Chapter 1

Dr. Shaw froze, then hurried over to help Mom up.

Mom wouldn't move.

Her forehead struck the cold tile, and her voice shook so badly I could barely make out the words.

"Owen, I was wrong.

"Please stop eating hair. Please stop doing this to yourself."

I looked at the red mark on her forehead and almost laughed.

"Mom, what are you talking about?

"I've always liked eating hair. What does that have to do with you and Dad?"

Dad stood beside her, white as a sheet.

He'd aged so much over the past few years.

He was only in his early fifties, but his temples had gone completely gray.

To cure my pica, he'd waited in line before dawn for cancellation slots with specialists. He'd sat through healing services at a church he'd never once set foot in before.

Every relative said I had the most devoted parents in the world.

I said the same thing.

Whenever a doctor asked what my family was like, I answered seriously:

"They're wonderful. Mom and Dad love me most. Even my little brother, who's six years younger than me, gets jealous."

But when Mom heard that, she only cried harder.

She sobbed until she could barely breathe, both hands clamped over her face.

Dr. Shaw's hand, holding out a tissue, stopped in midair.

"You said your brother is jealous of you?"

I nodded.

"Of course.

"Noah's always had a great appetite. He can eat anything.

"I'm different. I'd rather have hair.

"Mom and Dad are always focused on me, so of course he's jealous."

Mom's head snapped up. Her lips were trembling.

"No... that isn't how it was."

I smiled.

"Then how was it?"

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I went on.

"I know Mom and Dad favor me. I know that probably made Noah feel left out.

"But I can't help that."

I lowered my head and put on a rueful face.

A strand of hair had fallen across my shoulder.

I pinched it between my fingers and lifted it toward my mouth. Mom lunged at me and clamped one hand around my wrist.

"Owen, don't!"

Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Tears kept falling onto the back of my hand.

Looking at how terrified she was, I couldn't keep the smile off my face.

The room went horribly quiet.

After a long moment, Dad finally spoke. His voice was frighteningly hoarse.

"If it will help you get better, your mother and I will do anything."

I looked down at my wrist.

Bone pressing up under a thin layer of skin. Two fingers could circle it.

My hair was getting thinner too. There were bald patches on my scalp now, and every day before I went out Mom put my hat on for me herself.

She was afraid people would laugh at me.

And afraid that the second she looked away, I'd pull out more hair and eat it.

The truth is, I loved that.

The instant my fingers touched my hair, Mom was on me.

She'd hold me and coax me and beg me to spit it out.

That strange, crooked happiness wrapped all the way around me.

Yet I couldn't help thinking back to my childhood.

Whenever Noah cried, the whole family said the same things.

"He's still little."

"He doesn't understand."

"You're the big brother. him have it? What's wrong with letting him have his way?"

Back then, I wanted someone to soothe me like that too.

But Mom said, "Owen, you're six years older than Noah."

And Dad said, "You're the big brother. You know better."

Nobody said that anymore.

Dr. Shaw asked suddenly, "When was the first time you ate hair?"

I shook my head.

"I don't remember.

"Maybe I've liked it since the day I was born."

Mom whispered, "No.

"When you were little, you loved food. You never tried to eat your hair."

Dr. Shaw turned to her.

"Then what was happening at home the first time he swallowed hair?"

Mom braced a hand against the wall and slowly sank into a crouch.

Her face kept getting whiter.

Dr. Shaw asked again.

"Diane. The first time Owen was hungry enough to eat his own hair, what were you doing?"

Dad opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Mom was the one who broke. The words came out before she could stop them.

"That was the day Noah went missing, and all Owen could think about was being hungry..."