“…doesn’t fit in. If Damiano wasn’t so attached to her, I’d send her to boarding school in Europe and be done with it.” Dad sounds impatient, and I picture him pacing up and down.
Tears prickle in my eyes as I realize he must be talking about me. I’ve been trying so hard. I’ve learned to sit quietly at dinner. I laugh at Dad’s jokes even when I don’t understand them, and dress in the way Mom wants me to dress. I try to be friendly with Ariana, though she still looks at me like I’m something she scraped off her shoe.
Yet it’s not enough. Mom still corrects my posture, my diction, the way I hold my fork. Dad barely acknowledges I exist unless I do something wrong.
And Damiano is slipping away from me.
Not intentionally. I know he doesn’t mean it, but he’s being prepared for something. I can see it in the way Dad pulls him aside for father-son talks that I’m never included in. Damiano comes back from these talks looking older, more serious, and more distant.
“She’s just shy. She’ll grow out of it,” Mom replies, but she doesn’t sound like she believes her own words.
“She’s trouble, and she distracts Damiano. She’ll never be anything but a burden to this family.”
I don’t hear Mrs. Barone’s response because blood is rushing in my ears.
Burden. Trouble.
I look down at the book in my hands.The Gemologist’s Handbook. I’ve been reading it because Mom loves jewelry, and I thought maybe if I learned about it, I could find something to talk to her about. Some way to connect with her so she would smile at me.
But a new thought occurs to me. This family is obsessed with money and power. I hear Dad talking on the phone about deals and profits, and Mom discusses her friends and acquaintancesin terms of how expensive their clothes are and how much money their husbands make. Jewelry is important in their world. I have no idea what I want from my future, but this could be it. If I become an expert and make myself invaluable to Mom and Dad, if I can impress them, then I’m not just Damiano’s unwanted sister anymore.
I’ll be an asset. And assets don’t get discarded.
That night, I don’t wait for the middle of the night to go to Damiano. I need him as soon as dinner is over. He’s not in his room, and so I wait. My fingers trail over his desk. His school backpack. I grow impatient, wondering where he is, and idly open a desk drawer.
What I see makes me freeze. A gun, gray metal, cold and deadly, nestled among pencils and erasers like it belongs there. I reach out with trembling fingers and touch it. The metal is cool, and it’s heavier than I expected when I pick it up.
Why does Damiano have a gun?
“Lucy, do you want to—”
I spin around. Damiano is standing in the doorway, his mouth parted in surprise at what I’m holding. We stare at each other.
“It’s not loaded,” he says quickly, closing the door behind him. “The bullets are separate. I would never be so careless.”
“Why do you have a gun?”
He pushes a hand through his curls, looking older than his fourteen years. He won’t meet my eyes. “Dad gave it to me. For protection.”
“Protection from what?”
Damiano doesn’t answer. He takes the gun from my shaking hands and puts it back in the drawer, closing it firmly.
“Damiano, what’s going on? What is Dad involved in?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” My voice rises in pitch, along with my anxiety.
His jaw clenches. “I’m not. I’m protecting you.”
I don’t need protection. I need the truth, but he won’t give it to me. “Do you think I’m a burden?”
His face transforms with concern. He comes forward and pulls me into his arms. “What? No. Never. Where is this coming from?”
I want to tell him what I heard, but if I do, he’ll confront Dad, and that will make everything worse.
“It’s a feeling I get from our parents. Just the way they look at me sometimes.”
