Page 38 of Left-Hand Larceny

I return to the sunroom, spray bottle in hand, and give my New York fern a spritz. Then I slump back into the chair and stare at the infinitesimal text until I feel my eyes cross. I’ve re-read the same paragraph a million times, anyway. It makes no more sense than it did during the first read-through. Ten seconds later, I’m Googling dog-friendly cafes in town. For no reason. Except maybe because I saw a video online about one last week and thought Ragnar might like it.

Howl. I meantHowlmight like it.

The thought makes me smile, and that smile costs me at least three more minutes.

My dad peeks in next. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“Uh oh. I know that means worse than terrible.” He approaches my desk, scans the screen. “You’re still on problem one?”

It’s hard not to deflate at that. To crumple inward. All belief that I can figure this out gone.

“It’s… complicated.”

He squints at the formula. “This is basic stats, right? What’s complicated about it? You plug in the values and run the math.”

If it were that simple, I wouldn’t be having this problem. No matter what I do, the answer is always… off. I make a small error, forget to carry a one, or I forget a step. Every failure makes the work harder, the little voice in my head singsong louder,you can’t do it. You’re not smart enough. Haha haha ha haaaa.

“Have you tried that yet?”

Tried plugging in the numbers? That’s all? Well, why didn’t I think of that?

I nod, dreading the next part.

“And?” Dad frowns, snow-white eyebrows pulling together on a classically handsome face. My parents remind me of the doctors on TV. Polished. Smart. Every piece of their life perfected. Meanwhile, I’m like the patient on the gurney. Maybe not physically, but I feel like I’ve been on the losing end of a fight with a greyhound bus. “You can do it, honey. Math is mostly logic. Stats even more so.”

“It’s not always that simple,” I snap, “Especially not when your brain feels like a squirrel hopped up on five Red Bulls.”

Dad rears back like I’ve slapped him, and shame floods my system.

He frowns. “Sadie…”

“Don’t.” I rub my palm across my forehead. I have a nasty headache brewing and I still haven’t finished a single problem.

His eyebrows go up. My chest feels tight.

“I’m trying. I’m really, really trying. But you two make it sound like this should be easy, and it’s not, and sometimes the advice you give me makes me feel like I’m broken or lazy just because I don’t get it.”

The words spill out before I can stop them.

My mom walks in, crossing her arms, and I see red. “We’re only trying to help.”

“No, you’re trying to fix me,” I say. “Like I’m this project you can correct by telling me to ‘sit still’ and ‘be more logical.’ I’m drowning in this class, and I hate it, and you’re standing on the shore yelling at me to swim harder while my lungs fill with water.”

The silence that follows is thick, heavy, like a blanket tossed over a fire. My mom’s lips press together. My dad looks stunned. Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. My hands are shaking.

“I’m not dumb,” I whisper. “But sometimes it feels like you think I am.”

Or like maybe they regret picking me. Adopting me. Like maybe if I hadn’t been left in a baby box, they’d have eventually gotten someone better. Someone blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Someone who could handle medical school and didn’t have to pep talk herself to get into the shower. Someone like them.

Neither my mom nor dad says anything, and that part of my brain—the angry goblin part—rushes in to fill the silence. See? I knew it. They don’t even know what to say. They can’t refute it if they believe it’s true.

My dad moves first.

“Sadie. No. No, absolutely not. I—where is this coming from?”

“Where do you think?” I ask, swallowing hard. “You’re both doctors. You were academic stars. I’m barely scraping by in a field I’m not even sure I want, and I have to twist myself into a pretzel every day just to function.”

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