Page 11 of Power Play

I pulled down my shirt and stepped away from the mirror.

On my desk, the clean algebra review waited beside the page where I’d made mistakes. I tore the flawed copy into smaller pieces and buried them beneath tissues in the trash, then opened a new notebook.

At the top of the first page, I wrote, Things that require more discipline.

The words looked mature and responsible, exactly like something my father would approve of. Beneath them, I listed algebra, drill transitions, focus, posture, and food. I wrote everything I’d eaten that day beside the final word: strawberries, three pieces of broccoli, and half a chicken breast.

The list made the hunger feel productive.

When my mother knocked, I closed the notebook. She entered carrying a glass of water and placed it beside me.

“I saw you rubbing your temples when your father left.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been studying all day.”

“I need to do better.”

“He pushes because he knows how capable you are.”

“I disappointed him.”

“You challenged him.”

“I said I wasn’t Charlie.”

My mother’s eyes filled immediately, and guilt flooded me.

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I miss him.”

“So do we.”

“I’m sorry.”

She touched my cheek. “You’re all we have now. Sometimes that makes us hold too tightly.”

The confession sounded like understanding. It gave their control a kinder name and made me feel guilty for wanting room to breathe inside it.

Her gaze dropped toward the covered tray visible through the bathroom doorway.

“Did you finish eating?”

“Yes.”

The lie arrived without hesitation.

My mother smiled and kissed my forehead. “Good girl.”

After she left, I opened the notebook again. Beside food, I added one more word.

Less.

I underlined it twice, pressing harder the second time until the paper nearly tore beneath the pen.