Chapter 2

I wiped off the lip gloss and folded the pale-yellow dress neatly, tucking it into the deepest corner of the closet.

The doorbell rang half an hour later.

Shane stood outside, holding two bakery boxes.

"You really didn't go?" He raised an eyebrow. "Your mom said you changed your mind at the last minute."

So in their version of events, no one needed to save me a seat. I was the one being difficult.

Shane pushed one of the boxes into my hands.

"Brought you a cupcake. Don't say I never think of you."

Under the clear lid, the frosting was covered in crushed peanuts.

I'm severely allergic to peanuts.

Three years ago, when we'd first met, Shane would check every ingredient label line by line before buying snacks. He'd even saved the location of my EpiPen in his phone.

Then Ella developed a thing for peanut butter, and he gradually forgot.

"I can't eat this."

Shane was already looking down at his phone, texting Ella.

"Picky again? Just scrape the peanuts off."

"Allergens aren't toppings. They don't scrape off."

He finally looked up. A flash of embarrassment crossed his face.

"Sorry, I forgot. You've always been so low-maintenance. When did you get so sensitive?"

Low-maintenance. Quiet. Easy to placate.

Those were their favorite labels for me.

That way, every time they forgot, it was somehow my fault.

Before I turned seven, my brother used to carry me on his back too.

Once I scraped my knee, and he ran all the way home. His white jersey was streaked with my blood.

Mom used to cut apples into two identical little rabbits, one for me and one for Ella.

I remembered all of it.

That was why, every time there was only one rabbit left, I kept believing the next one would be mine.

When Ella was seven, she had an asthma attack. Mom, Dad, and Derek stayed in the emergency room all night.

From that point on, everyone decided she was fragile and needed protecting, while I was healthy, quiet, and could handle everything on my own.

If she missed the school bus, I had to wait with her for the next one.

If she lost her homework, the teacher called and Mom's first question was why I hadn't checked Ella's backpack.

When I was thirteen, I ran a fever of 104 degrees and called an ambulance by myself.

The first thing Mom said when she got to the hospital was, "Ella has a piano competition tomorrow. Do you know how hard she's worked for it? Why did you have to get sick today?"

I lay in the ER watching Mom call Ella's piano teacher. By the time the IV needle drew blood, she still hadn't reached over to feel my forehead.

Shane sat on the couch, still trying to convince me.

"Things will be better once you're at Newland. Derek works in the city, and I'll be around too. You and Ella will share a place. You won't be lonely."

"Who said I'm going to Newland?"

"Where else would you go?" He laughed. "You didn't even go to your own graduation party. You're so antisocial, there's no way you'd survive alone in a strange city."

I didn't answer.

I opened my laptop and confirmed my housing, flight, and on-campus research assistant position at Lakecrest Tech.

The scholarship covered tuition and housing. The research stipend would cover daily expenses.

I didn't need my parents to co-sign a loan. I didn't need them to log into my college account.

Under federal student privacy law, once I turned eighteen, the school couldn't share my information with my parents without my consent.

A welcome message popped up on the screen.

"Welcome to Lakecrest, Nora."

I tossed the peanut butter cupcake in the trash.

Then I formally declined my admission to Newland University.