Chapter 3

Chris was fifteen minutes late picking me up, but I didn't care. I liked how the cold cut through me, piercing my lungs and stabbing the skin on my hands. I let my fingers dangle until the pain went away and there was nothing left but numbness. When he did pull up, I almost slipped on the layer of ice beneath the snow but managed to steady myself on the doorframe with one foot already in the car. I was breathing way too hard when I finally wrenched the door closed.

Chris grinned. "Very smooth."

I turned all the vents in my direction, and the blasting heat began to thaw my fingers to a dull throb. "Yeah, well, lack of coordination is a sign of hypothermia, so thank you for that."

He shrugged, then checked the rearview mirror and pulled away from the curb. "I'm sure you'll live."

Chris and I looked nothing alike. Siblings always say that, but when I say nothing, I mean nothing. His hair was certain blond, so bright it looked bleached, while mine was questionably blond. It wasn't blond, but it wasn't brown either. It was some weird softness in the middle, and I thought it made me look indecisive, even though I hadn't had a choice in the matter. I'd been told it was called dirty blond, which was only fitting.

I'd always thought Chris could be mistaken for a famous hockey player with his blond hair that curled up at the ends, fraying at his forehead and neck; his crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken too many times; and his clear blue eyes. My mom and I were more similar. She had the same brown eyes as me, but even though the color was the same, hers were kind, while mine were guarded. When I was younger, my eyes were wide and bright, but they'd grown darker. I was convinced that one day I'd look in the mirror to find them black, just two gaping holes rotting through the back of my skull.

"Did you have a good day?" Chris asked, glancing sidelong at me.

Scott's hand drifted to the front of my memory. "Uh, yeah, fine. Same as usual."

We took our usual route home, but smack dab in the middle of the same houses and the same trees, we came upon Hunter Thomas, dressed in all black and walking as though he had no place in the world to be. Hunter was like a new word you learn, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, it appears in every single conversation as if it has been there all along.

"I had a fantastic day," Chris said. "Thanks for asking. Oh, but you didn't ask? Well, I'll tell you anyway. I got a ninety-six on my presentation. Do you remember that professor I told you about? The one who said I had too many opinions?"

"Uh-huh. That's good."

Chris snorted. "Which part?"

I peered at Hunter as we drifted past, almost doubling over when the car pulled to an abrupt stop. Chris's two fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he waited for his turn at the stop sign two cars ahead. I peeked in the side mirror, still as a statue. I couldn't imagine the mortification if Hunter caught me looking at him again. He didn't seem to mind being caught, but I did. Besides, I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. I wasn't looking at him because I liked him. I was looking at him because he had tried to kill himself, which was the single most interesting thing I had heard in over two years.

I studied him as he brought a cigarette to his lips, then inhaled as if his life depended on it. I inhaled at the same time. He glanced up at our car, and I was tempted to shove Chris's foot on the gas but thought better of it. Hunter's eyebrows furrowed, and he adopted the same stay-the-fuck-away-from-me look as he had in the hallway, so I looked away. I looked away as we drove past the stupid stop sign, and I kept looking away as I tried to ignore the small twinge of comfort. I tried to ignore the incessant poking of intrigue. I wanted to know if he felt like I did. I wanted to know how he had done it, and holy shit, I needed to know why.

* * *

I must have fallenasleep after school, because I woke to my mom's faraway voice calling my name. It sounded as if it wasn't her first attempt, so I dragged myself to my door. "What?"

She didn't answer even though I knew she could hear me. It was one of her favorite tricks, and an irritating one at that.

I stomped down the stairs, trying to send a message with the heavy weight of my footsteps. I blinked when I rounded the corner, disoriented by the curtain of darkness outside the living room window and the clatter of utensils in the kitchen. My mom and Chris were already seated at the round kitchen table. Chris assessed the spread while my mom doled out steaming stir-fry. The microwave clock confirmed it was, in fact, dinnertime.

I slid into my seat, stifling a yawn. We always ate at the kitchen table, despite having a room dedicated to eating. We sat at the dining room table only for Christmas and Thanksgiving, or when my mom wanted to impress someone—as if we used fine china and cloth napkins every night. The kitchen table was small and cramped, and your knees knocked into the person sitting across from you, but the dining room just felt weird.

"Glad you could make it, sleeping beauty." Chris grinned, sliding me the water pitcher.

My mom had the newspaper laid out next to her, and she alternated between squinting at it and taking small bites. "Chris and I were just talking about going to the movies this weekend."

She hadn't changed from work, her dark gray pencil skirt and matching blazer too formal for our kitchen. She was the lone employee at a tiny accountant's office. Her boss was a thousand years old, and the candy in the waiting area was even older. Sometimes he'd joke around and tell me he'd hire me when I graduated high school, and I'd smile and tell him I sucked at math, even though I was average.

"Cool, have fun."

She glanced up at me, her eyebrows furrowing. "No, you too."

I stared at her, unsure if I was more surprised by her using a newspaper to check movie times or the assumption that I'd be in attendance.

Chris eyed me. "Isn't she so old?"

I was tempted to laugh, but I could tell I was on the brink of battle, so I maintained my firmness. "I'm not going."

Chris gestured at me as though he'd predicted the entire thing. "And there you have it."

"Don't be such a teenager," my mom said, returning to the paper. "You're going."

"I'm really not."

"Oh, yes you are."

"What if I see someone I know?" I was beginning to feel desperate, and despite my newfound starvation, I hadn't even taken a bite of food yet.

"An excellent question," Chris said, tapping a finger to his chin. "What on earth will we do if Alice sees someone she knows?"

My mom laughed as she reached for her dark purple reading glasses. "I am not even going to dignify that with a response." She had pairs of reading glasses distributed all over the house, always within arm's reach when she needed them, and she slid this particular pair over the bridge of her nose. Chris's smile was wide and obnoxious.

I decided to try a different tactic. "Today a girl at school said I look like that old homeless guy who always hangs out in the alley behind the movie theater."

Chris stuffed a hand in his mouth to stop himself from laughing, but my mom's eyebrows drew together. "Are you being bullied?"

I sighed, the sob story not quite working out as I'd hoped. "Not really."

My mom set her fork on the table and folded the paper. "Why would she say that?"

She asked it as if I had insight into Suzanne's wretchedness, but last I checked, she was just kind of a bitch. In Suzanne's defense, my wardrobe exclusively consisted of jeans and oversized sweatshirts, but still. "Beats me."

"I will quite literally murder for you. You know that, right?" Chris said, but his eyes danced with amusement as he shoved a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

"You were just laughing."

He bit down the hint of a smile trying to surface. "I realize now that was in very poor taste."

My mom was ignoring both of us by now, and I sighed with defeat. I knew this tactic too. In fact, I'd known from the beginning resistance was a lost cause, but I had to try. "Fine. What movie am I being forced to go see anyway?"

My mom's mouth twitched, but Chris stared at me in horror. "The new Marvel movie, duh. I swear you live under a freaking rock."

"I don't even really like Marvel movies." At that point, I was just being difficult, because somewhere along the line, it had become my default setting.

Chris rolled his eyes, immune to me. "Well, good thing it's not about you."

"We go see all your Star Wars movies, Alice," my mom pointed out, and Chris grinned, nodding along. I shot him a sour look, because Chris was just as into Star Wars as I was. We hovered somewhere between fans and fanatics, and while we shared that particular obsession, he lost me on the superhero movies.

It didn't matter, though. The truth was, I didn't know what I loved more: the deep red carpet, the jumbo root beer floats, or my mom's inability to select one type of candy. If it wasn't for the possibility of running into one of my petulant classmates—which, by the way, wasn't a matter of if but who—I would have been thrilled to go.

When we finished eating, my mom cleared off most of the table while I busied myself washing the dishes. Chris alternated between drying and snapping his towel in my direction when his workload slowed. I rubbed my hand against my thigh, nursing a particularly bad sting. "I willkill you."

I was straightening up, returning my attention to a resilient spot on a plate, when he snapped it at me again.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said.

"Don't threaten your brother!" Mom called from inside the pantry.

I kicked my foot at him instead, but he jumped out of the way with ease, defending himself with the fling of the towel against my outstretched leg. "Hobo," he hissed, and I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

"Useless worm." I said it quiet enough so my mom wouldn't hear, and like usual, Chris laughed enough for the both of us.

My phone dinged from the table. I turned off the water and tossed the wet sponge in his direction. It hit him square in the chest and then fell to the floor with a disgusting splat, and my own laughter echoed off the kitchen cabinets as he stared at the wet spot on his shirt in disbelief.

I was still grinning as I unlocked my phone, but the smile fell from my face as everything squeezed into me as though I was growing too large for the room. I'd expected a text from Margo or Casey, or maybe even the frozen yogurt place that texted promotions, but despite it being a number I refused to save in my phone, I knew who it was from two words.

Hey love.

Blood pumped to my ears with throbbing urgency. I shoved the phone in my back pocket. "I have a ton of homework."

Chris peeled his shirt from his chest, eyes narrowed in disgust. "What? But who's going to finish these dishes!" he called after me. "Alice!"

I took the stairs two at a time, pretending I didn't hear him. Instead of starting on my nonexistent homework, I twisted the knob of the shower to boiling hot. I removed my clothes, ignored the steaming mirror, and stepped beneath the stream. The water scalded my skin to match the pink tiles, but I forced myself to stand beneath it.

I tried to scrub off the invisible filth clinging to my body. The same filth that attracted predators like Scott Henderson, his nose built to smell the pungent stench of shame and weakness crouching between my legs. I tried to scrub as hard as I could, but the water turned red, and I never felt an ounce cleaner.