My Parents Gave My Oxford Spot to My Sister, So I Left

During the Christmas holidays, my parents began our family meeting with the yearly "family support vote."
Our family's only recommendation letter for Oxford's architecture program lay on the table. My name had originally been on it.
"I vote for Camilla." My older brother, Evan Prescott, was the first to raise his hand. "She just went through a breakup. She needs to get away to Europe for a while."
"I vote for Camilla too." My mother kept filing her nails as she talked. "Selena can go to community college. Camilla's grades are bad. Without a recommendation letter, she won't get in anywhere."
My father didn't hesitate. He slid the recommendation letter across the table to Camilla. "Three votes to one, Selena. It's settled."
My younger sister, Camilla Prescott, picked up the letter and smiled sweetly. "Thanks, Selena. You've always been the independent one. I knew you wouldn't hold this against me."
I looked at that letter. To earn it, I'd stayed up late for six straight months and drawn more than 300 designs.
To them, all my hard work was just a way to get my sister's foot in the door.
I stood up. I didn't cry, and I didn't demand an explanation.
"Fine. If that's how you voted, give it to her."
I turned, walked back to my room, and pulled out the suitcase I'd packed a long time ago.
What they didn't know was that my own designs had already earned me an offer of direct admission to Harvard.
That letter felt like a handout. I wanted nothing to do with it.
Chapter 1
I opened my bedroom door, pulled a few empty cardboard boxes out from under the bed, and started packing the architectural sketches on my bookshelf one by one.
I'd just put two thick portfolios into a box when my door swung open.
Evan leaned against the doorframe, a secondary credit card in his hand. He tossed it onto my desk.
"Go buy yourself some clothes you like, or take a vacation in Hawaii." His tone made it clear he thought he was doing me a favor. "Camilla's been kind of depressed since the breakup, and her therapist says she needs a change of scenery. Your grades have always been good. You can get into a good school on your own. Giving her the letter keeps the peace in this house."
I looked at the shiny silver card and didn't reach for it.
Evan hadn't always been like this.
I still remembered the time I fell and hurt my knee when I was ten. Evan carried me on his back for two miles along a mountain trail. Dripping with sweat, he set me down on the couch and said, "Selena, I'll always protect you. I'll always save the best of everything for you."
But everything changed three years ago, when Camilla took time off from school and came home after a so-called "emotional breakdown."
In this house, tears got you whatever you wanted.
One tear from Camilla was enough to break everyone's heart. I was calm and independent, so they assumed I'd always let them walk all over me.
"No thanks." I pressed the portfolios down flat and taped the box shut. "I have my own card."
Evan frowned, clearly annoyed at how cold I was being.
"Selena, can you not be so petty about this?" He straightened up and raised his voice a little. "It's one recommendation letter. Dad already said he'll help you find a good mentor in London next year. Do you really have to ruin everyone's holiday?"
"I'm not upset." I looked up at him calmly. "I told you. She can have it."
Evan faltered. He seemed at a loss when I refused to argue.
He raked a hand through his hair in frustration and walked out, tossing one last line over his shoulder. "Whatever. The card's right there. Stop acting like the victim all the time."
He hadn't closed the door all the way, and I heard my mother, Alice Prescott, ask from the hallway, "Evan, is your sister still upset?"
"What does she have to be upset about? She's just embarrassed," Evan said. "She'll get over it in a few days. She's always the sensible one."
My mother let out a soft sigh. "I suppose. Selena's just too tough. She's nothing like Camilla, who makes you want to take care of her. Oh, and tell Selena something for me. Camilla's going to school in England, and she has way too many clothes and shoes. Have Selena clear out that big sunny study on the south side so we can turn it into a walk-in closet for Camilla. Selena's at school most of the time anyway. She doesn't need all that space."
I tightened my grip on the roll of tape, my knuckles turning pale. The tape tore with a harsh rip.
That big study on the south side had been my art studio since I was little. Every drawing and every model in there was part of my dream of becoming an architect.
To them, more than ten years of work toward my dream mattered less than the hundreds of dresses Camilla needed to pack for her trip to Europe to clear her head.
I didn't argue.
After all, I didn't need that study anymore.
I looked down at an email on my phone.
It was my acceptance letter from Harvard's Graduate School of Design, with a full scholarship and a personal invitation from Professor Adrian Hartwell.
"See you in Boston next Friday."
I locked my phone, tossed the tape aside, and went back to stuffing the last few sweaters into my suitcase.
It was okay. It was almost over.
Chapter 2
Early the next morning, I went out to the glass conservatory at the far end of the grounds.
That was where I kept the miniature city model I'd spent three months building for an international competition.
I'd carved each piece from balsa wood and resin, pouring everything I had into every street corner and every window.
The moment I pushed open the conservatory door, I froze.
Camilla was standing in front of my model with two of her closest friends, a coffee cup in her hand. She was pointing at the church in the center and shaking with laughter.
"Yes, that spire. When I go to Oxford, I want my apartment to have that same vintage look."
As she talked, she reached out and casually toyed with the church spire, her fingernails painted bright red.
"Don't touch that!" I hurried over.
But it was too late.
The balsa spire snapped with a sharp crack as she tugged at it. The uneven pressure brought the structure beneath it crashing down. In an instant, a third of the miniature city lay in ruins.
For a moment, the conservatory went silent.
Camilla covered her mouth and gasped dramatically.
"Oh no, Selena, I'm so sorry. This thing is so flimsy. I barely even touched it..."
Her two friends chimed in. "Yeah, Selena, it's just a little homemade toy. Don't be so harsh. What if you scare Camilla? She's not in a good place mentally right now."
I stared at the balsa splinters scattered across the floor. My stomach clenched as if I'd swallowed a fistful of broken glass, and the pain spread through my whole body.
Seven years ago, my father, Richard Prescott, had come with me to buy my first set of expensive drafting tools. He lifted me onto his shoulders, pointed at the Manhattan skyline, and said, "Selena, someday this city is going to have buildings you designed. Nothing makes me prouder than you."
Now my proudest achievement was just a toy Camilla could break without a second thought.
My father heard the commotion and came over from the main house.
He took one look at the mess on the floor and Camilla's red eyes, then frowned.
"What happened?"
Camilla hurried over and hooked her arm through his, tears streaming down her face.
"Daddy, I accidentally broke Selena's model. She seems really mad... I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot. I can't do anything right..."
My father patted the back of Camilla's hand, then gave me a disapproving look.
"Selena, it's just a pile of wood. Your sister didn't do it on purpose. Do you really need to look at her like that?"
"I spent three months on that. It was for a competition next month." My voice was flat, almost frighteningly calm.
My father waved a hand impatiently.
"Missing one competition won't kill you. You're already so accomplished. Can't you cut your sister some slack? She's leaving for Oxford next month, and she's under a lot of pressure. Just build another model. Don't make everyone miserable over something this small."
His voice softened as he turned to Camilla. "All right, stop crying. Let me take you to pick out a few coats for Europe."
They walked off with their arms around each other, without so much as another glance at the pieces on the floor.
I crouched down and picked up the broken spire. A splinter pricked my fingertip, and a dark red drop of blood welled up.
But I didn't feel any pain.
The phone in my pocket buzzed.
Adrian's name flashed on the screen.
I answered.
"Selena, did you book your flight?" His voice was deep, warm, and reassuring.
Adrian was the youngest Harvard professor who was also a partner in his own firm. I'd met him at an academic forum, and he'd become my mentor.
After seeing my drawings, he immediately asked the school to admit me directly.
"I did. I'm flying out tonight." I looked at the blood on my fingertip as I answered softly.
Even over the phone, he could tell something was wrong.
"You don't sound like yourself. Is something wrong?"
"No." I took a deep breath and tossed the broken pieces of wood into the trash can. "I'm just clearing out some junk I don't need."
Adrian gave a low laugh.
"Okay. It's been snowing in Boston lately, so bring a warm coat. I'll pick you up at the airport."
"Thank you, Adrian."
I hung up, stood, and walked out of the conservatory.
I never looked back at that pile of rubble.
Chapter 3
Tonight was the night I was leaving.
The estate was hosting a huge Christmas Eve party.
Crystal chandeliers lit up the ballroom as bright as day, and the air was thick with the scent of champagne and truffles.
It was the most important night of the year for my family. Every relative and every old family friend would be there.
My father stood in the middle of the ballroom holding a glass, with my mother on his arm. Camilla stood beside them in a champagne-colored couture gown, like a proud little princess.
"Thank you all for coming." My father's voice boomed with pride. "Tonight, I have some wonderful news to share. My younger daughter, Camilla, has been accepted into Oxford's architecture program. She'll be heading off to study in Europe with our family's recommendation letter!"
The crowd broke into enthusiastic applause.
Camilla lowered her head shyly, soaking up everyone's praise.
"Camilla is amazing. She's making the whole Prescott family proud."
"I heard that program is incredibly hard to get into. Richard, you're so lucky."
I sat in a shadowy corner, watching it all with an untouched glass of club soda in my hand.
My mother scanned the crowd. When she spotted me, she hurried over.
"Selena, what are you doing hiding over here?" she whispered accusingly. "This is such a big night for your sister. You're her big sister. Why aren't you out saying hello to the guests?"
I looked her in the eye.
"Mom, have you forgotten I spent six months earning that recommendation letter?"
My mother looked away for a second, then went right back to acting as though she'd done nothing wrong.
"Selena, how can you be so selfish? Your sister finally got over her breakup, and this letter is her chance at a fresh start. You're so smart. Does it really matter where you go to school?"
As she talked, she reached over and straightened Camilla's necklace.
That was when I noticed the rare emerald necklace around Camilla's neck.
My mother had promised it to me when I turned 18. "Selena, the year you start college, this necklace is yours. It'll be your coming-of-age gift. It suits you best."
Now it was around Camilla's neck.
"Selena." Camilla stepped closer and slipped her arm affectionately through my mother's. "You're not still mad at me, are you? If you really want the spotlight that badly, I'll go tell Daddy right now to make this party about you instead."
Her eyes reddened again as she spoke.
The relatives around us saw this and started whispering.
"What's wrong with Selena? Her sister's about to go abroad, and she's still sulking."
"She's just immature. Way too jealous."
I stood up and set down my glass.
I didn't get hysterical, and I didn't get angry.
I looked at them calmly, as if they were strangers I had no connection to.
"No need. Good luck with everything, Camilla."
I walked past them and went straight upstairs.
I opened my bedroom door and took out an envelope I'd prepared earlier.
I pulled the silver card Evan had given me out of my wallet and put it in the envelope, along with the key card for the estate gates and the keys to my sports car.
Then I got out my suitcase and changed into a plain coat.
Not much in this house had ever really been mine. I'd already shipped all my art supplies and drawings to Boston. All that was left of me here was an empty shell.
The sweet sound of violins drifted up from downstairs, where the guests were dancing. The celebration belonged to them.
I set the envelope right in the middle of the vanity.
Then I picked up my suitcase, went down the spiral staircase by the back door, and slipped out of the estate.
The cold wind hit my face and swept away the scent of the house still clinging to me.
I flagged down a cab.
"The airport, please."
As the car pulled away, I watched the brightly lit estate grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.
I muted our family group chat, leaned back in my seat, and closed my eyes.
I was finally free.