Chapter 2

Della's POV

I wake up to a kick that blows my bedroom door open.

The frame cracks against the wall. Dad, Warren, fills the doorway, holding a piece of parchment that gives off this deep, unsettling red glow. He's grinning like he's already won. Mom is right behind him, practically buzzing with excitement.

"Rise and shine, Della." Dad crosses the room and slaps the parchment down on my blanket. "Starting today, you don't get to slack off anymore. I'm about to show you what fair actually means."

I stare at it. Just looking at it, something feels off. Like cold air is coming off the page.

"What is that?"

"Thirty thousand dollars." Dad taps the parchment, proud of himself. "Me and your mom bought it off the black market. It's called an Equivalent Exchange Contract."

"An Equivalent Exchange Contract."

"That's right." There's a mean glint in Mom's eyes. "You're always saying we don't get how hard you work, right? That we don't understand? Well, now there's no more guessing. Everything gets measured."

"Once you sign," Dad says, "your study hours get locked to our work hours."

He watches my face and his grin gets wider.

"Every hour we put in, you have to match it. Slack off for even a minute and the contract comes after you. Every minute you fall short gets paid back in pain."

"Of course," he adds, spreading his hands, "if you somehow out-study our work hours, we get punished too. But honestly, Della — you think that's ever going to happen?"

He laughs.

"I'm at the office eight hours a day. Your mom puts in eight hours at her job. That's sixteen hours combined. You spend what, seven or eight hours at school? And then you come home and sleep. So what are you going to match us with?"

Mom chimes in: "Exactly. No more excuses after this. Every hour we work, you study. That's as fair as it gets. And no more crying that we don't understand you."

I look at the two of them standing there, so sure they've already won, already picturing me writhing under whatever punishment this thing delivers. The whole thing suddenly strikes me as almost funny.

"You're both out of your minds." My voice comes out flat. "You spent thirty thousand dollars on this. To use on your own daughter."

"It's for your own good!" Dad's grin drops. "You think you're getting into an Ivy without someone pushing you? You think you're going to make enough to take care of us someday like this? Less talking. Sign it."

I look down at the parchment, at the faint red light pulsing off it.

And somehow, the fear I expected to feel isn't there.

Absolute fairness.

My whole life, they've operated on two completely different sets of rules. They can waste entire days without a second thought, but I'm supposed to account for every minute. They can put their hands on me over nothing, but I'm supposed to be grateful for it.

But if something actually existed that held everyone to the same standard — something they couldn't talk their way around or pretend away —

"Fine. I'll sign."

Dad blinks. He wasn't expecting that, and for a second he just stands there. Then he snorts. "Smart girl. Bite your finger and press it to the page."

I bring my index finger to my mouth and bite down, then press it to the parchment.

Mom and Dad do the same almost immediately, like they've been waiting for this.

The moment all three drops of blood hit the page, the parchment blazes red and goes dark, the light swallowed into all three of us at once.

A voice detonates inside my head. Cold and flat, like a machine reading off a list.

[Contract activated. Labor and study in equivalent exchange. Time alone is not the measure. Cognitive output, focus, and actual productivity will be scanned and calculated for both parties. The deficit converts directly to punishment. Deception and avoidance are prohibited. This contract cannot be overridden.]

"You hear that, Della?" Dad's rubbing his hands together, barely able to contain himself. "You zone out for one minute at school today, tonight's going to be rough for you. Your mom and I are going to have a very productive day."