Clearance Rack Daughter Chapter 2

I nodded. "Go ahead and watch. Just don't touch anything else. It's a hassle if something gets lost."

When I came back from dinner, Mom suddenly asked me, "How are the benefits at that company you interviewed with? Do you think Molly could get in?"

I thought back over my sister's grades. "The benefits are decent, but Molly's GPA isn't high enough, and she's never gotten a scholarship. She wouldn't get in there."

Mom pressed on. "So what was that merit-admission spot you mentioned before? Tell me about it."

I rubbed my forehead. "Mom, merit admission depends on having a polished design portfolio. Molly can't even read a basic design draft. There's no way she'd get in on merit. Don't even think about it."

Mom's brows drew together. She said, in the tone of someone imparting wisdom, "You're always putting your sister down. She's smart and thoughtful, so much better than you in ways you don't even realize."

With that, she picked up her teacup and stormed off.

The day before my second interview, I was about to go wash up when I saw Mom walk in carrying a glass of water.

I figured she wanted to watch her drama again, so I didn't think much of it and headed to the bathroom with my clothes.

I'd barely started washing up when I heard a crash. I wrapped a towel around myself and ran back to my room.

Mom was on the floor, groaning, surrounded by broken glass.

My computer was soaked, the screen gone black.

I rushed her to the hospital. After the exam, it turned out to be nothing serious. She'd just twisted her ankle. But my computer, and my design draft, would have to start from scratch.

Mom felt terrible about it. She said through tears, "Cathy, Mom's sorry. I'll get someone to fix your computer tomorrow."

I couldn't talk her out of it, so I left the computer in her room for her to take in the next day.

That left me to wing the second interview on my own.

Three days later, the acceptance list came out.

My fingers trembled a little as I pulled up the company website and scrolled down the list.

Under "Design Department Special-Admission Intern," I saw my sister's name: Molly Pitcher.

I thought I'd misread it. I refreshed the page. It was still her name.

I called her. She picked up after two rings, background noise loud enough that it sounded like she was at a train station.

"Mom said she pulled some strings and got me straight into an internship under Mr. Gilbert. I skip the whole six-month rotation! You're in the regular batch, right? Congrats!"

I stood on the balcony gripping my phone, the wind snapping at the shirts hanging out to dry.

"What strings did Mom pull?"

"Ugh, I'm not really sure. Mom said it's all sorted, told me to just relax and have fun. I go straight to work when I get back."

I hung up and dialed Mr. Gilbert's number.

He told me, "Your mother came to see me the day before yesterday with your sister's diploma and a design draft. The girl's work was genuinely impressive. I thought she showed real talent, so I made an exception and admitted her on merit."

I stood there gripping the phone, saying nothing, my nails digging into my palm with a dull, aching pain.

Mr. Gilbert added, "Your mother also mentioned you two are both studying design, so it'd be good for you to look out for each other at the same company."

I couldn't make out anything else he said after that.

Tears blurred my vision, and my chest ached like something had been torn out of it.

It hit me all at once. The day Mom used my computer to watch her drama, she must have copied my design draft off it. And she'd deliberately spilled water on my computer afterward, afraid I'd take the draft to Mr. Gilbert myself and cost Molly her spot.