away my soul.

Just as my mom passes, glancing from my photograph to me, a shadow of worry washes her face.

“What has gotten into you this summer?” she says.

She stands there like she’s waiting for me to give her a decent answer. I wish I could tell her the truth, that it’s not as bad as she thinks it is. But I know she’ll think just that.

She walks off without an answer from me.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I have to get my camera.

I have to get out of this hospital and get my camera.

For the nth time, someone says “no” when I ask if they’d like any water. Here in this waiting room, framed in white walls with a grey floor beneath me, a windowless barricade from the outside, I feel trapped. My eyes fly to the door that swings open, Eliza coughing as she steps into the hall.

Is she okay?

I’m pretty sure Eliza hates me for reasons I can’t figure out. But I would never wish sickness on anyone, and that includes a grouch.

It’s lunchtime, and on my way out, I pass by Eliza who’s heaving louder coughs than earlier. She’s probably feeling under the weather, but my gut tells me there’s more to it than a mere cough.