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.

morning, I stood in front of the mirror wearing the ruined blazer. I had pinned the lapel closed to cover the worst stain, but the bleach scar still spread across my shoulder like a map of damage. My blouse was clean. My hair was neat. My resume was inside a folder I had bought from a dollar store.

Vanessa watched from the kitchen as I left.

“Good luck,continue reading …