Prologue
Maisey
SKIP THIS PART
Performed by Kelly Clarkson
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
HIM: Where are you? Thought we were celebrating by finishingThe Hunger Gamesin the tree house?
HER: Not tonight.
HIM: What? Why?
Minutes passed.
HIM: Maise?
More minutes passed.
HIM: That’s it. I’m coming over.
I wound the tire swing astight as I could before letting go. The branches and leaves of the oak tree became a dark whirl as I spun, wishing with all my might that I could actually take off and sail somewhere else. Anywhere else.
In the shadowy twilight descending over our small town in the foothills of the Sierra Mountains, the crickets sang in full chorus, the frogs croaked their symphony by the river, and the chicken coops murmured with the soft rustle of the roosts settling down. Yet, I could still hear my parents over it all. The sound of their argument streamed through the screen door, reaching out to me like a specter stretching its hands.
My stomach clenched, as it always did when they fought.
It was the same argument—money.
At least, this time, it wasn’t about the boatload they were spending to fix me or the cost of my classes at the Western Riding School. Instead, they were arguing about the summer acting camp Chelsea wanted to attend. If she wasn’t allowed to go, I’d feel even more selfish than normal for hogging all the extra money our family had available.
Mom was trying to squeak out the funds, but Dad was digging in his heels. He didn’t want Chelsea to go, and it wasn’t just because of the exorbitant fee. Dad didn’t think it was healthy for my stunningly beautifulsister to want a famous life so badly that it had already carved itself into her soul.
I wasn’t one to judge. I already had things carved into my soul too.
Not the least of which was how ugly I was compared to her.
It was like, when we’d been born, she’d been granted all the beauty, while I’d been handed all the deformities.
The alarm on my phone went off, and I shoved my hand into the front pocket of my oversized hoodie to silence it, hoping Mom hadn’t heard. But that wasn’t to be my luck. The argument in the house stopped briefly, and the kitchen floor creaked as footsteps crossed the cracked linoleum.
Mom called out from the screen door, “It’s time to come inside, Maisey.”
“I know. I’m coming,” I called back.
She didn’t wait. She knew I’d come in. She knew I’d do the right thing.
Except today, I really didn’t want to.
I let the swing continue to unwind as tears leaked out and traveled down my cheeks. I didn’t want to go in. I didn’t want to put on the stupid facemask. I didn’t want to go from ugly Maisey to hideously freaky Maisey.
I’d thought I’d finally broken free of the reverse-pull headgear, only to be told today I had to go another summer wearing it. So instead of celebrating the trashing of the face mask with Beckett in his treehouse tonight and finishing our latest book, I’d be stuck inside again. Alone.
I’d been giddy at the idea of reading with Beckett at night for the first time since we’d started reading together four years ago. It had felt…romantic…hopeful… Which was stupid, because Beckett had never looked at me that way. We were friends. Nothing more.
Suddenly, the tire swing jerked to a stop, and the screech that tore from me was as horrendous as my mouth. My heart slammed against my ribs as I twisted around, panic flaring. The wild rhythm only quickened when I saw who it was.