The air in the small, cramped kitchen smelled of burnt toast and disappointment. It was Elara's sixteenth birthday, but there was no cake.
"Elara, stop daydreaming and finish the laundry," her mother, Sarah, snapped. Sarah didn't look like Elara. Sarah was sharp-featured and impatient; Elara was soft-eyed and possessed a quiet grace that seemed out of place in their dusty apartment.
For the first five years of her life, Elara had been their "miracle." Then, the real miracle happened: Jamie was born. Since then, Elara had become a ghost in her own home—a live-in servant who was only noticed when a chore was left undone.
"I'm going to school, Mom," Elara whispered, grabbing her worn backpack.
"Whatever. Be back by four to start dinner," her father grumbled without looking up from his paper.
Elara stepped out into the crisp morning air, her heart heavy. She headed toward the prestigious Northvale Academy—a place she only accessed because of her high test scores. As she walked through the gates, a basketball bounced near her feet.
A boy with bright, laughing eyes and messy hair ran over. "Hey! You're Elara, right? From the honors track?"
It was Ji-Hoon. He was everything she wasn't: wealthy, loud, and full of dreams.
"I'm Ji-Hoon," he said, beaming. "I'm going to be the biggest idol this country has ever seen. What about you? What's your dream?"
Elara looked at her bruised knuckles—a gift from her mother's temper that morning. "I just want to belong somewhere," she said softly.