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Chapter 22

Sometimes places have their own smell. My parents' house smells of grease, since the kitchen is right next to the entrance; dust and an indescribable scent. I'm thrown back in time as soon as I walk in, remembering the life I had here just a few years ago, which feels like yesterday: going to school, eating together, movie evenings, fights...

I hate the look my mom gives me as she greets me. "See? Not that bad here, is it?"

I really have to pull myself together so I don't roll my eyes. My father is sitting in the adjoining living room with Maddie. Maddie runs over when she hears my voice, and I laugh as she basically jumps at me in happiness, scooping her up a little into the air.

My heart is pounding, my pulse rising as I enter the living room—I'm hot, not in a good way. But thank God I can't see David anywhere. The fear slowly dissolves as we sit down together. Movie night. There's a movie running on the TV that my mom really wants to see, but my dad and I keep talking the whole time.

He asks me how things are going at work and whether I even have time for myself. Just like my father. I even tell him about the dance competition, and I can almost feel my mother shaking her head next to me. She thinks the whole 'dancing' thing is unnecessary, and I know there's no point in discussing it with her, so I stop talking about dancing and we watch the movie.

My phone vibrates, and I glance at it. When I see who it's from, I inconspicuously slide back a little on the couch.

What are you doing?

private

A few seconds, then he starts typing again.

What are you wearing?

u find the worst moments to ask that

Is there a problem?

no

jeans and a hoodie

Hot

haha

Are you free right now?

no

Send me a pic

god

wait

I glance between my mother on the left and Maddie on the right, my eyes focused on the screen. I lean back as far as possible so no one can see it and take a quick picture. I send it off quickly, typing one last message before I put my phone away for good. gotta go off n...

"Os!"

I flinch—so hard that my phone falls out of my hands. The door clicks shut behind me, and I freeze, not wanting to turn around. A cold breeze from outside hits my neck.

"Oh my god, who are you? Your hair!"

I move away, clicking my tongue when I feel a touch on my head. "Leave it! Jesus." 

And that's when I have no choice but to turn around and see him. The motherfucking perfect son, like he was cut out of a picture book. His hair is neatly cut—undercut, slightly longer on top, a strand of the same black color falling to his forehead—while mine is long enough now to tuck behind my ears, advantageously hiding the tattoo on my neck. Pretty obvious role allocation: I'm the black sheep of our family.

His smile is fresh. That basic, nice smile everyone mistakes for polite and well-behaved. My grandmother used to call it the most charming smile she'd ever seen. My opinion? The most disgusting smile on earth.