Chapter 2 - The Things Nia Stopped Celebrating
That evening, David found Nia sitting at the kitchen table with the pieces of her scholarship letter spread in front of her.
She had arranged them in careful rows.
The foundation's name was separated into three fragments.
Her own name lay near the edge of the table, cut almost perfectly in half.
A roll of transparent tape rested beside her elbow.
David stood in the doorway.
"You don't have to put that back together, sweetheart."
Nia kept working.
"I know."
"Then why are you doing it?"
She pressed two pieces together.
"Because I want to see it again."
David pulled out a chair.
For several minutes, he sat quietly while his daughter worked.
There was something about the way she handled those scraps that made his chest tighten.
She wasn't trying to prove the scholarship existed.
She was trying to recover the moment when she had first believed something wonderful had happened to her.
David reached across the table.
"Tell me about the application."
Nia looked surprised.
"You know about it."
"I know you applied. I don't think I know everything you did."
She set down the tape.
Slowly, she began telling him.
She told him about the engineering project she had built to measure water levels near flood-prone neighborhoods.
She told him about the Saturdays she had spent at the public library because the computers at school were sometimes unavailable.
She told him how her science teacher had stayed late to help her strengthen her presentation.
And she told him about the interview she had completed three weeks earlier.
"You had an interview?"
Nia nodded.
"At the foundation office."
"Why didn't you ask me to take you?"
"Grandma drove me."
David looked toward the living room.
"She knew?"
Nia nodded again.
"She told me not to make a big announcement. Simone had just had a bad week."
David remembered that week.
Simone had been arguing with him about getting a job and returning to school.
She had withdrawn from two community college classes and spent much of her time at home.
He had assumed Nia was simply busy with senior-year activities.
He had not realized that one daughter's disappointment had become a reason to silence the other's accomplishments.
"Has that happened before?" he asked.
Nia gave a small, tired smile.
"Dad."
He waited.
"When I won the science competition last spring, Grandma said I shouldn't put the trophy in the living room."
David remembered the trophy.
He had seen it once on Nia's dresser.
"She said Simone was having a difficult time."
Nia looked down.
"When my teacher nominated me for the summer research program, Simone called me a teacher's pet. Grandma told me not to talk about it at dinner."
David rubbed his forehead.
"And I didn't know any of this."
"You were working."
"That's not an excuse."
Nia didn't argue.
Somehow, her silence was worse.
Later that night, David found Simone in the upstairs hallway.
She stood outside her bedroom, holding a glass of water.
"Can we talk?"
"About my phone?"
"About what happened."
Simone rolled her eyes.
"I already know what you're going to say."
"Then tell me why you did it."
She leaned against the wall.
"Because everything is always about Nia."
David frowned.
"That's not true."
Simone gave a humorless laugh.
"She gets awards. Teachers call the house. Everybody talks about how smart she is."
"And that's her fault?"
"No."
"Then why punish her?"
Simone stared at her water glass.
For a moment, David saw a familiar expression on her face.
It reminded him of the girl who used to bring drawings home from elementary school and stand patiently beside his chair until he noticed.
There had been a time when Simone and Nia were inseparable.
After their mother died, Simone had been fiercely protective of her younger sister.
She used to walk Nia home from school and fix her hair before picture day.
When Nia cried, Simone was often the first person to comfort her.
David wondered when admiration had become resentment.
He also wondered how many opportunities he had missed to notice.
"Simone," he said gently, "being disappointed in your own life doesn't give you permission to damage somebody else's."
She looked away.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Then help me understand."
But Simone went into her room and shut the door.
Downstairs, Louise was washing dishes.
David joined her at the sink.
"Mom, why did you tell Nia to keep quiet about being a finalist?"
Louise continued rinsing a plate.
"Because Simone was struggling."
"So Nia couldn't celebrate?"
"That's not what I said."
"It's what she heard."
Louise turned off the faucet.
"David, you know how sensitive Simone has been since things didn't work out for her."
"Then she needs support. Not permission to hurt her sister."
Louise dried her hands.
"I've done my best with both girls."
"I know you have."
His voice softened.
"But something is wrong if one of them feels she has to apologize for succeeding."
Louise looked offended.
David didn't press further.
He returned to the kitchen, where Nia had finally taped the biggest pieces together.
She held up the damaged page.
"I think I got most of it."
David studied her careful work.
Then he noticed something.
The scholarship amount was readable.
The foundation's congratulations were readable.
But Nia had spent the most time restoring the section containing her name.
May you like
He understood why.
And he wondered how many other pieces of herself she had quietly tried to put back together.
