have to fail.”
For a second, nobody moved.
My mother was spreading jam on toast. My father was scrolling through his phone. My sister, Lila, leaned against the counter in her silk robe, looking pleased with herself.
I stared at the snapped frame in my hands. Without my glasses, anything beyond three feet dissolved into color and light.
Mom opened a drawer, pulled out a roll of gray tape, and slid it toward me.
“Fix them yourself.”
Dad checked the time. “They’ve already started without you.”
That was the point.
