Gossamer

PROLOGUE

I don’t want her, the woman shrieked, her hands knotted into her hair as far as the shackles that held her down would allow.

The other woman in the room clucked in admonishment. But, Lily, she is your daughter. How can you not want her? Look at her, she’s beautiful, the spitting image of your father, God rest his soul.

No. Take her away, Jeannie. She’s not supposed to be here; send her away before I go mad.

Lily, I will not take her away. She needs her mother right now. The least you can do is hold her before they come and take her away, Jeannie said with soft encouragement. Here, hold her. That’s it. She’s just a baby, Lily. A harmless, wee thing.

At her friend’s words, Lily opened her arms and begrudgingly took the small bundle against her breast. The little head covered in fuzzy down nudged its way toward the warmth of her mother’s chest, her tiny mouth opening in such a pretty yawn, her mother could do nothing but stare, captivated by the sight.

See? ‘Atta girl, Jeannie said, smiling. Now, you take a few moments to bond while you can and I’ll go outside catch a quick smoke.

Don’t leave me with her, Jeannie. I can’t promise I won’t hurt her, Lily warned.

Oh, stop being so dramatic, Lily. You’re better now. The doctor said so, and you’re getting better by the day. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. You can keep yourself together long enough for me to get a quick cig in.

Lily rocked back and forth in doubt, her posture overflowing with it. A soft mewling sound came from the warm, squirming mass that lay in her arms and Lily’s eyes drifted down to see two round, unfocused spheres gazing up at her with such intensity, the woman was lost for breath.

No. No, you are not my daughter. Lily’s hands began to tremble, her legs twitching, jerking up and down with anxiety, rocking the tiny infant and bouncing her with the rough, agitated motions. The mewling turned to wails of confusion and terror as the movements became violent and unyielding.

You’re not supposed to be alive. You’re not supposed to live, you’re not supposed to breathe, you shouldn’t exist! The thrashing increased until the bed was shaking and rocking against the cold tile floor, pulling away from the wall and away from the monitors that were still attached to her arms. Get away! Get away from me!

And then there was quiet; peaceful, wonderful quiet that eased a smile on the beautiful woman’s face as she relaxed, sinking down into the pillows behind her, her legs stretching downward, touching the end of the hospital bed and luxuriating in the coolness of the sheets. She closed her eyes and fell into pleasured slumber, the smile never leaving her lips.

These darn hospitals and their laws about smoking—I’m sorry I took so long, Lily, but I had to find an outdoor balcony on the fifth floor and—

Jeannie’s ramble cut short when she took in Lily’s sleeping frame. Lily? What happened in here? Her eyes scanned the large gap between the wall and the hospital bed, finally landing on the empty arms resting on Lily’s chest. Lily, where’s the baby? Her bag fell to the ground as she peered into the bassinet and bit her lip with worry when she saw that it was empty.

Lillian, wake up. Where’s the baby? She rounded the bed and her piercing scream echoed through the room and down the halls, burning into the memories of every mother there a name that none had chosen, but none would ever forget.

BLUE MOON

His hair shined like hardened coal, his eyes the color of the sky when the moon crept in.

I gripped the bar in front of me as the jerky Ferris wheel began its rotation with a piercing squeal and shuddering moan. As I came over the crest, I was finally able to view the pink sky as the sun sank below the horizon. The reflection of the ocean as it absorbed the last of the sunlight seemed to change the sky to a dusky purple that gave the flashing lights around me an odd, yellowish tint.

Up here, the world felt a million miles away. I was free from the stares, free from the whispered words that followed me whenever someone heard my name. Here, there were no articles about me, no stories, no rumors. Here I was no one. Here I could disappear into the sky like a star.

I’m getting off, Sophia! I’ll meet you by the track, a voice called out to me as the ground grew closer.

By the time I stepped out onto the decking, making room for two giggly girls who squeezed themselves into the now-empty car, the last light of day was gone and the blazing halogens had sparked on, destroying what color there was left in the sky.

It was Friday night. The Tillamook County Fair was on and it was race time. The sound of the announcer echoed throughout the fairgrounds, the calling of names and numbers ringing out with unnatural speed. I jumped down, my boots landing in patchy grass, and hurried toward the racetrack, keeping my eyes open for any familiar faces.

Over here!

My gaze drifted toward the waving hand that belonged to Astor, the person who knew me best in the world. Her black ponytail swayed with each pass of her lithe arm, her coffee-colored skin looking like bronze beneath the artificial light. I sighed with a mixture of envy and inadequacy before jogging to meet her.

Joel’s horse is in the next race, she said with an excited grin. He’s got Jemmy riding him, I think, but I could be wrong. Jemmy told me earlier that his shin was giving him some problems.

Jemmy’s always complaining about his shins, I murmured as I raised my hand over my eyes to see if I could make out Shelby, Joel’s two-year-old thoroughbred. Which gate? Is he still number five?

Six, I think. Joel said that there was some last minute entry and he had to be shifted over a spot.

I could see the grooms were still combing the horses down, their saddles standing by as the jockeys adjusted...themselves. Joel hates even numbers. His superstitious side is probably telling him he’s going to lose because of this. It looks like we’ve got some time before the start; you hungry?

Astor looked at me and rolled her eyes. Are you crazy? I’ve got three more pounds to lose before I fit into my new bikini. I am not going to be throwing all my hard work away just so I can eat a greasy, lard-fried something with you.

So you’ll go halvesies on it with me, then?

Duh. We both laughed at her obvious lack of dedication to her diet, the one thing she never seemed to be able to finish.

I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, I told her before leaving, but she was already engrossed in the goings-on of the jockeys. I wandered through the fairgrounds with my eyes and nose acting as one organ. There were so many stands selling food, it was mind-boggling. Deep-fried, boiled, grilled, all of the above; it didn’t matter what you wanted—someone was going to have it.

The acrid scent of burnt sugar turned me away from one stand, while the pungent odor of charred garlic and blackened beef from another called out my name in a rather demanding sort of way: my stomach growled. Knowing that I’d be sharing this with Astor, I chose some roasted corn on the cob and a cup of lemonade, and waited while my order was wrapped up by a girl who played the clarinet in the band. She smiled at me, but in a way that told me she was only interested in my money. I smiled back, because she was the one with batter-covered hands.

Hello there, beautiful, a gruff voice called out, before I was swung up into a pair of strong arms.

Jack!

My attacker mashed his lips onto mine for a brief moment, before removing them to take a sip of the lemonade that he now had in his hand.

Hey, that’s mine, I grumbled, reaching out to grab my drink before he gulped it all down.

He laughed before handing me the cup. And? It doesn’t matter; I’ve got my own little pick-me-up right here. He patted the rectangular bulge in his back pocket. I knew what that bulge was, and what it contained. Jackson never left home without his flask filled with his dad’s best whiskey.

When he passed the paper tray containing my buttered cob to me, he frowned. Corn? You’re eating corn at the fair?

I always eat corn at the fair, you know that.

I know, but come on, there’s, like, ribs and stuff!

Jackson was what Mom called boy next door handsome. His curly, light brown hair, coupled with green eyes the color of clover on a face that looked like it was formed in some kind of all-American boy mold was definitely one that I didn’t mind looking at. He loved baseball and worked for his father’s farm equipment and feed store on his down time, all of which kept his skin a sweet, sun-kissed shade of tan and his muscles fit and toned in ways that made other girls forget their own names.

Jackson Granger is the prize of all Tillamook, Dad would say whenever Jack and I would fight and I’d hint at breaking it off. If you let that one go, you can kiss your acceptance in this town goodbye, missy.

Leave it to a parent to make things all about acceptance and fitting in and not about what actually made me happy.

That’s not to say that I didn’t care about Jack, because I did. It’s just that whenever I thought of being with him, picturing any kind of future with him, it was like I could hear the doors of everything else in life slamming shut to me. Guys called it cold feet; I called it being me.

Hey, daydreamer, are you going to answer me or what?

I blinked. What?

I asked if you knew what you wanted to do for your birthday. I know it’s still a few months away, but I need to know in case I gotta take off from school.

My head shook as we headed toward Astor, her agitation at Jackson’s arrival clear on her face. I haven’t even thought about it, to be honest with you.

"Haven’t thought about it? You’re going to be eighteen, Sophia. You can do whatever you want. How can you not think about it?"

I sighed at that and tried to explain it to him for probably the fourteenth time this month. "I’m going to be eighteen, but that doesn’t mean that I can do whatever I want. I’m still going to be living at home, and you know my dad. Come on! He’s the host of the most conservative radio talk show on the west coast! The last thing he’s going to let me do is ‘whatever I want.'"

Are you two still grumbling about your birthday? Astor asked as we settled in beside her.

She’s stalling because of your dad, Jack explained, ignoring her snippy tone.

Our dad. A few years ago, he was no one to us, just a stranger who stood on the porch of a small house in east Tillamook with his wife. Gordon and Leanna Ackerman took the two of us in as foster parents almost six years ago, way past the age when we’d be easily satisfied with fill-in parents, but still too young to not necessarily need them either. It had been the final stop for the two of us after years of bouncing from one home to the next.

I first met Astor when I was four, when the two of us were placed in the same emergency shelter together. We formed an unusually fast friendship in the two days we were there, and rekindled it when we were reunited a year later, like we’d never spent a second apart.

We spent the next two years in a home filled with ten other kids, getting lost in the numbers before she went to live with some woman in Portland while I got shipped off to Eugene. After three years apart, we ended up at a home together just north of Tillamook, Oregon. We probably would have stayed there, but our foster mom suffered a stroke and couldn’t care for us anymore. So once again we bounced from home to home, sometimes meeting up again, sometimes not.

By the time the Ackermans got us, Astor and I had been in more homes than we could count, and had seen the inside of a courtroom more times than most judges. Neither of us expected to stick around too long, especially when we learned that the Ackermans had Joel, but we were both wrong. Turned out, Leanna was a pretty good mom and Gordon, while strict, wasn’t too bad. They even tried to adopt the two of us like they did with Joel, but was only successful with Astor. By then, her last living relative had died; my mom was still alive and refused to give me up.

When Dad’s radio show was picked up by a major broadcaster and went into full syndication a few years ago, he tried again to get the courts to terminate my mom’s rights so that I could be adopted, but the court refused. I remained Sophia Jane Blithe, foster kid and, most notably, the infamous Blithe Baby; Astor insists that I got the better end of the deal.

Well, she’s right, you know, about not being able to do what she wants to. When I turned eighteen, I got to watch R-rated movies and that’s it. But who knows. According to Dad, Sophia can do no wrong. Me, I could be farting gold and all I’d hear is, ‘You’re being crass, Astor.’ Astor laughed mockingly at her comment, before stretching a hand out for the corn cob.

There’s not enough butter on this, she mumbled before taking a bite and turning her back to us.

I put a hand on her shoulder and she reached up with greasy fingers to pat it. I knew she found the entire situation unfair, but soon she’d be away from here, away from the rules, and away from whatever it was that she simply couldn’t let go of. And, damn it all to hell, I was going to miss her.

Together we stood at the railing circling the outer field and surrounding the race track, far from the bleachers that held the screaming kids and the drunken adults. This was where the farmhands and people who had come only to watch the horses race stood. These were the best seats in the house.

So who bumped Joel? I asked as I spotted Shelby and Jemmy being loaded into gate six.

I don’t know, Astor replied. I didn’t catch the name of the horse, only the rider. Someone named Silver or something.

Everything became quiet. And then the buzzer sounded. Jemmy, Shelby’s jockey and Joel’s best friend since the sixth grade, was easy to spot in his bright fuchsia shirt and matching helmet. Shelby looked beautiful; his long legs pulled and lengthened the muscles that bulged beneath his glossy mahogany coat. Each stride grew longer as he pulled ahead with such fluid ease, he could have been all alone on the track. His long neck and proud head jutted out like a flag announcing his undoubted victory, Jemmy encouraging him along the entire way.

Go Shelby! I shouted, while Astor’s cries of Ride, Jemmy! Ride like you’ve got the cops on your ass! caused an outburst of guffaws from several of the men standing around us who were cheering on their own favorites as the thundering sound of dozens of hoof beats drowned us all out.

Wow, look at that one, Jack whistled as a soot-colored horse gained on Shelby. Its rider’s gear was completely black, making him one with the animal. We would’ve sworn it was Death himself riding had it not been for a flash of skin as the rider went by.

Who’s that? I asked loudly, watching the back ends of the horses as they pushed on through, nearly halfway around the track by now.

That’s that Silver person I was telling you about, Astor replied. Man, that’s a beautiful filly!

Filly? Jack exclaimed in surprise. A filly is beating Shelby? No way! He leaned over the rail to get a better look.

She’s not beating Shelby, I argued, but it was clear that the dark horse was now more than a length ahead and would easily win the race. When she did by two lengths, the shock of it seemed to kill any excitement that we would have had at a second place win for Shelby and Joel. The crowd around us seemed stunned as well; all of their horses had lost to this late entry, a stranger to everyone here, which was impossible in such a small community.

Come on, I said glumly while Jack said goodbye to some of the guys he knew from the feed store. Let’s go and congratulate Joel and Jemmy before Dad starts chewing him out for coming in second.

***

I don’t know how she came up on me so fast, Jemmy fumed, his hands on his hips, his crop slapping the side of his leg in agitation. It’s like she was on fire or something.

With a free hand, Joel patted his friend on the back, his voice just as calm when he said, Don’t worry, Jem. It’s not like we just lost Belmont or something. We won one race today, and came in second in this one. I’ll take that over losing any day.

I think she cheated, Jemmy seethed.

Astor scoffed at the accusation. Have you been snorting oats again, Jem? How can a horse cheat?

Jemmy shook his head and threw an accusing finger at the black-clad rider who sat atop the proud ebony filly. "Not the horse. Her."

All four pairs of eyes turned and focused on the rider as she removed her helmet and a curtain of black hair tumbled down her back. Her smile was brilliant in her remarkably beautiful face, and cameras flashed as the crowd murmured in astonishment over such a discovery: a female jockey had beaten Jem and Shelby.

She cheated somehow, I know it, Jemmy sneered. She shouldn’t have been riding her own horse, anyhow. That goes against the rules.

"That’s her horse?" Joel asked, surprise and awe taking control of his voice and turning it from calm to envious.

How much is one of those worth? Astor questioned, as she took comparative glances at the filly and Shelby.

She’s got to be worth at least fifty grand, Joel answered, which got several whistles in response. I’m gonna go and congratulate her. Anyone want to come?

Astor, Jack, and I all nodded eagerly, while Jemmy turned his back on us, too upset with his loss to remember what good sportsmanship was all about. Leaving him, the three of us walked over to the winner’s circle, Joel pushing his way in front to hold out a congratulatory hand to the dark-haired beauty.

You ride like you and the horse are one; it was incredible to watch. That was a well-earned, well-deserved win.

She grinned, and dismounted so fluidly, I could have sworn she floated down. Up close, her face was exquisite. Dainty in a way that gave you no doubt that she was female, yet there was a strength that could be seen in the tilt of her nose, the pointed line of her jaw, and the sharp focus in her violet eyes that warned you not to underestimate her.

Thank you. It’s not every day that someone can lose to a girl and still compliment her on her win, she responded in a light, almost airy voice, taking Joel’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

I looked at Jack and rolled my eyes when I saw his mouth hanging open. My elbow made quick contact with his ribs and his mouth shut as he looked down at me sheepishly, obviously embarrassed that he’d been caught ogling.

Joel laughed, his brown eyes filled with the good-natured spirit that made him liked by everyone. Well, it was a well-deserved win, so I can’t complain. I can’t say the same for my rider, though, but his pride runs much deeper than mine. My name’s—

Joel Ackerman, I know. You’re Shelby’s owner. He’s beautiful. You should be very proud of what you’ve done with him, as should your rider. My name’s Merrill Sterling, and this black beauty is my horse, Lillian.

My head jerked. What?

Lillian, she repeated with a smile.

Joel looked at me with a concerned expression on his face, his head motioning to Astor, who grabbed my arm and began to drag me away.

Forget it, Sophia, she hissed into my ear. Just drop it; don’t even think about it.

How can I not think about it?

She was talking about a horse, that’s how you not think about it. There are a lot of Lillians in this world, and only one of them has anything to do with you. That one—the four-legged one that just one a race—does not.

I knew she was right, but that didn’t erase the chill that went up my spine every time I heard that name spoken. Lillian the horse had triggered in me the memories of Lillian the woman—who had given birth to me, who had done so in shackles, and who had nearly killed me.

Sophia, you haven’t seen her in a year. Only one more visit before you’re free and then you’ll never have to think about her again, Jack said softly, one hand gently stroking my hair while the other tugged at my earlobe, something he always did to comfort me.

One more visit. One more stupid, annoying, ,court-ordered visit and then I’d be free of her for the rest of my life. Thank you, I sighed, the thought offering me a queer sort of comfort as we headed toward the midway.

Hey, how about I win you a stuffed cow? Jack suggested.

Don’t I have enough of those from last year? I groaned.

He shook his head and pointed at the milk bottle game that had nearly banned him last year for winning so often. You don’t have any blue ones!

Astor laughed. Hey, yeah! Get one to match your hair!

All right, all right. I chuckled, glad for the distraction. Puffing up, Jack walked up to the girl who held three balls in her hand and exchanged his dollar for her ammunition.

Stand back, he joked. A pro is at work here.

His arm swung back, years of playing baseball evident in the flex of his muscles and the form of his fingers around the ball. When he propelled forward, however, the ball in his hand collided with a loud slap against the canvas behind the stacked bottles.

A pro, huh? Astor quipped while Jack wound up for his next attempt. For someone who spends so much time with his balls—

Astor! I hissed.

This time, the ball sailed to the left and knocked over the bottles in the next box. The game attendant couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head when Jack asked if that one counted.

With one ball left, Jack’s eyes were focused. He took much longer than usual to throw this final pitch. It was high. Too high. So high it shattered the large Christmas lights that decorated the back of the booth.

Well, crap. Jack handed the girl another dollar, followed by a couple more a few moments later. After ten dollars, six broken Christmas light bulbs, and a jittery and bruised game attendant, we were still cow-free.

I’m going to go to the ATM, he mumbled, leaving Astor and I to shrug apologetically at the poor girl, who was still rubbing her sore shoulder after a rogue pitch ricocheted off a beam and hit her.

She looked almost frightened at the prospect of Jack coming back for more and quickly turned her attention to a couple of guys who had arrived, dollars in hand, ready to take a shot. I watched the back of Jackson disappear into the crowd, his body stiff with disappointment. Behind me, the familiar sounds of bottles crashing down and whoops of excitement were distracting; Astor’s cheers of encouragement were far louder for these two strangers than they had been for Jack.

When he returned, he quickly dug out a twenty and handed it to the girl, who looked less than thrilled to see him return.

Wow, big spender, Astor remarked, as the girl counted out the change and handed it back to Jack. This is going to be the most expensive blue cow ever.

I can’t believe he’s doing this, I muttered under my breath, but watched as he readied himself for the first pitch.

Beside him, I could see the backs of the two guys who were knocking down the bottles with ease, a pile of plush animals growing at their feet. Jack soon took notice as well and this added pressure seemed to disturb his concentration as his losing streak continued.

When his wallet was empty, the better half of a month’s paycheck in the happy pocket of the young girl who held a ball in her hand in a mocking salute, Jack finally admitted defeat.

I don’t get it. It’s like nothing I did would make that ball hit those bottles, he grumbled, as the last blue cow was removed from the wall and handed to one of the dark-haired individuals who now had a bag filled with the colorful creatures beside him.

It’s okay. I didn’t want another one anyway, I said in a conciliatory tone.

I’m glad none of the coaches from UO were here to see that. I’d lose my scholarship in a heartbeat, he said with a sigh, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the flask. He turned away from me and took a long swig.

At the mention of UO, I felt a strange giddiness. It was easy to forget that tomorrow Jack would be driving up to Eugene for school, his first day at the University of Oregon just a week away. He would miss me terribly, he said, but I couldn’t quite admit to feeling the same; he always felt things far more intensely than I did, and I was content with that. We both were.

Here. A voice spoke up, a voice that didn’t belong to either Astor or Jack. My gaze turned to the friendly, rich sound, and stopped when they came upon a pair of eyes that were a shade that didn’t know whether it wanted to be blue or violet, but were so deep they seemed to go on forever. I blinked to adjust my focus, opening my eyes to take in a face that was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

While Jack’s face looked as though it had been molded into everything that was comforting and charming, this face was chiseled into its own definition of dark and dangerous. The strange eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, and anchored by darker brows that were raised in anticipation.

His hair was a glossy black, much like my own that mingled with blue streaks, only deeper, and spiked in a haphazard way; it was perfect in its chaos. His nose was sharp, his jaw and chin strong and determined, but his mouth...it was twisted in a smile that showed no teeth, but did reveal a dimple in his cheek that, for some strange reason, caused my finger to twitch at my side. He held out in his hand a plush blue cow, the last one left.

Here. I know your boyfriend was trying to win it for you, and I obviously have too many. I don’t want you to have to leave without one. His voice was warm, and there was a sweetness to it that contradicted the bitterness I could see in his eyes.

No, thank you, I replied, shaking my head and pulling my hands behind my back before they did things I didn’t want.

Please, take it. I don’t need it, he insisted, pointing to the mass of polyester creatures next to him. See?

She doesn’t want it, Jack growled, pushing away the plush toy before dragging me away.

I turned to look behind me, an apology on my lips, and saw the other guy punch his friend playfully in the arm. Looks like you got denied, Dex.

Dex’s eyes had remained focused on me, and his left lid lowered in a wink. I felt the bottom of my stomach give out for just a second before righting itself, just as he turned to his friend and lobbed a good blow in return before they walked away.

Can you believe the nerve of that jerk? Trying to give you that stupid cow, as if you wanted one anyway, Jackson grumbled. Again, his hand reached into his back pocket and the same silver flask was removed.

Astor snorted, her eyes rolling as she asked Jack how much money he’d spent on trying to win that stupid cow that I didn’t want.

Shut up, Astor, he ground out, and continued to drag me toward the parking lot.

Hey, I’m not ready to leave yet, I scolded, pulling my arm out of his grip. It’s still early.

"Sophia, it’s my last night. We’re leaving...now."

What he means is that he wants to take you someplace private and clumsily fumble with himself while trying to rob you of your virtue. That is, of course, if you can stop laughing, Astor said snidely.

This time it was my turn to tell Astor to shut up. She held her hands up, but her laughter didn’t die out. Hey, it’s your choice. Go home with Jack the drunk or ride the Tilt-a-Hurl with me. Either way, there’s going to be vomit involved.

I looked at her, and then to Jack. I sighed with heavy reluctance, returning my gaze back to hers. Cover for me, okay?

With a roll of her eyes, she nodded, waved her hand carelessly. You, too. I looked at her, slightly confused by what she said until she started laughing, and then my cheeks began to burn as I shook my head, glad that Jack hadn’t heard this last part, as he wasn’t exactly fond of Astor’s reputation.

He’d left for his truck, leaving me to wave goodbye to my sister and begrudgingly follow him into the dirt lot. By the time I reached him, the truck was growling like a rabid beast that he was egging on with each press of the gas pedal.

Get in the damn car! he shouted at me through the window, taking another long swig of whiskey before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and tossing the silver container behind him. I quickened my pace, opening the door and climbing into the cab, picking my way through the trash that was there to seat myself properly. Though the truck was new, it stunk with the odor of sweat and Christmas trees, while empty junk food wrappers littered the floor.

You really need to clean your truck, Jack. This is disgusting.

He grabbed an empty fast food bag from the back seat and quickly threw what rubbish he could find into it before tossing the bag out the window. There. Happy?

Knowing that the effort was much more than I could have expected, I nodded and buckled myself in. As soon as the metal click was heard, Jack reversed and sped away from the fairgrounds, the lights slowly fading behind us as we headed toward my empty house.

PATIENCE

Hardened was his heart to the one he’d chosen, for his love belonged elsewhere.

Home used to be a cramped, three-bedroom bungalow in Tillamook, where Astor and I shared a tiny room with bunk beds, and everyone shared an even smaller blue bathroom. Our bathroom time had to be scheduled so that everyone had a chance to shower and brush their teeth. Now home was a three-story, split-level, contemporary monster, situated on a hill overlooking the Oregon coastline. The bunk beds were gone and no one shared a bathroom anymore.

The house was sectioned off by floors. The top floor served as the main one, holding both the master bedroom and Dad’s office and studio. Joel had the entire bottom floor, complete with its own separate entrance and driveway at the base of the hill. Astor and I were sandwiched in between on the second. We had our own rooms and bathrooms, though it still feels like too much, especially since we’ve spent our entire lives sharing with everyone else.

Our rooms were identical, though it was very clear whose room belonged to whom. Astor’s door was painted a vivid red, with hand-drawn paisley and floral swirls done in a sort of Mehndi-style decoration; she’d spent an entire day working on just the outline, finishing it up with gold and black paint two days later.

My door, on the other hand, lay untouched except for a little lighthouse sticker that I’d placed above the knob