School achievements were another area where the double standard was painfully clear. I worked tirelessly to maintain straight A’s, joining every academic club and competition I could.
My report cards were met with cursory nods and comments like, “That is what we expect from you, Harper.” Meanwhile, Cassandra would bring home B’s and C’s and receive effusive praise for trying her best or showing improvement.
By the time I reached high school, I had internalized that I needed to work twice as hard for half the recognition.
I joined the debate team, became editor of the school newspaper, and took every advanced placement class available. I studied until midnight most nights, fueled by the desperate hope that eventually my parents would look at me with the same pride they showed Cassandra when she got a minor role in the school play.
My sister and I had a complicated relationship. I never blamed her directly for our parents’ favoritism. How could I? She was just as much a product of their parenting as I was.
But there was an undeniable distance between us. Cassandra grew accustomed to getting whatever she wanted. She never had to work for anything or face consequences for her actions.
When she crashed her first car at 16, a brand new Audi, my father simply bought her another one the next day. When I had asked for help buying a used Honda for college, he told me to save up from my part-time job.
The most painful memory came during my senior year of high school. I had been named valedictorian, an achievement that represented years of relentless work and sacrifice.
The ceremony was scheduled for a Tuesday evening in May. When I reminded my parents about the date, my mother winced.
“Oh, Harper, that is the same night as Cassandra’s piano recital. She has been practicing for months. You understand, right?”
I nodded automatically, the disappointment calcifying into something harder and colder in my chest.
I attended my valedictory ceremony alone. As I stood at the podium delivering my speech about perseverance and looking toward the future, I scanned the audience for faces that were not there.
That night, I made a decision.
I had received a partial scholarship to Harvard, enough to make it possible, but not enough to cover everything.
My parents had vaguely mentioned helping with expenses, but I decided I would not ask them for a dime.
The summer before college, I worked three jobs. I was a barista in the morning, an office assistant in the afternoon, and I tutored in the evenings. I saved every penny.
