Chapter 4
Emma's POV
The landlord squinted at me through thick glasses, clearly skeptical. "You sure about living alone? You look pretty young."
"I'm fifteen, and I'm very independent," I said, signing the lease with steady hands.
He shrugged, pocketing the security deposit. "Your call, kid. Rent's due on the first."
Standing alone in my twenty-five square meter studio, I felt something I'd never experienced before - complete ownership. This cramped space with its single window and questionable plumbing belonged to me. No one could walk in without permission. No one could make me feel unwelcome.
'Every inch of this place is mine. No one can treat me like an extra person ever again.'
The IKEA trip was therapeutic in ways I hadn't expected. I chose everything myself - a simple single bed, a white desk, a basic bookshelf. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive, but every piece chosen by me for me.
As I assembled the desk with the tiny Allen wrench, my phone stayed silent. Three days since I'd moved out, and the Morrison family had sent exactly zero texts.
Perfect.
I attended a very ordinary public high school, completely different from Yvette's prestigious private academy.
"Emma, have you done programming before?" Mr. Rodriguez peered over my shoulder at the screen, watching my fingers fly across the keyboard.
"Self-taught mostly. YouTube, Coursera, whatever I could find online."
The other students were still struggling with basic Java syntax while I'd already finished the assignment and started exploring Python tutorials in another tab.
"Damn, you wrote that algorithm already?" Jake, a lanky kid with Harry Potter glasses, leaned over to look at my screen. "That's way more efficient than the textbook version!"
"Programming's like solving puzzles," I said, minimizing the Python tab. "I love the challenge."
Sarah, a girl with purple hair streaks, spun around in her chair. "Want to join our coding club? We meet Tuesdays after school."
For the first time in years, people were talking to me because they actually wanted to, not because some adult forced them to include the adopted kid.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
Mr. Rodriguez smiled. "I think you're going to fit in just fine here, Emma."
Eleven PM, alone in my studio with instant ramen and terrible coffee, my laptop screen casting blue light across the walls. This was paradise.
"If statement here could be optimized..." I muttered to myself, tweaking the code for my latest project.
My phone buzzed with a video call from Sarah.
"Emma! Oh my god, your app is incredible!" Her face filled the screen, eyes bright with excitement. "My GPA went up half a point just this month!"
"That's just the beginning," I said, not looking away from my code. "I have much bigger ideas."
"Seriously, you need to patent this or something. Half the school is using it now."
Even Mr. Rodriguez had mentioned downloading it to help track his lesson plans. The rush of seeing something I'd built actually helping people was addictive.
"Emma?" Sarah's voice pulled me back to the call.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said you should talk to my cousin Alex. He runs this tech startup in Palo Alto. They're always looking for programmers."
I finally looked up from the screen. "What kind of startup?"
"TechStart. Super small, but they work on some cool projects. Want me to send him your stuff?"
'Why the hell not?'
"Do it."
TechStart's office looked exactly like every Silicon Valley startup cliché - open workspace, ping pong table, and enough coffee machines to caffeinate a small army.
Alex, the CEO, was maybe twenty-five with the kind of intense energy that screamed 'I haven't slept in forty-eight hours but I'm loving every minute.'
"Emma, right? Sarah's friend?" He gestured to a chair across from his standing desk. "Show me what you've got."
I pulled up StudyBuddy on my laptop, walking him through the features and showing the code architecture.
His eyebrows climbed higher with each screen.
"You built this yourself? In how long?"
"About three weeks, working nights mostly."
"Fuck." He ran his hands through his hair. "You sure you're only fifteen? This code quality is better than half my full-time devs."
"Age doesn't equal ability," I said simply. "I believe in letting work speak for itself."
He hired me on the spot as a part-time employee. Ten hours a week, enough to cover rent and food with money left over. Real economic independence for the first time in my life.
My phone lit up with a text as I walked home from TechStart.
Catherine: [Emma, how are you doing? Remember to take care of yourself.]
I stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back: "Fine. Thanks for asking."
One month since moving out. One text from my "mother."
'This is what they call caring? One text per month?'
I scrolled through Instagram while waiting for the bus, and Yvette's feed hit me like a visual assault. Designer dresses, luxury cars, expensive restaurants. Every post dripping with privilege and hashtags.
@YvetteMorrison: "Another perfect weekend! 😘#BlessedLife #Stanford #LivingMyBestLife"
The photo showed her at some exclusive Stanford event, wearing what looked like a five-thousand-dollar dress, surrounded by other rich kids playing at being intellectuals.
I looked down at my thrift store jeans and secondhand sweater, then back at the screen.
For exactly three seconds, I felt a stab of something that might have been envy.
Then I remembered the weight of my laptop bag, heavy with my own projects and achievements.
'Let her have her designer clothes and daddy's money. I'll take my freedom.'
Standing on my tiny balcony, looking out over the Palo Alto skyline, my phone chimed with an email notification.
MIT Early Admission Program.
My heart did a little skip as I opened it. An invitation to apply for their accelerated computer science track, based on my portfolio Sarah had helped me submit months ago.
I leaned against the railing, smiling as I started filling out the application. In the distance, I could see the lights of the Morrison mansion twinkling like expensive jewelry.
But that world felt as distant as another planet now. Those people, their drama, their need to make someone small so they could feel big - none of it touched me anymore.