Mom said I was born a bad child.
All because I cried too loudly when the nurse carried me out of the delivery room. Even the nurses at the far end of the hall could hear me.
My twin sister, Grace, didn't cry or fuss. She lay quietly in Mom's arms like a little angel.
When Grace got hungry and still didn't cry, Mom said she was thoughtful.
But if I so much as took a breath and said, "Mom, it hurts," she would look at me like I had ruined her day.
"Are you trying to torture everyone with your crying again?"
When I was little, I tried to explain. Mom only said, "Grace never cries. Angels don't make noise."
After hearing it enough times, I started to believe I really was a bad child.
On Christmas Eve, Mom was taking Grace to play an angel in the church Christmas pageant.
My stomach hurt so badly that I curled up on the floor and begged, "Mom, it hurts so much."
Mom looked down at me.
"You're faking sick just to ruin your sister's performance?"
She took Grace by the hand and walked out. The lock clicked shut in front of me.
I couldn't help thinking Mom was right. I had cried, so I must have been bad again.
I'm sorry, Mom. If I get another life, I'll hide my crying better.
Later, I stopped crying for real.
Chapter 1
"It hurts, Mom. It hurts so much."
I curled up on the carpet, shaking from the pain.
Then I heard keys outside the door.
I forced my head up, and hope lit in my eyes. Mom was back. She must have felt bad about leaving me alone. She must have realized I truly couldn't hold on.
"Are you done acting out?"
The door opened. Mom stood there with the little wings Grace had forgotten. There wasn't a trace of worry on her face.
"Grace is about to cry from waiting. The pageant's starting. How long are you going to drag this out?"
I reached for her. My voice was so weak it almost disappeared.
"Mom, my stomach hurts so much. It feels like it's tearing open."
She looked down at my sweaty face, and her frown deepened.
"Your sister is going onstage tonight, and this is when you start crying about pain? So the whole family can't have one night without you making it about yourself?"
Dad called from the living room, "Hurry up. Pastor Cole just texted again. If Ava isn't coming, maybe leave her something to eat."
Mom let out a cold laugh.
"She has candy and cookies in her closet. She bought them with the money she stole last time. She won't starve."
But my closet was empty.
Grace had taken the candy and the money. She only had to stand beside Mom with red eyes and her head down, and Mom pulled her into her arms.
"Grace is such a good girl. How could she ever take money from my purse?"
I tried to explain. The softness on Mom's face vanished.
"Look at you. Getting worked up again. Only bad kids argue like that."
That night, I was locked in my room with no dinner. Mom spoke through the door.
"When you learn to be quiet like Grace, then maybe there will be hope for you."
Grace stood outside in her white dress, her little wings shifting behind her.
She held Mom's hand and looked up.
"Mom, is Ava mad because I get to be the angel again?"
Even Mom's voice softened.
"Don't be scared, Grace. Bad kids stop acting up when nobody gives them attention."
I wanted to call out to her, but only a broken breath came out.
The door slammed shut. The lock sounded through the empty house, and soon the car pulled away.
Everything went quiet. There was only me and the pain tearing inch by inch inside my stomach.
I bit the back of my hand so I wouldn't cry. Mom hated my crying. Dad hated it too. Grace said I was loud when I cried.
Then I wouldn't cry.
I didn't know how long passed. The pain began to fade, and then my body felt light too. With the last bit of strength I had, I crawled to my desk and opened my wrinkled reflection journal.
Every time I cried, I had to write "I'm a bad girl" one thousand times. If I finished it, Mom might forgive me. Maybe she'd hug me.
Holding the pen, I cried silently and wrote a few crooked lines.
"Mom, my stomach hurts so much."
"I didn't try to take Grace's performance."
"I have tried so hard not to cry."
After I finished the last word, the pain in my stomach suddenly faded.
I floated up slowly. When I looked down, I saw myself lying across the desk, not moving at all.
So I really had learned not to cry.
I'm sorry, Mom.
I still couldn't become your angel.