Chapter One

I trail behind Mom as we enter the new home she told me about a couple of days ago. My jaw drops at how huge the house is. There's a neat fountain across from the front doors and a circle driveway that can easily fit five cars. The yard is large, with trees and flowers that I can't wait to explore. I'm curious how the backyard looks and if there's a jungle gym I can play on. The swing is my favorite. I hope my dad will push me on it while we laugh together.

A couple days before we moved, Mom promised me this would be our forever home and that I'd have a dad and a half-brother. I didn't understand why they weren't around before, and when I asked, Mom shut down and told me to be quiet. Even though it confuses me, I'm still excited that I'll have the dad I've been praying for. Having a brother is a cherry on top because playing by myself gets boring and lonely.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I worry I'll puke any second now. I worry about what they'll think of me when we meet. I've never had luck with making friends, and even adults yell at me for no reason .

Two enormous front doors loom before me. I squint my eyes and look closer at the door handles, which are shaped like lions with a knocker between their teeth. Mom walks inside without knocking, and I hesitate, worrying we'll get in trouble. But that's a silly fear because this is our house now.

My jaw drops as I shuffle through the gigantic front room. Scenic paintings and detailed portraits hang on the cream walls that I'm sure I'd get yelled at for touching.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of apple pie mixed with burning wood from a fireplace. The homey smell eases the tension in my muscles, little by little. Our old house always smelled like that, and Mom told me it was because of the candles she burned whenever we were home.

Voices carry from a room ahead of us, and Mom follows them, with me trailing close behind her. My steps falter as we enter the largest kitchen I've ever seen. It could easily swallow our old one and still have space left over.

"Evelyn," a large man greets Mom.

I wonder if that's my dad, but I don't want to jump to conclusions. Mom always told me assuming things makes an ass out of you and me. I don't understand that last part or why she cussed in front of me when she always got onto me when I took the lord's name in vain.

"There you are," Mom coos. She falls into his arms, her head leaning back as he kisses her.

I pause and bury my fingers into the skirt of my dress, worrying the soft material. That must be my dad after all. His deep-navy suit and black tie remind me of the rich men in the romance movies Mom watches all the time. I touch a lock of my brown hair as I stare at him, noticing that we have the same shade.

"I hope the trip wasn't too bad," he says as he pulls away from the kiss, his bright eyes on Mom .

Why hasn't he said hi to me? He must've seen me by now, standing awkwardly aside and waiting to be noticed. I wait for Mom to introduce me, but she talks about the movers and how frustrating they've been.

Feeling my stare, Dad looks away from her and turns his attention to me. He shallowly nods while Mom complains about the move. His gaze sweeps over me, and I glance down at the pink dress I paired with white buckle shoes. My cheeks warm as his eyebrows hike up his forehead, then dip down like it upsets him that I'm wearing this. Just as quickly, he looks back at Mom, not saying a word to me or letting her know I'm standing here waiting for them to say something to me.

I bite the inside of my bottom lip, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. "Mom," I say.

She keeps talking and even raises her voice to cover mine.

My stomach twists into knots. I hear my teacher from class in my head, telling me to speak up because I talk too softly. I've always hated being called on during class because of that. Sometimes I stumble over my words, or I answer a question wrong. The kids in my class chuckle every time. Even while I talk to Mom, she rolls her eyes and tells me to spit it out and to stop mumbling.

Sighing, I lower my gaze to the floor. I'll ask her later, when she isn't busy.

I turn away from them and wander around the large house, exploring all the rooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows let sunlight into the living area, where a large couch that can fit all of us stands in the center of the room.

I find the master bedroom on the same floor, and it's the most humongous room I've ever seen. It has the same cream walls, and the white sheets and fluffy pillows remind me of feathers covering the bed. The attached bathroom might as well have been its own house because of all the space inside it .

Next to my parents' bedroom is an office with wooden floors, bookshelves lining the walls, a fireplace with logs stacked in it, and a desk with a chair behind it. Two chairs larger than me sit opposite the desk, and when I touch one of them, I find it firm and not at all comfortable to sit on.

I wander out of the office, listening for my mom. She's still talking loudly, like she wants the whole world to hear her. I climb the stairs, curious where my bedroom will be. I wonder if I can paint it pink and purple—my favorite colors.

There are a bunch of rooms, and most are furnished with beds, couches, and a desk here and there. One larger room looks like a movie theater, with seats and beanbags right in front of a large TV.

I get to the last room on the other end of the long hallway and crack open the door. A familiar song plays from a boombox, and I wonder if this is my brother's bedroom. I open the door wider and shuffle a few steps into the room.

My lips part as I take in all the band posters stuck to the black walls, clothes strewn over the floor, and a gigantic bed with unmade red sheets and a black comforter. Sitting at the desk on the other side of the room is a boy with messy black hair. He wears all black, and the chains hanging from the belt loops of his pants remind me of the goths at my old school.

The door's hinge squeaks, announcing my intrusion, and the boy snaps his head up, his narrowed eyes landing on me. I freeze under the weight of his glare. If looks could kill, I would be dead.

"H-hi," I whisper. I don't think he can hear me over the music and because of how softly I talk. I expect him to yell at me to speak up or get out of his room.

His dark eyebrows slash down, his lips thinning into a tight line. "Hi."

My stomach flips, and I twist my trembling hands behind my back to hide the evidence of my anxiety. I get the feeling that he can see everything, down to my trembling legs. I wait for him to say something, but he sits there, staring at me like he's yelling at me in his head to get out.

Lowering my gaze to the floor, I breathe through the nervousness.

"I like this song," I mumble.

"You like Radiohead?" he says in disbelief and disgust.

I peek at him for a split second before I drop my gaze back to the wooden floor. My cheeks warm with a blush, and I curse myself for acting like a bimbo. "I...I don't know any of their other songs. Just this one because I can relate to it."

He scoffs. "How could a prep like you relate to being a weirdo?"

"I'm not a prep," I snap. I suck in a breath, my blush burning hotter, and I bump into the edge of the door when I take a step back. Any second now, he'll get up and shove me while he insults me.

The song bleeds into a new one. Movement catches my eye, and I look at the boy again. He's crossing the room and heading toward me with the same scowl.

Here we go.

I scramble backward, knocking into the door again and hitting my elbow in the process. I hiss at the shot of pain and tingles from hitting my funny bone. He reaches past me, slams the door shut, and pins me against it with a shove in the middle of my chest. His lip curls as he flicks the white bow in my hair.

"If you're not a prep, then why are you dressed like this?" He flicks the bow again and looks down my body until he reaches my shoes. He rolls his eyes and meets my terrified gaze. "Is it because you're a Goody Two-Shoes? You want to be Daddy's little princess ? "

I can barely breathe through the terror as the boy scolds me. My knees knock together, but by some miracle, I don't fall and embarrass myself further. I don't know what I did to deserve this type of treatment. Does it really bother him that I came into his bedroom without permission?

He bares his teeth. "Cat got your tongue? Are you stupid?"

Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I numbly shake my head.

"Aww, poor baby is gonna cry." He shoves away from me and stalks back to the desk. "Get out." He glances at me with the same angry expression. "And I'll tell you this one time because I don't give second chances. If you come into my room again, I'll burn all your pretty little dresses and bows. Now, get the fuck out!"

I turn the door handle behind me, spin in place, and I fling it open, racing back downstairs. Tears trail down my cheek and my chin quivers as I hold back the sobs that bubble in my chest.

Mom is still in the kitchen, and she turns as she hears my shoes slapping on the wooden floors as I come toward her. "Jesus, what, Dahlia?" she snaps.

I fling myself into her, wrapping my arms around her waist and shaking with silent cries.

Mom awkwardly pats my head and sighs. "Dahlia, you don't need to be dramatic about this. You'll love it here. You'll see."

She didn't ask why I'm upset, and that only makes me cry harder.

I won't love it here. Not with that jerk upstairs.

Tonight's dinner is a nightmare. I barely touch my food, and I want to go to my bedroom for once. Mom never has time for me, and I hate that. I've always despised being alone, and I wanted to hang out with her to not feel so lonely.

I sit across from my brother at the large table, hating every second of it. After listening to Mom talk the last few hours, she mentioned Jaxon's name, and that's how I pieced it together. I also learned that my dad is my real dad and that he couldn't be there for me until now because of some unresolved issues , whatever that means.

Our parents talk about boring stuff, leaving me out of the conversation as they eat their food. No matter how hard I try to understand what they're going on about, I can't follow. It has something to do with my aunt and needing to visit her.

Jaxon glares at his food and shoves the mashed potatoes and gravy around on the plate. He hasn't said a word to me since what happened in his room, and he refuses to look at me. It's like I'm invisible.

I shift in my seat, wanting to excuse myself to hide in my bedroom, which, unfortunately, is next to Jaxon's. It sucks that it has to be so close to his. He made a big deal to our dad when he found out. Dad shut him down and had a look in his eye that said he wanted to hurt Jaxon for it. I don't want Jaxon to burn everything I own, but he doesn't deserve to be hurt. I won't step foot in his room ever again.

But what if he finds a reason to punish me? What if I breathe wrong and it angers him? What if he already plans on ruining something of mine?

My palms tingle as anxiety creeps through my body, building up speed until it floods my veins. I glance at Jaxon. He's still glaring at his food and looking seconds away from losing his cool. If I'm in my room, then he can't destroy any of my things.

"Can I be excused?" I say softly to Mom .

Jaxon's hand freezes mid-swipe, and I know he's listening to me. Probably because he wants to race me to my bedroom, lock me out of it, and burn my things. He doesn't raise his gaze, but he must be planning to race me upstairs.

Mom keeps talking to Dad with a smile on her face that I haven't seen in so long. Jealousy battles the anxiety. She never smiles like that toward me. It always looks forced, like I've seen in those awful films with crappy actors she always watches.

"Can I go to my room?" I say a little louder, but clearly not loud enough, since Mom still chats about the time she vacationed in a different country.

I deflate and stare at my half-eaten food with a pout. From my periphery, Jaxon goes back to shoveling his food, sometimes taking a bite of it and taking his time chewing it.

My stress over Jaxon going into my room and burning things comes back tenfold. I peek at Mom, hoping she'll answer me. Like all the other times, she doesn't. Taking a deep breath, I push back my chair and stand. I count in my head as I leave the room, hoping Mom won't yell at me for leaving the table without being excused. When the coast is clear, I bolt up the stairs and into my room.

I check all my dolls, clothes, bows, and shoes. Everything's still in its place, and nothing seems amiss. I breathe a sigh of relief, but the worry still clings to me like all the bad dreams I get every night.

I hate my brother. I hate how he makes me feel. All I want is for us to be friends, and I had to ruin it by being annoying and weird. I lie on my mattress and roll onto my side, staring at the window. The curtains hang aside, giving me a clear view of the trees and mountains.

I can't wait to leave this place when I graduate from high school. The day I'll move far away, live on my own, and be happy can't come fast enough.

Movement darts in the corner of my eye, and I swing my gaze toward it. Nothing. I look at the window, and a shadow moves in the corner of my eye again. When I look, I still see nothing. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my breathing.

Everything will be fine. It's only a few more years before I'm out of here.