EXCERPT of Chapter 1
Faith
My closet is a
place of secrets.
This is
where I change into Her, the girl everybody knows as me. Searching through
hanger after hanger of neatly pressed clothes, I find the outfit I’m looking
for. A black knee-length pleated skirt, a loose-fitting white top, and two-inch
wedge shoes. Looking good at school is a must. Not that I do it for me. It’s
more for my dad’s reputation. I have to play the part.
I am
stuffed into a borrowed frame. One that fits too tightly. One that couldn’t
possibly capture the real me.
“Faith,” my stepmom calls. “Are you
joining us for breakfast?”
There is no time. “No,” I reply, my
voice carrying downstairs.
I quickly dress for school, catching
my reflection in the closet door mirror. Waking sun shines off my hair,
highlighting a few strands brighter than the rest. Everybody has a favorite
body part. Mine is my hair, which is the fiery-brown of autumn leaves. My best
friend, Melissa, swears my eyes are my best asset. Ivy-green, deep-set, haunting. Like they go
on forever.
Speaking of Melissa, her horn blares
outside. Beep, beep, pause, beep. That’s our code. I race
downstairs, passing my dad, stepmom, and little sister on the way out.
He glances
at my outfit, pausing at my shoes. If it were up to Dad, I would wear turtleneck
shirts and dress pants with lace-up boots forever. The perfect ensemble, it
seems. As it is, I dress conservatively to protect his image. I’m eighteen.
You’d think he’d stop cringing every time he saw me in anything that showed the
least bit of skin.
“Hug,” he
says, waving me over.
I hug him.
Place a kiss on my five-year-old sister’s jelly-covered cheek. Then, grab a
napkin to wipe the sticky jelly from my lips.
“Bye,
Gracie,” I say to her. “See you after school.”
She waves
a small hand at me and smiles.
“Take this.” Susan, my stepmom,
hands me a bagel even though I already declined breakfast. It’s poppy seed. I’m
allergic to poppy seed.
As usual, I don’t put up a fight. My
frame feels especially uncomfortable at the moment. It’s always the same thing.
I learned early on that it’s easier to go with the flow than to be different.
Different is bad. Standing out attracts attention, something I try to avoid at
all costs. Unfortunately, being the dance captain makes that more difficult.
“Have to go,” I say, shoving the
bagel in my bag.
The screen
door swings shut behind me.
Melissa waits in my driveway. We
live in a modest, yellow-paneled house in Oviedo, Florida. The majority of the
people here are middle class. We fit in well.
“What’s up?” Melissa smiles. “Took
you long enough.”
“Yeah, well, you try waking up late
and still looking as good as I do,” I joke.
Melissa whips her blond hair into a
ponytail and puts her red Camaro in reverse, careful not to hit my Jeep on the
way out. I have my own car, but since Melissa lives three doors down, we have a
deal where we alternate driving to school. She takes the first month; I take
the second, and so on. Saves gas.
“You look smokin’,” Melissa says,
lighting a cigarette.
She’s
always hated the way I dress.
Melissa laughs. “Okay, true, the
clothes need to go. But your hair and makeup are flawless. And no matter what
you wear, you still look beautiful.”
“Thanks, you too,” I say, eyeing her
tight jeans and sequined top. Melissa is effortlessly beautiful with her
sun-freckled face and athletic build.
“Prediction,” Melissa begins. This
is something we have done since ninth grade: predict three things that will
happen during the year. “Tracy Ram will try to overthrow you as dance captain,
once again, but you’ll keep your spot, of course, ’cause you rock. You’ll quit
dressing like an eighty-year-old and finally wear what you want to wear instead
of what society dictates is appropriate for a pastor’s daughter. And you’ll
come to your senses and dump Jason Magg for a hot new boy.”
Melissa always predicts that I’ll
dump Jason, has done since Jason and I began dating freshman year. It’s not
that she doesn’t like him. It’s just that she thinks my life is too bland, like
the taste of celery. What’s the point, she figures.
“First of
all, I do not dress like the elderly,” I say. “And second, I don’t know what
you have against Jason. He treats me nicely. It’s not like he’s a jerk.”
“It’s not like he’s exciting,
either,” Melissa says.
She’s
right. What I have with Jason is comfortable, nice even, but excitement left a
long time ago.
“Prediction,”
I say, turning to Melissa. “You will not be able to quit bugging me about
dumping Jason, even though last year you swore you would. Despite your doubts,
you will pass senior calculus. And you’re going to win homecoming.”
Melissa
shakes her head. “No way. Homecoming is all you, girl.”
I groan.
“But I don’t want to win.”
Melissa
laughs. “Tracy Ram would have a heart attack if she ever heard you say that.”
“Great,” I
say. “Let her win homecoming.”
We grin.
Melissa and I have been friends since kindergarten. Memories come to me
suddenly. I’m in elementary school, and it’s sleepover night at Melissa’s. In
my overnight bag, I carry a small stuffed bunny, my steadfast companion since
forever. People would laugh if they knew, me carrying around a stuffed baby
toy, but Melissa never tells. Fast forward to middle school. The braces on
Melissa’s teeth are still so new that the silver catches the light from the fluorescent
fixtures when she smiles. The headgear is huge, cumbersome, and no one lets her
forget it. But I relentlessly defend my friend. She’s so beautiful, can’t they
see? Sometimes I leave flowers stolen from a neighbor’s rose bush at her locker
when no one is looking. That way people will know that she is loved. High
school. Melissa and me, same as always.
“What do
you want to bet?” Melissa asks.
Whoever
gets the most predictions right wins.
“Hmm,” I
say. “If I win, you have to quit smoking.”
Melissa
almost chokes. “Pulling out the big guns, are we? Okay, then. If I win, you
have to break up with Jason.”
“Deal,” I
say, knowing that she won’t win. She never does.
Melissa
purses her lips and gives me the stink eye. She knows I have a better chance.
“Faith, I
will find a way to break you out of your mold,” she says.
I laugh,
partially because of the determination in my friend’s eyes, but mostly because
of the absurdity of her statement. Everybody knows that girls like me never
break free.
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