“And wouldn’t it be nice if they had a son you could play with?”
“Vincent?”
He nods. My heart jumps. “Vincent lived in an orphanage before. People there didn’t understand how special he was. But when Chris and Daniel met him, they knew right away. They spent months with him, and then they asked him if he wanted to be their son.”
“Did they rescue him? Did they adopt him? Is that why he has a funny accent? Does everyone in the orphanage have it?”
Dad studies me before nodding. “He has an accent because he’s from Russia. He’s been learning our language with teachers. He’ll even start school with you. Wouldn’t it be nice for him to have a friendly face?”
It would be, if only he weren’t so afraid of me. “Why is he afraid of me?”
Dad sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Vincent’s been through a lot. Not even Chris and Daniel know the whole story, because he won’t talk about it. Just... don’t judge him too quickly. Try to see who he is beneath the mask. He’s only trying to protect himself—and I think you, more than anyone, can understand that.”
“But protect himself from what?”
“I don’t know,” he says, but I know he’s lying.
“Dad, how can I be his friend if he’s scared of me? No one’s ever been afraid of me.”
“Nova,” he says softly.
I twirl in my purple dress, Grandma’s Christmas gift. “Do you think he thinks I’m weird too?” I ask, looking at my marker-stained hands.
“Sweetheart, Vincent shook your hand and told you his name. That’s a big deal. He doesn’t do that with anyone.”
I smile, finally understanding why Dad looked so astonished. “I like Vincent Cooper, Dad. He doesn’t look at me like he wants to make fun of me. I want to be his friend.”
“And soon you will be,” he whispers.
“Are you sure?” I ask, praying he’s right.
“I’m more than sure. By the end of the year, we’ll have to separate you two by force.”
I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling. I’m smiling too, even as I wonder what he meant when he said I’ll understand how Vincent feels. Why? What happened to him?
CHAPTER FOUR
Nova Marshall
PAST (2011)
"Relax. Be yourself. Play a lot."
Joe Satriani
I hate school. I don’t like my classmates, but the thruth is—they don’t like me. Not a single one of them. I love learning new things, but it’s hard to care when my only goal at school is survival.
My grades are bad. I can’t concentrate. I try to please my teacher, my family, but it’s never enough.I’mnever enough and, at some point, I stopped even trying.
I spend my time in class daydreaming. I should focus on the lessons, but I can’t because the teacher’s presence means that I have a moment of peace. At least my classmates wait for lunch or recess before tormenting me.
They never hit me. They don’t have to. Their words cut deeper.
My mother’s slaps end quickly, her anger passing like a storm. But the hate of my classmates—thatdoesn’t end.
I’m the crazy girl. The one who hugs trees. The one with lice. The one too weird, too loud. The one you don’t invite to birthday parties because she’s “too weird, too loud”. I’m the girl who talks to herself. The one who’s always told to be quiet. The one who will never have a single friend.
My mom says that if everyone keeps their distance, the problem must be me. And maybe she’s right. Things like this don’t keep happening without a reason. There must be something wrong with me.
