Nothing about Salem has ever affected me.
Not until now.
Not until I saw her at the bar with her wild hair, all loose and scattered about her shoulders, her eyes narrowed, her cheeks flushed – so flushed that it was visible in the darkened space – and her lips, parted and painted dark.
At first glance, she looked like Sarah.
Same golden eyes, same color hair, same pert nose. The same pale skin, standing there chewing me out for kissing someone else other than her sister; honestly, I don’t even think I’d heard her talk before that night.
But then, I noticed the differences.
Like the shape of her eyes. They might be the same color as Sarah’s, rare, but they arch up at the corners. They tilt up, making them look like she’s always up to something bad, something mischievous.
Also her hair. Unlike Sarah’s, her hair is curly. So much so that it bounces when she walks, independent of her body. As if it has a wild mind of its own. As do her lips. They’re poutier, much poutier. Like her mouth likes to show off, be the star of every fantasy.
And her skin.
It’s pale but it’s marked by tiny dot-like freckles. They have spread on her skin like wildfire, again with a mind of their own, on her nose and under her arched-up eyes.
Thirteen.
I saw that on the soccer field yesterday.
Thirteen freckles on her nose and seven in total under her eyes.
They moved when I humiliated her in front of everyone. They trembled when she raised her chin defiantly and turned toward the crowd in front of which I crucified her.
I know I was being a little harsh but she deserved it.
She deserved my wrath for playing the way she did. So magnificently.
So fucking gloriously.
How did I not know this about her?
She lived with my family. She lived in my fucking house for years and I never knew this. I never knew that she shines brighter than any star that I’ve seen on the soccer field.
It was such a shock.
Such a…betrayalsomehow, that I was never made aware of this. That’s why I couldn’t stop looking at her, watching her pumping her little legs up and down the field. That’s why I couldn’t look at anyone else.
Sheforcedme, didn’t she?
She forced me to look at her. She blindsided me, distracted me from other players and made me sloppy at my job.
What else don’t I know about her? What else is she hiding?
So yeah, Salem Salinger deserves my wrath.
She deserves my anger for barging into my life like a storm.
For being a rulebreaker, and I absolutely fucking hate rulebreakers.
She deserves my wrath for affecting me the way she does.
Chapter Seven
Mrs. Miller, my guidance counselor, heard what happened on the soccer field yesterday.
