Chapter 2

I watched her, a knot of unease tightening in my chest.

She walked towards the hallway mirror, fussing with her hair.

I glanced at her reflection.

For a split second, her face seemed to… ripple.

Like heat haze on a summer road.

Then it was normal.

No, not normal.

The scar.

The thin white line above her left eyebrow, from when a swing hit her as a kid.

It was always on her left.

In the mirror, it was on her right.

I blinked, shook my head.

Must be the stress.

SATs, Mike' s message, Mom acting crazy.

I looked again.

The scar was definitely on the wrong side in the reflection.

My heart hammered.

This wasn't stress.

This was wrong.

"Mom?" I whispered.

She turned, her face perfectly ordinary, the scar in its usual place above her left eyebrow.

"What is it now, Sarah? We' re going to be late."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Are you feeling alright? You look pale."

She reached for my forehead.

"I' m fine," I said, backing away. "Just… nervous."

I had to pretend.

Pretend everything was normal.

I grabbed a granola bar from the counter, not the lucky cat.

I needed my phone.

Dad came downstairs, briefcase in hand, a forced smile on his face.

"Ready for the big day, champ?"

He clapped me on the shoulder, a little too hard.

His touch felt cold.

I looked at him, really looked at him.

When I was twelve, I got my ears pierced. Dad, in a moment of goofy solidarity, got a tiny silver stud in his left ear.

He always wore it.

Now, a gaudy, cheap-looking hoop earring dangled from his right earlobe.

It wasn't silver. It wasn't his.

"Dad, your earring…"

He touched his right ear. "Oh, this old thing? Decided to switch it up. Like it?"

He winked, but his eyes didn' t match the smile.

They were cold, watchful.

Mom reappeared. "David, she' s just stalling. Let' s go."

She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

"We don' t want to be late for the SATs."

Her voice was too bright, too cheerful.

It was like they were actors, reading lines from a bad play.