PROLOGUE
FOURTEEN YEARS OLD
From the moment I was born, I was destined to be alone. Found behind a dumpster in an alley at the backside of a bar. My birth mom left me there only hours after having me. From what I’ve heard, the owner of the bar found me wrapped in a dingy towel covered in blood, with my umbilical cord still intact.
I was told I didn’t even cry. Just looked up at the bearded fella and stared at him as if I knew my battle against the world had begun. At least, that’s what I took from the story.
I was a loner through and through. Didn’t care to please anyone. Never tried.
Until I met her.
Isabella, or Bella as we all call her. She’s the only reason I ever smile unless I’m getting kicks for screwing with someone. That can be pretty fun. More so than not, my smiles are accredited to her.
She’s my best friend, my only friend. The only one I need or even want.
Which is exactly why I need to repay her for all the smiles she’s given me. Tomorrow we’re getting adopted together and our lives are about to begin. Public schools, dances, sports—we’re doing it all—together.
Layla, one of the foster girls here, pops her head in the door of my bedroom as I slip on my hoodie. “Where ya going?”
I grab my coat off my bed pole and throw it on. “Gotta take care of something. Cover for me if the old hag comes looking for me?” I give her a pat on the back and leave my room before she even has a chance to respond.
Looking right then left, I make sure the coast is clear before jogging down the staircase and out the front door. The sun hasn’t risen, but the streetlamps give enough light for me to see where I’m going.
There’s about a foot of snow and my sneakers sink right into it, filling my socks with the cold shit. I don’t stop hurdling over the mounds until my back is pressed against the siding of the Beckhams’ house. They should all be at evening mass, but regardless, I hold my breath to make sure I don’t hear anyone walking around inside.
When I’m sure it’s safe to enter, I go to pull open the door beside me to the garage, but it’s locked.
A locked door isn’t stopping me from getting inside. I round the house and try to push up the living room window. It sticks from the ice building around it, but eventually budges and slides up.
I punch out the screen, fling my legs over the frame and climb in, poking my head out to look around the yard. Coast is still clear.
Once I’m inside, I stomp my feet on the clean white carpet to get the excess snow off, not caring that I left footprints on my way. It’ll snow more and cover them up—I hope.
The house smells like fresh baked banana bread. I draw in a deep breath letting the scent linger. The Beckhams’ house always smells like sweet treats and home. Anyone would kill to have what Trent and Lucy have. A mom and a dad who love you. Separate bedrooms, and television whenever you want it.
I’ve only been in this house a couple times, and it was never because I was invited. One night when the family was on vacation, I came here after Mrs. Webster, my foster parent, had gone to bed, and I ate all the Beckhams’ snacks and watched three episodes of Dexter.
The next night, I brought Bella with me, and she played dress-up in Lucy’s closet.
That’s how I know which one I need to get. I’ll never forget the sparkle in her eyes when she put on that pink dress. It’s like she escaped to another world in just those few short minutes. Staring at herself in the mirror and pretending that this was her life. She was happy, and I swore I’d do anything to make that smile permanent.
I find myself grinning at the memory as I go into Lucy’s bedroom. Trent’s little sister really does have it all. Probably even more than Trent. She’s spoiled, and I wish I could say she wasn’t a brat, but she definitely is. Bella doesn’t see that side of her, though. All she sees is everything she wants that Lucy has—mainly the family and love.
Shuffling through all the dresses, I find the pink one and pluck it off the hanger. When I hear footsteps coming from somewhere in the house, I immediately ball it up and stuff it under my coat then zip it up.
I’m not sure who it could be, but I need to get the hell out of here before I’m caught. The last thing I need is for a member of this family to contact Mrs. Webster and tell her I broke into their house—again.
With my head poked out the door, I listen intently, looking both ways. When I don’t see or hear anything, I head back the way I came.
As soon as I reach the staircase, I realize I’m screwed. Though, I’m actually sort of relieved it’s not Mr. or Mrs. Beckham.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Trent asks, alongside Mark.
“Look, guys,” I begin my descent down the stairs, brushing this off like it’s no big deal, “just forget you ever saw me and I’ll owe you both one.”
Trent shares a look with Mark. “Oh yeah? One what? From what I hear, you might be getting outta that orphanage soon. Not that I believe anyone would want a loser like you.”
“It’s not an orphanage,” I spit out defensively. I hate when anyone calls it that. It makes feeling like an orphan all the more real. I reach the bottom of the stairs, standing beside them. “I’ll tell ya what. Twenty years from now when you losers need an alibi, give me a call. I’ve got you covered.” I push past them, hoping they’ll let this go.
Mark grabs ahold of my arm, ruffling my jacket. “What'd ya got under there?” His eyes wear his surprise. “Are you stealing something from the Beckhams?”
“No!” I huff. “It’s just…none of your damn business.” I jerk away from him.
Trent crosses his arms over his chest, puffing it out like some sort of superhero who has all the power. “Tell us what it is and maybe, just maybe, we’ll let you live to see another day.”
I don’t dare tell them what it is. They’ll ridicule me to no end. Call me pussy-whipped. Claim I’m in love with the girl, but it’s also my best shot. “It’s just something for Bella. She needed it.”
Trent, being the asshole that he is, begins laughing. “What? Did she start her period or something?”
Fucking moron.
Mark just stands by idly, allowing Trent to do all the bashing. Mark is a follower, through and through.
“No. Gross,” I snarl. “Don’t worry about what it is.”
They share another look, and Mark nods in agreement. “All right. We can let this go, but like you said, you owe us one.”
I don’t even say another word. I just haul ass out while I’ve got the chance. I’m not sure if I can trust those guys, but right now, I have no choice. I’ve gotta go wake Bella up before our future parents arrive. I swear, the girl would sleep all day if she could.
Once I’m back at the house, it’s like I never left: still quiet, and Mrs. Webster is nowhere to be seen.
I go straight to the attic and pull the dress out of my jacket and stuff it in the box where I keep all my prized possessions—not that I have many. There are a couple things I’d like to keep with me no matter where I go. I shuffle through a few of my belongings. One in particular—a picture of all the neighborhood kids at the annual block party the Beckhams have. I could cut everyone else out and not miss them one bit. I keep it because it’s the only picture I have of Bella and me.