picks up her paperback pirate romance and waves it, several slender silver rings clinking together on her thumb and index finger. She exclusively reads historical romance books. Earls and governesses. Princes and governesses. Governesses and governesses. If it involves the moors and a gothic castle, even better. She recently made the decision to give up real-life love in exchange for vicarious romance on the page. “Relationship-free and zero regrets.” Or so she claims …
“Not here for relationships of any kind,” I inform both of them.
Never had one, never want one.
Honestly, all I care about right now is building up my portfolio so that my father will agree to take me on as a photography apprentice in LA next year, after I finish high school. But I don’t say that out loud. It’s my own private secret. If there’s one thing that will break my mom’s heart, it’s not romance—it’s the thought of me leaving her. The ultimate betrayal.
I know it makes me a monster. I know. But the thing is, even though I may be cursed on this side of the family pie, there’s a whole other half of the pie that I don’t even know. Grandparents I’ve never met. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. My dad even has a new wife, a painter. And once I’m eighteen, Mom can’t stop me from traveling to see my dad. I only talked to him about it in a general sort of way, but I think I can convince him to let me apprentice for him. And that would be such a dream—to learn photography from a real master.
To learn how to be a real daughter in a real family.
Maybe one that communicates better than this one does.
That’s my exit strategy. Beauty is my last layover town, then I’m going as far west as I can, seeking meaningful connections. People who eat dinner together and talk about their problems. People who do normal family things—backyard barbecues and trips to the zoo. Parents teaching kids how to swim and ride bikes. I want all that.
And I have a solid three-step plan to make it happen:
Step One: Prove to my father that I’m motivated and talented.
Step Two: Save up enough cash to get to LA.
Step Three: Graduate from high school before my grandma returns from Nepal.
That last one … that’s tough. Next summer, Grandma Diedre’s overseas tour in Nepal is up, and that’s when Beauty will go from Layover Town to Family Fight Zone. My mom knows this; we’re on borrowed time here.
Beauty’s a ticking time bomb. I’m just clearing a path forward before it blows.
“Not here for relationships,” I repeat to Mom and Evie. So I don’t care how good he grew up, Lucky Karras can go sulk in someone else’s bookshop. “I just want to tough it out long enough to finish high school in one piece.”
But when I see the pitiful way Evie’s sad eyes look down at me, as if both my three-step plan and the future are spread out before her like a bad tarot card reading, I begin to wonder if I’ll even survive this town until summer.
BEAUTY HIGH, GO BREAKERS!: This quintessential 1980s plastic school sign molded into the shape of an ocean wave flanks the front sidewalk of the public high school. Last renovated in 1985, the building sits downhill from the well-funded Ivy League preparatory private school, Golden Academy. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)
Chapter 2
June
First impressions can be deceiving. Maybe I shouldn’t have kindled any excitement whatsoever about returning to Beauty, because it only took four months for my initial hope to drain, and now I’m basically functioning on low-power mode and praying my battery doesn’t die completely.
Between third and fourth period on the last day of school before summer break, I summon what’s left of my energy, make myself as small as possible, and head down the western corridor of Beauty High, music thrumming through earbuds that block out the discord of the hallways—all the lockers slamming and all the football players shouting out to their bros. The laughter and buzzy excitement about graduation parties. The freshman kid crying in the restroom. Summer plans being solidified. Drug deals being made.
I keep as far away from these people as possible. Some of them I used to know when we were kids, and some of them might be okay now, but I’m in a full-on survival mentality, and I can’t take any chances. Whenever Mom and I move somewhere new, I usually keep to myself and don’t make many friends.