My grandmother raised me alone after my parents died. Two weeks after her funeral, I found out SHE’D BEEN LYING TO ME MY WHOLE LIFE.

While the other boys wore trendy, name-brand clothes, I wore hand-me-downs.

My friends all had new phones, but mine was an ancient brick that barely held a charge.

Part 2:

It was an awful, selfish anger, the kind that made me cry hot tears into my pillow at night, hating myself for hating her, but still unable to stop the resentment.

She told me I could continue reading …