front and move to the backyard while the two men talk.
Father finds me in the back, his drink back in its regular position. He stops the lawn mower and gets in my face, fresh alcohol on his breath. I hold statue still and eye the grass.
“That was a gutsy move, going to someone’s house without permission and making a friend.” He meanders behind me to the other side, his warm breath trailing behind him, then moves his face into mine again. “If you tell them anything about us you’ll wish you were dead.”
My stomach tightens. He never says anything he doesn’t mean or won’t follow through on.
I discover my family ate without me when I return inside. I sit at the table but my mother stops me.
“Clear the table and do the dishes first,” she orders.
I add leftovers to my plate, then do as I’m told before sitting back down to eat.
I climb into bed later, pulling the covers tight around me to the sound of muffled arguing between my parents.
This is how it’s always been as long as I can remember. Father, with a drink his hand and his other ready to strike. Mother, emotionally unavailable to me, uncaring about how Father treats me, and fawning over Victoria. Her very own clone.
I don’t know why it’s this way. They never talk about or give a reason for it. If I ask, I’m punished. It only took two beatings to learn not to ask anymore.
It’s just the way my life is.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
Freshman Year
My parents allowed my friendship with Arissa to continue. They had no way of forcing it to end after Father met Andrew. For the sake of the illusion, I’m permitted to hang out with Arissa when I ask, as long as my chores are done. They’ve already agreed to let me go to our high school football games with the Jerichos.
Arissa and I spent the rest of the summer getting to know each other, including her teaching me more about pop culture. Sleepovers consisted of a lot of movie marathons, binge watching TV shows on cable and Netflix, and listening to music while thumbing through magazines. She never questions why I don’t know these things, but takes my story at face value when I tell her I prefer reading.
We walk to Encinitas High School for our first day of school together and sit next to each other in first period history with Ms. Hutchinson; a short, rail thin woman with no shape. A white sundress hangs from the thin straps and a white cardigan covers her shoulders and arms. Her blonde hair is swept back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She peers over the top of her glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her silver eyes appear to sparkle when she smiles.
She calls roll from the paper she holds in front of her. We raise our hands when answering as she asked us to so she can learn our names. Next, she hands out a paper with her class rules on it and how she will calculate our grades.
We have the same routine for second and third period classes. My stomach is protesting my lack of breakfast by the time we arrive at the cafeteria.
Arissa’s name is written across the front of a brown paper bag in Rose’s flowing script. My lunch is in a plastic bread bag from the last of the bread I used. We lay out our lunches on the cafeteria table. Arissa has an egg salad sandwich, carrot sticks, jello, and a juice box. Me, with a mere apple and two slices of white bread.
I glance at her lunch then look at mine, trying not to squirm as queasiness erupts inside.
“Let’s share our lunches,” Arissa suggests without a hint of pity. “I really want apples instead of carrots.” She hands me half of her sandwich and moves her carrots sticks in between us.
I follow her lead and slide my bread and apple in the middle.
“So what do you think of Ms. Hutchinson?” she asks.
“She’s nice, but how skinny can you be?”
Arissa laughs. “Codename: Carrot Stick.” She picks up a carrot stick and waves it.
Other students sit next to us with their cafeteria food and we peek at their trays. Runny white stuff approximating mashed potatoes; a brown rectangle masquerading as meatloaf; limp overcooked green beans; and a thick gray mass called chocolate pudding. We giggle and eat our shared