posters of bands or celebrities papering their bedrooms. Not me. I had colorful framed prints of flowers and ducklings. It looked like a ten-year-old lived in this room, not a sixteen-year-old girl with only two years until adulthood.
Until freedom.
Although I was itching to put on my headphones and lose myself in music—pretend I was anywhere but here—I couldn’t risk it before dinner. I might miss my summons to the family table.
Instead, I sat on my bed and took out my journal. Flipped through the pages. I didn’t keep a diary. My parents would never have let me record the truth on paper. Not even in a diary that no one else would see.
So I wrote songs. Deep inside the words penned on these pages was my truth. And maybe someday, I’d be brave enough to share it.
I traced my fingers over the newest page. A song I’d written late last night after the biggest act of rebellion I’d ever committed.
I was allowed out of the house—for now, at least. My parents dangled the possibility of house-arrest over my head constantly. I was to stay in town, never enter someone’s house, and be home for dinner. I followed those rules, each and every day.
Except yesterday. I hadn’t gone inside anyone’s home. I’d been back before dinner. But I’d left town. Worse, I’d left town with Gibson Bodine.
It had been such a risk, but when he’d said there was an outdoor music festival in Perrinville, I hadn’t been able to resist. I’d wanted to jump up and hug him, but Gibson wasn’t a hugger. And it would have been weird, anyway. Gibs and I weren’t like that. He was my friend. Probably the best friend I’d ever had. But not someone I’d hug.
When he’d asked if I wanted to go to Perrinville to see the festival, I’d taken the leap and said yes. He’d met me outside town so no one would see us leave.
It had been the best day of my entire life. I closed my eyes, breathing in the memories. The sights. The sounds. I’d never heard music like that live before. It had filled my soul. Soothed every ache and wound I carried. For a little while, I hadn’t been Callie Kendall, obedient daughter. I’d been someone else. Someone free.
I was desperate for that. For freedom. I had two more years, but sometimes I wasn’t sure if I could make it.
“Callie.” My mother’s voice carried up the stairs. “Dinner.”
Her sweet tone set me on edge. Sixteen years of this, and I couldn’t tell when she was faking. Sometimes that soft call meant she was in a good mood, and I’d have a peaceful evening.
Other times, it masked her displeasure, lulling me into a false sense of security. I’d let my guard down, thinking all was well, only to be blindsided by her cold anger for some perceived transgression.
I hurried downstairs, not wanting to give either of them a reason to be angry tonight. Mom was in the kitchen, pulling a roast with potatoes out of the oven.
“Set the table,” she said without turning to look at me. She wore a silk blouse with an apron tied around her waist, and her hair was pulled back in a bun.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Keeping my eyes down like a good girl, I took the plates and silverware to the table. Set them neatly atop the beige lace place mats.
Mom brought the serving dishes to the table and I poured ice water for the three of us. Dad emerged from his study, his face cold and serious.
Worry ate at me, making my stomach hurt. I took my place at the dinner table and gently unfolded my napkin in my lap. My parents engaged in meaningless small talk while we dished up our food. I didn’t mind. Shallow conversations about the weather were preferable to Dad talking about work. I already knew far more than I wanted to about the things my father did.
My fork dangled from my fingers while I picked at my food. It was hard to eat. My parents behaved as if I wasn’t there—a good sign—but there was an electric tension in the air. It rippled through me, making my back knot up tight and my throat go dry. Was it my imagination? Or was she about to—
“Callie.”
My gaze lifted to hers and my blood turned to ice. She had the eyes of a corpse, flat and unfeeling.
“Callie, I addressed you.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
She put her fork down. “We have something to discuss.”