Part 1Left Without My Fair Share of Love

Ever since I was little, my taste buds seemed off.

Whenever my family shared a watermelon, the others all raved about how sweet and refreshing it was. Yet no matter how many times I tasted it, the watermelon always struck me as bland, with a faint trace of sourness.

I could never bring myself to enjoy it. Eventually, I stopped eating watermelon altogether.

That was until the new summer break, when I dragged my heavy suitcase home, drenched in sweat, and spotted several slices of watermelon sitting on the table.

To quench my thirst, I picked up a slice and popped it into my mouth. A burst of rich, sugary juice immediately exploded across my tongue.

Just as I caught myself wondering when watermelon had ever tasted this amazing, my sister saw it and snatched the tray right out of my hand.

"Why are you eating Buster's watermelon?"

"What? Who is Buster?"

She pointed to the number labeled on the tray. "Buster is the puppy I got this year. You're not Number 5 in this house anymore. Buster is!"

In our family, everyone had a designated number.

My dad was Number 1. My mom was Number 2. My brother was Number 3. My sister was Number 4, and I was Number 5.

Before I could even process that my number had been handed off to a dog, my mother stepped into the living room.

Spotting me, she said cheerfully, "Oh, you're eating watermelon again? That's great! Now those rinds won't go to waste anymore."

Looking down at the watermelon rinds tossed in the trash can, I finally understood.

There was never anything wrong with my taste buds. It was simply that over all these years, the sweet, tender heart of the watermelon—and the love tucked inside it—had never once been given to me.

That very evening, I signed the agreement to join the Mistolstone Research Institution. I'd never return home where I was treated worse than a dog.

* * *

"From now on, your number in this house is 6," Klara Sellers said, placing a new tray right in front of me.

To keep the three of us siblings from squabbling and fighting over possessions, our parents had taught us strict boundaries.

If something didn't belong to us, we weren't allowed to touch it. And to make sure everyone abided by the rule, they assigned a number to each family member, making it easy to label belongings.

"We'll rank by age: Robert is Number 1. I was Number 2. Calvin is Number 3. Evie is Number 4, and Vivian is Number 5," Klara had declared. "As parents, we are fair and just."

Young as I was, I had counted on my fingers and pointed out their mistakes.

"That's not right! I'm older than Evie, so I should be Number 4."

"Um, you're older, so you should accommodate your younger sister, right?"

I quietly wondered in my heart. "Calvin is older than me, so why doesn't he yield to me?"

The truth that I couldn't wrap my head around back then suddenly clicked today. The family numbering system was never just about boundaries. It was the ranking of everyone's importance in the family.

And now, I was ranked behind a dog. If I hadn't come home today, I wouldn't even have known my number had been reassigned.

"Here you go, Buster! Eat up your watermelon before some shameful glutton comes over to steal it from you!"

Evie Sellers brought over her puppy, casting a subtle side-eye at me.

Klara laughed with amusement. She pulled the remaining watermelon rinds out of the refrigerator, chopped them up into my tray, and handed them to me.

"Did you forget the family rules after being away at college for two years?" she scoffed. "This is yours. Why are you competing with Buster?"

"I just ate a slice from the center of the watermelon," I reasoned without taking the tray. "How is that stealing from him? Whatever has a person's number on it belongs to them. Then why can't the center of the watermelon ever be put in my tray?"

"The heart of the watermelon is only so big," Klara sulked, irritated by my questioning. "How could there be enough to go around for everyone?"