Her voice slaps me harder than a palm to the face.
I drop my gaze to my purple sequined jumpsuit, the Totally Spies belt with my favorite cartoon printed across it, and my scuffed green sneakers. I don’t see the problem. Last time, I tied my hair back so it wouldn’t fall into my plate because she told me it was disgusting when it did.
Ivette’s standing there shaking her head, eyes full of something darker than dislike. Hate looks different when it’s aimed straight at you. It almost keeps me from moving at all, but Dad will get mad if I’m late again.
“Change. Now.” The words grind out from between her teeth. “You’re not embarrassing me at Aria’s birthday.”
Aria. Her daughter. My father’s daughter. Never my sister.
I’ve never understood why. Why nothing I do is right. Why Dad doesn’t say anything when she yanks my hair. Why I can’t please her, not even once.
“But…I like this one, Ivette,” I mumble, my voice stuttering around the fear in my throat. The scalp under my right braid still aches from when she dragged me across the kitchen three days ago because I wouldn’t eat the soup she cooked.
Mom never forced me to eat something I didn’t like. Mom cooked with love. Mom—
The knot rises in my throat again. It’s been almost three years since she left me with them. Three years since Dad found me hiding in the closet while she lay cold in the kitchen.
We were supposed to leave for a trip the next morning. We never did.
Now all I have are flashes of her. Her soft V-neck dress. The heels she wore even though they hurt her feet. The warm weight of her voice telling me everything was going to be okay. But when I think of her eyes, empty and unblinking, I have to shake my head to push the image away.
Dad was never the same after that. Sometimes his gaze is heavy with sadness; other times it's sharp with anger. But never love. It's like his love died with her, buried alongside her in the cold ground.
And Ivette? The only reason she tolerates me is because Dad refuses to ship me off to some private boarding school. Uncle Henry tried to take me in once, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. At least Uncle Henry still brings me macaroni and cheese and hazelnut ice cream. He's the only one who listens when I talk about my nightmares. The only one who remembers I didn’t die that night.
I don't even realize Ivette's grabbed my ear until the pain makes me whimper.
"Don't talk back to me, you little brat. When I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions."
I nod quickly, tears sliding hot down my cheeks. I hate this house. If I could, I’d run so far they’d never see me again.
She starts to leave, but turns back long enough to throw one more jab over her shoulder.
“And for God’s sake, cover up that head of yours. You see how big it is? Looks like a damn pumpkin.”
I nod like I understand. When I hear the door click, I peel off the sequined jumpsuit. In the quiet, my mother’s voice comes back to me though it’s fainter now.
Be brave, amorino.
She used to say it every night for almost five years. But I can’t be brave now. Not tonight. I curl up on the white plush rug and cry until my cheeks burn and no more tears will come.
Why won’t Dad say anything?Why does he let her talk to me like that? They never seem to get upset over anything Aria does. She never gets scolded. She always gets the smiles. But deep down, I know the answer.
Aria is their daughter. I’m not. I’m the child of a woman who died one January night in that kitchen. That’s all. Some charity case tied to them by blood.
When I’m empty enough to stand, I change into something I know Ivette will approve of. Then I take every glittery, sequined dress I own and shove them into a basket. Maybe she’s right; maybe they don’t look good on me.
With shaking hands, I close the lid. It feels like I’ve shut away more than just clothes. Like I’ve sealed up a bright, stubborn piece of my soul.
But if this is what it takes, maybe, just maybe, she’ll like me. Maybe Dad will love me again.
It’s just a small piece of me. I can live without it.
If it means I’ll finally stop being invisible to him.
Chapter 3
Roxy
