The night before my medical school interview, my sister poured bleach on my only blazer, and my parents told me to stop making a scene.

Just done.”

For the first time, she did not have a quick answer.

I carried the bin to the front door. Inside were old textbooks, my winter coat, and a framed certificate from my community college anatomy program that my mother had once taken off the wall because it “clashed with the hallway.”

Vanessa followed me.

At the door, she said, “Why do you always continue reading …