“This is enough,” Father said.

His voice was no longer thin; it was dangerously quiet.

He took a long step toward me.

The leather shoes he wore squelched slightly on the wet grass.

“You have had your tantrum, Maya,” he said.

“It is not a tantrum,” I said. “It is the truth.”

“You are destroying this family,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“You destroyed it when you decided one twin was worth more than the other,” I said.

I reached down and picked up the black microphone.

The metal was cold against my palm.

I turned the small switch on the side to ‘on.’

A sharp burst of static hissed through the backyard speakers, making several people jump.

“Put that down,” Father said.

He took another step, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Richard, don’t,” Mother begged, but her voice was lost in the hum of the amplifier.

I held the microphone close to my mouth.

“My name is Maya Vance,” I said, my voice echoing off the brick walls of our house.

“And I want to tell you about the family you think you know.”