Chapter 1
Lucy
Ten years ago
The rumble of a car engine and tires crunching over gravel pierce the heavy silence.
I sit up quickly and peer over the hood of a dented brown Chrysler.
A truck is coming up the weed-lined driveway toward me with a man at the wheel.
This is the third vehicle today to approach the run-down weatherboard house with its yard full of overgrown grass, rusting farm equipment, and old tires.
Each time I hear the throb of an engine, the knots in my growling, empty stomach tighten, and hope flares in my heart.
I don’t recognize the vehicle.
My heart sinks, and I sit back down in the dirt.
I once saw a skinny white dog at a gas station, trembling in the parking lot with her tail tucked between her legs.
When a car approached, she would lift her head eagerly, and her tail would start to wag, but when she saw who got out of the vehicles, the light would go out of her eyes, and she would sink back into her terrified crouch.
When Mom came back from paying for the gas, I asked her why the dog kept doing that.
She stared at the pitiful animal for a moment, then started the car and drove away.
I kept pestering Mom to answer, and she finally snapped, “Because no one wants her. The owners threw that dog out of their car, and the dog is too stupid to know that they’re never coming back.
” My heart broke for the animal, who was confused and frightened and all alone in the world.
I begged Mom to go back so we could rescue the abandoned dog and make it feel loved again, but she told me to shut up and kept driving, and I cried all the way home.
Right now, I don’t feel like Lucy Cinders, ten years old, pretty good playing the flute and multiplying fractions, but too small to be good at sports or shoving people back on the playground when they shove me first. I am that skinny white dog, waiting for someone who’s never coming back.
I listen to the car coming to a halt behind the three beaters that are parked beside the house. When I peer around the wheels, I see a tall, lanky man getting out of the driver’s seat.
“You two stay in the car. I’ll be right back,” the man mutters. He has dull skin and shadows beneath his hollow eyes. It’s the same look Mom gets before she disappears for days.
The man goes inside the house, the screen door slamming behind him. The truck door opens, and a girl about my age, ten or so, clambers out, her lower lip jutting.
A moment later, another passenger gets out.
It’s a boy who looks a few years older than the girl and must be her brother.
He’s tall and nice-looking, with dark eyes and curly hair, wearing faded jeans and a dark T-shirt.
He moves around the truck and takes his sister’s hand with a protectiveness that makes my chest ache.
The girl moves toward the house, but the boy tightens his grip and stands firm.
“I want Dad,” she complains.
“You can’t go in there, Lil.” The boy sounds angry, but not with his sister. His thumb rubs her hand comfortingly, and I feel a sharp stab of envy.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he mutters, and turns toward where I’m hiding.
I duck back out of sight, making myself as small as possible with my arms wrapped around my knees. As the boy and girl pass by, he sees me out of the corner of his eye. He stops in his tracks and stares.
When I meet his brown eyes, his surprise shifts into understanding. He knows exactly what it means to be crouched in the dirt beside a drug house. He glances toward the house, and then back at me.
“Are you waiting for your mom or dad?”
He thinks Mom’s inside with the other grown-ups who are taking drugs. I’m too ashamed to tell him that she got what she needed in that house a long time ago.
Then she drove off and left me here.
When I don’t answer, he says, “You shouldn’t wait there. Come with us into the backyard.”
My arms tighten around my knees. This place is terrifying, and the terror only grows worse if I’m not right here, waiting for Mom. She will come back. She has to. Though with every cold, lonely hour that passes, that seems less and less likely.
“I want Dad,” the girl whines.
The boy’s grip on his sister’s hand is so tight that his knuckles are white, and his dark eyes are hard and angry. He takes a small, calming breath before he says with forced cheerfulness to his sister, “Do you remember the creek down past those trees? Let’s go look for fish.”
The distraction works. His sister’s face brightens.
The boy turns and offers me the same smile, but I can tell he doesn’t mean it. Whatever’s eating at him—whatever he’s hiding from his sister—is crushing him. He hates being here as much as I do.
“Come with us. You’ll like the creek.”
“I’m staying here,” I tell them.
“Why?” the girl asks in a snotty tone, impatient to get to the creek now that her brother has tempted her with it.
“None of your business.” I look away and hug my knees tighter.
“Whatever.” The girl pulls out of her brother’s grip and races across the backyard.
“Don’t go in the water,” he shouts after her.
We hear her fading voice call back to us, “I won’t.”
The boy comes toward me and hunkers down on his heels. I automatically flinch backward.
“I’m Damiano. What’s your name?”
Close up, the boy is even more good-looking than at first glance. He has thick lashes and beautiful dark brows. His jaw is defined and will become even more so as he grows. His voice is already deeper than the boys my age. But it’s his eyes that entrance me. They’re bleak, and too wise for his age.
I look at him warily, and then finally answer, “Lucy.”
“You know what this place is, don’t you? That’s why you’re so scared.”
I nod.
He glances toward the creek where his sister is.
“My sister doesn’t know. I lied to her. She thinks Dad is in there helping people.
But I, um…” He swallows, and for a moment, his kind expression cracks.
He looks desperately unhappy, like he’s carrying a weight too heavy for someone so young.
“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to keep the lie going. ”
Despite my own misery, something in my chest twists for him. We’re both alone, just in different ways.
“Come down to the stream with me and Lily. We’ll see if we can catch a fish.” He uses the same forced cheery tone that worked on his sister, but it doesn’t work on me.
Damiano drops the smile. “Listen. I’ll tell you the truth. You can’t sit here. It’s not safe. You smell that?”
A chemical scent hangs in the air. I’ve noticed it getting stronger throughout the day, seeping into my clothes and hair.
“They’re not just selling here. They’re cooking.”
“Does that mean making drugs?” I ask.
“Yes, and the ingredients are horrible chemicals that will make you sick.” Damiano stands up and holds out his hand to me. The defiant expression in his eyes tells me he’s not going anywhere until I agree to go with him.
I stare at his outstretched hand. Two days I’ve been alone. Two days of stealing stale bread and lukewarm water from the kitchen when the scary people weren’t looking. Two days of making myself invisible. And now this boy—this stranger—is offering his hand to me like I matter.
I put my hand in his, and he helps me to my feet.
I expect him to drop my hand as we cross the grass toward the creek, but he holds it firmly.
After being cold, alone, and scared for so long, the warmth of his fingers feels like he’s scooped me up in a hug.
The frightening house melts away. Everything melts away.
I’m only aware of the tall boy walking beside me, keeping me grounded.
Keeping me safe.
We reach the creek and our shoes touch stones that have been smoothed by the water.
I want to go on holding Damiano’s hand. Actually, what I really want is to bury my face in the front of his T-shirt and sob while he holds me, but weakness makes people irritated with you, or it makes them want to hurt you.
I drop Damiano’s hand and pretend to be interested in the water. Lily has picked up a stick to poke some water weeds.
“Lucy is going to help us fish,” Damiano tells her.
Lily looks me over with a critical scowl. “Your hair is curly, like mine and my brother’s, but yours is blonde.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“Our dad is a paramedic,” she boasts. “He comes here to help people, and we have to wait.”
Damiano shoves his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight. The lie is costing him something.
“What are you doing here?” Lily asks me.
“I’m waiting for my mom.”
My answer seems to bore her, and the girl wanders along the creek away from us.
Damiano steps closer to me. “How long has your mom been inside?”
He told me the truth about why I can’t sit by the house. I should tell him the truth too. “She’s not inside.”
He frowns at me, not understanding.
“A fish, a fish!” Lily screams, beating the surface of the water with her stick and no doubt scaring away any fish that might have been there.
Damiano calls out to her, “That’s close enough, Lily. The water is deep there.” When he’s satisfied she’s stepped back, he turns back to me. “If she’s not inside, where is your mom?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. I’ve been asking myself that question for two days.
“I’m bored. I want Dad.” Lily drops her stick and dashes across the grass toward the house.
“Lily, don’t.” Damiano reaches for her, but it’s too late, and she slips away from him. As she flees, he shouts after her, “Don’t go in that house.”
Lily was about to reach for the handle on the back door, but she changes her mind and starts knocking instead.
He sighs and turns back to me. “Sorry. Where’s your mom?”