Lucky barked frantically, running to the table and dragging over my bag of medicine, circling me nonstop.
I patted his head, blowing my nose with a tissue, forcing a smile. “Alright, alright. I’ll take it now.”
On the table lay a hospital report, pinned beneath a wish list.
Swallowing a handful of bitter pills, I looked down at the list.
1.Eat a meal with Dad.
2.Take a photo with Dad.
3.Celebrate a birthday with Dad.
The phone rang. Ms. Wilson’s joyful voice came through:
“Emily, congratulations! You got into the Ivy League. Your acceptance letter has arrived at the school. You can pick it up tomorrow.”
My eyes sparkled with excitement. Hugging Lucky, I kissed him again and again.
“Lucky, I got into the Ivy League! Dad promised me—if I got in, he’d have a meal with me.”
Trembling, I texted Dad.
Within half a minute, he replied.
It was the name of a restaurant.
Overjoyed, I quickly cleaned the blood from my face and rushed out.
But the one waiting for me wasn’t Dad.
It was Sophia, with a gang of thugs behind her.
“I told you—use my dad’s name and Emily comes running, like a stupid dog every time.”
I should have known. Such a quick reply couldn’t have been from Dad.