Prologue #2
Laney brought every conversation back around to looks. Mostly my looks—and how she’d never be as beautiful as me. Other girls might’ve been flattered, but sometimes I got the feeling that the only reason she’d befriended me—the new foster kid at school—was because I was pretty.
Yes, I knew I was. How could I not? It was all people talked about when they met me.
That or the fact that I was an orphan. As if those two things were the sum total of Julie Skinner.
Just once, I wished someone would ask me which hike I’d do first if I had a car, or what I thought of the new Sabrina Carpenter album, or whether Five Guys or In-N-Out was better.
In-N-Out. Not even a contest. Animal style everything. Though I’d driven past it thousands of times, I’d never been until Laney invited me over for the first time and her parents took us there for dinner. I’d been hooked ever since, but only got to go when I was with the Lannisters.
“It’s too bad you can’t actually be a model.” Laney studied her nails.
I blinked, and my stomach soured, like I’d swallowed a cup of vinegar. “I can’t?”
“My mom looked into it, and apparently the headshots—the pictures you need to get an agent—are like, expensive-expensive. So it’s really only for people who, you know, have money and stuff.” She wrinkled her nose, swiping to another reel. “Also, you never see red-haired models.”
Make that two cups of vinegar.
A knock drew our attention to the doorway.
Mrs. Lannister stood there, giving Laney a pointed look, letting us know she’d heard the end of our conversation.
Then her expression softened. “Did you know that only one to two percent of the world’s population are natural redheads?
” She said it brightly, as if it were something I should be proud of.
“Some people pay big money to get that hair color. Combine that with those big blue eyes and that smile, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we see Julie’s face on the cover of Allure magazine someday.
Or Vogue.” She smiled proudly. “Lean into what makes you unique, I say. That’s your brand. ”
My shoulders lifted, and it felt like I’d grown a whole inch.
“Oh-kay, Tiffany,” Laney’s tone dripped with annoyance. “Did you need something?”
I didn’t need parents of my own to know calling them by their first names was next-level disrespectful. But even if that hadn’t been obvious, the look on Mr. and Mrs. Lannister’s faces every time Laney did it would’ve spelled it out for me. But they never corrected her.
Her mom exhaled, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a phone. “Julie, Ross and I thought you might like Laney’s old cell. It’s not hooked up to a plan, so it would only work if you’re connected to Wi-Fi—but it still might be helpful for you.”
I blinked, saying nothing, certain I’d heard her wrong.
Laney groaned. “That is so lame. She doesn’t want my old hand-me-downs.”
“Nonsense.” Her mom tapped on the screen. “We already set the password to your birthday. 0614. June fourteenth.”
I stared at Mrs. Lannister, eyes wide.
“Tiffany, stop,” Laney said sharply. “Can’t you see you’re making her uncomfortable? She already feels weird enough. She doesn’t need you making things weirder.”
Weird?
I turned to Laney, gaping. I mean, yes, I was the only almost-fifteen-year-old I knew who still didn’t have a cell phone. But I simply couldn’t believe the Lannisters were willing to give me a phone for free—even one that only worked with Wi-Fi.
My hopes skyrocketed, imagining the freedom and escape that phone would provide.
I could finally text people. If there were a group project, I could actually be part of the conversation.
And I could get TikTok and Instagram! Which meant I could finally comment on my friends’ posts.
And I could stay connected to Laney and everyone from school after I left tomorrow.
And tomorrow night, when I was somewhere new and missing everything and everyone familiar, I could listen to Griffin’s voice some more. Maybe I could even see what he looked like. The thought brought a wave of relief I hadn’t felt since…I couldn’t even remember.
I glanced back at Mrs. Lannister, overwhelmed and relieved by the gift. But Laney’s protests, growing sharper and louder by the second, lodged the words, ‘yes, I’d love to have the phone,’ in my throat.
“Seriously. So lame,” Laney snapped. “You’ve humiliated her now. Just go.” She shooed her away. “Leave us be.”
Mrs. Lannister’s cheeks heated, but she wasn’t the kind of mom to punish or put her child in their place. She was a people-pleaser, Laney always said, as if it were the worst thing a person could possibly be. She stepped back, slipped the phone into her pocket, and padded down the hallway.
“Oh my gosh.” Laney looked at the ceiling as if asking God for patience. “I’m so sorry about her. Sometimes, I can’t even believe she’s my mom. Like, how are we even related?”
My eyes burned with hot tears, and I slipped onto the sleeping bag, pretending to dig through my backpack, looking for absolutely nothing.
“She’s so embarrassing and ridiculous. I’m going to do it,” she huffed. “That thing we talked about.”
I made a noise of agreement, no idea what she was referring to.
“Eman-see-uh. No, that’s not right. Emanci-patient.” She swore. “Emanci-pants.” She giggled. Giggled!
“Emancipation?” I asked, sick at the word, and sicker at myself for having such a friend.
Here I was, willing to give up every ounce of self-respect just for one crappy relationship—and she wanted to emancipate herself?
The Lannisters were the kind of parents nineteen-sixties TV shows were made of—like the Taylors of Mayberry.
Or the Cleavers. They took Laney on vacation.
To foreign countries. And they bought her an entire back-to-school wardrobe every year, not from the thrift store.
They had dinner together every night, and Mrs. Lannister made breakfast every morning.
Actual breakfast—pancakes, omelets, things with names.
The only breakfast I ever got was the free one in the school cafeteria, which I’d stopped eating because it embarrassed Laney.
Laney shrieked with delight, completely oblivious. “Oh my gosh, he posted another one already. Julie-Bean, come look.”
“Hold on.” I sniffed, suddenly despising the nickname she’d given me. I turned away, using my hair as a shield so she couldn’t see the tears rolling down my cheeks, and held up a tampon. “Be right back.”
“Of course, girl.” She yawned. “Do what you gotta do. I’m not going anywhere,” she tittered, clearly still focused on Elias’s reel.
I took my time in the bathroom, crying silently until my sides ached. Then, I washed my face twice with Laney’s Sephora face wash. I flossed my teeth, plucked my eyebrows until they were on point, shaved my legs, rubbed lotion over my entire body, and clipped my toenails.
When I emerged forty-five minutes later, Laney was sound asleep with a silk mask over her eyes. Her touch lamp was on the lowest setting, a soft glow washing over her face.
I looked down at her, feeling something I didn’t have a word for—not quite hate, not quite love, somewhere exhausting in between—and said a silent goodbye.
Then I quietly rolled up the sleeping bag, tucked it under her bed, and slipped into the hall.
I padded down the carpeted stairs with my backpack over my shoulders, careful not to wake Laney’s parents.
But when I got to the foyer, both Mr. and Mrs. Lannister were on the couch, heads together, talking softly. They glanced over, and Mrs. Lannister smiled, though her eyes were red from crying. Mr. Lannister pressed a kiss to her hair. What I would’ve given for parents who loved each other like that.
What I would’ve given for parents at all.
Mrs. Lannister stood and walked over to me. “Is everything okay? I thought you were sleeping over?”
“Oh.” I aimed for a breezy smile. “I was. But Emry keeps texting Laney that she misses me.” The last part was probably true.
Emry was my three-year-old foster sister who crawled into bed with me every night and who’d bawled when she’d found out I was leaving.
“I’m going to head home and have a sleepover with her tonight. ”
“Of course,” Mrs. Lannister said. “Let me grab my car keys, and I’ll take you.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” I blurted. “Roy’s almost here to pick me up.” Roy was my foster dad—who I wouldn’t call even if I were being chased by literal assassins. “I’d better hurry, or he’ll start honking the horn.”
Modeling might’ve been in my future, but acting definitely wasn’t. Mrs. Lannister’s expression became more heartbroken the longer I rambled. By the time I was done, I knew she knew the truth: Tonight was the end of Laney and me.
Suddenly, I was wrapped in her arms in the fiercest goodbye hug of my life.
No words. Just an embrace so tight, so motherly, it almost did me in.
She took me by the hand and led me to the door.
Then she pulled the phone from her pocket and pressed it into my hand, along with a charger.
“You may as well take it. It’ll just get tossed into some drawer here and forgotten. ”
I stared at her offering, blinking back tears.
“It would make me feel better if you had it,” she whispered like she was afraid Laney was listening upstairs. “In case of emergency.”
I glanced at Mr. Lannister, and his apologetic expression told me he knew what was happening, too. Mrs. Lannister must’ve told him about earlier.
“Thank you,” I whispered to them both, swallowing the rest of what I wanted to say.
For everything. For the phone. The warm meals.
The movie nights. The trips to In-N-Out.
The board games and the way nobody made me feel like a guest. Thank you for letting me feel like a part of your family.
“Just…thank you,” I repeated, almost a rasp.
Then I hurried out the door and into the sweltering Las Vegas night.
Then, and only then, did I cry. And cry and cry and cry.
Out there in the dark, alone, I let myself feel everything.
I cried for the unfairness. For the absence of everything normal.
For parents who loved me. For siblings to bicker with, but who were secretly my best friends.
For roots that kept me grounded. For someone to give me wings, with the promise they’d catch me if I fell.
I wiped my cheeks, trying to pull myself together. Crying hadn’t fixed a single thing in my life yet. It wouldn’t start now.
As I turned up the street to my foster family’s apartment complex, Laney’s voice rolled through my head. It’s too bad you can’t be a model…It’s really only for people who, you know, have money and stuff…Also, you never see red-haired models.
A burst of anger and determination ripped through me. The hurt turned to fire, and the first dream on my list became a vow.
I was going to be a supermodel, no matter what it took.
But not just any supermodel. I’d be so big and untouchable that Laney would choke on my supermodel dust.
And I was going to marry Griffin Dupree.
We’d meet someday when I least expected it. By then, I’d be so intoxicating it would be game over the second he laid eyes on me. We’d have a house full of redheaded babies, and we’d be disgustingly happy together.
Take that, Laney.
I laughed. Then I took off for home. As soon as I got to my room, I used the light from my new phone to add two carets to my list.
I crawled onto my lumpy mattress next to Emry and pushed away the fear of whatever tomorrow might bring. Even if my new foster family was the worst yet, I only had four years left in the system. After that, it was full steam ahead.
I pressed a kiss to Emry’s soft cheek, flipped onto my back, and made myself an Instagram account. The very first person I followed was…
Not Griffin Dupree.
Because his account was private.
His profile pic was a cartoon firefighter, and yes, he had like sixty thousand followers. But he’d never posted a single time, and he’d only followed fifty-six people in return.
Fifty-six.
Either he was extremely selective, or he’d forgotten he ever made the account in the first place.
I chewed my lip, determined to be strategic. To save my follow for when it really counted—after I’d made a name for myself. Not right now, where I’d be another thirsty sycophant he never followed back.
But I still wanted to hear his voice. No, I needed to hear it. Daily.
So I followed Liam and Cash instead.