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A picture frame with a photo of a well-known loving family of farmers. Smiles on everyone's faces, how happy they look. Ironic isn't it. Fake it till you make it, right? No one knows the truth though. If you dig deep enough into their eyes you may pluck out what's left over of their misery.

'The perfect family', we were called once. Unstoppable. Poised. Praised. Royalty. Huge honor to be called lucky to be born into a rich family with loving parents that care about every single family member. But in every herd, there is always a black sheep roaming around. That's me.

I'm so sick of being praised by others about how I should not be worried about my future.

"Cam, you shouldn't be worried about your future. Your dad already took care of it," they all say the same thing, smiling. They all look at me as if I'm their prey. Them hunting my every movement waiting for my fall. Waiting to see me make a fool of myself and humiliate my precious family.

"Some day you're going to have to take over this business I build with my blood and sweat. Got it, young lady?" the old man chews on his sweet potatoes.

What he doesn't know is that I don't want to control the farmer's market or whatever. I want to become a chef. Someone who can see smiles on people's faces when they try my food. Not the kind of smiles my mother gets when she makes chocolate-strawberry brownies. I haven't had the confidence to tell that to anyone yet. No one, not even my most trusted allies. Yes, that's right, I don't address my allies as friends but merely as allies because of my fame and fortune. That's the only useful thing the old man has taught me in his years of being a father.

Snow days are over and we're sitting on our chairs, listening to our teachers. I find my school likable. They don't tell you what to become but what to do to become what you want.

"I have some news to announce, so please, everyone listen carefully," the teacher claps her hands and scans the room to make sure she got everyone's attention. "There is a volunteer soup kitchen you can join. Because of the wild snow storms, some people are very cold and in need for help. The sign sheets are on my table. If you wish to join then you are most welcome to. Thank you for listening now back to our lesson. Brittney take off your airpod please, thank you," Wait hold up. We can't just move on from poor desperate humans in need for food conversation to a boring math lesson learning what's 678x+3=89.

Immeadentily after class, I signed up.

"Wow, Camille. I thought your family had better things to do this time of year," snorts Mrs.Miller. I was speechless. She could've done better than that. She has lost her swag a bit.

*Christmas Eve*

"YOU DID WHAT!" my dad yells, with his mouth full of food by the way. What did I do again? "Mrs.Miller told me that you joined a volunteer soup kitchen. Do we look like we have time for that,? Oh god, I'm suing Mrs.Miller for being the crappiest teacher ever.

"Yes, I did. They need help and guess what I'm doing for Christmas? I'm helping them because I have nothing better to do," I calmly responded with a poised posture and confident tone of voice. Who wants to go and meet spoiled rich kids and brag about how many new instruments/languages/achievements they have? "Now if you can excuse me, I have a soup kitchen to volunteer at," I got up, quickly snatched my belongings, and rode my bicycle to the soup kitchen.

The look on their faces was haunting. They looked like dried-up, pale living zombies. I quickly got to work. Technically they assigned me to wash the dishes but I couldn't be happier to be of help. The kitchen closed and I choose to stay and help clean up.

I caught a glimpse of some children on the streets. They didn't look like dried-up pale living zombies. They were starved and abandoned children. I broke into tears as I watched them share the little piece of bread they have left with each other. They're the ones who truly know the meaning of family. I couldn't bare to watch anymore.

"Hey kiddo's," I waved but they backed away so I did the same. Maybe I was too welcoming and creepy. "Do you want something to eat? It's free," then the mother showed up, or at least that's what I thought. She shakes her head and gives me a painful stare that pierces through my heart. "Uh, this is a soup kitchen, it's totally free and anyone can eat here. I-I--m one of the chefs!" I burst out. I'm not a chef but I can cook. I begged the owner to open the kitchen for 30 minutes max and surprisingly he did but I think he did it because the source of ingredients come from my family. "Soo, how about some warm tomato soup to warm up your bellies and then uhhhuh--"

"Honey, I'll help you with the cooking, it's the least I can do to show our gratefulness," their mother got up and I couldn't say no because I had no idea what to cook for them. I only knew a few dishes not a lot.

We entered the kitchen and this time my job was not to wash the dishes but to actually cook. I don't have a lot of experience in the kitchen but I'm guessing this woman does.

"Start by cutting 5 peppers and 3 tomatoes into cubes," she instructed, "we're making pasta so don't be afraid if the tomatoes squirt everywhere,"

I nod and follow her instructions.

"Thank you," she said, "without you, we would've starved to death or shivered to death," she chuckles. Tears flow down her cheeks. Not the type of tears I shed a few moments ago, not the sad tears, the grateful ones. "These onions," she manages to make a joke. I head over and hug her tightly. "You're welcome," I whisper.

The food is served and they all sit down and pray. One of the four little girls invites me to eat with them.

"No, it's ok, I'll leave you guys be," I shrug her off.

"Oh come on, you've helped make the pasta. And we made more than enough," she pulled the mother card right there. I smile and sit down. We all join hands together and bow our heads at the food before us. The little girl, Samantha prays, "Oh, dear God, thank you for giving us this opportunity to have a meal on Christmas Eve."

"Ok, everyone let's dig in. I hope you enjoy it, Mommie, and..." she pauses.

"Camille," I say.

"Mommie and Ms.Camille made it,"

"Thank you Ms.Camille!" the children smile at me.

We all dig in and strike up all kinds of conversations. We smile at each other. No one criticizes anyone. We don't bad mouth or yell at each other. We confront each other. This is the perfect family. Not some two-faced people faking everything. For once, I'm happy. I can enjoy a meal with people around me. I can strike up conversations without being shot down. I love this feeling This feeling, I've never felt before. It's heart-warming. It's welcoming. It's home.