Alice didn’t care if Oliver had already Surrendered. Who cared? She didn’t. She didn’t care about him. She cared about her.

Tomorrow was the day her whole life would change.

She was sure of it.

Alice crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. “I don’t know why we’re having this conversation,” she finally said. “I don’t care a knuckle for Oliver Newbanks. Oliver Newbanks can choke on a toad.”

Mother tried not to smile. She stood up to stir a pot on the stove. “You are not curious,” Mother asked, her back to Alice, “to know what his Surrender tasked him to do?”

“No.” Alice got up to leave, shoving her chair back in the process, wood screeching against wood.

“Sit down, Alice.” Mother’s voice was no longer gentle.

Alice hesitated in the doorway, fists clenched. “No,” she said again.

“Alice Alexis Queensmeadow, you will sit back down this instant.”

“No.”

“Alice—”

She tore off running.

Out the door and down the path and through the meadow and into the field, past the pond and across the bridge and over the hill and up and up and up the tallest tree in all of Ferenwood. There she sat, heart bumping into bone, and decided she would not leave this tree until she died.

Or until she got bored.

Whichever came first.

No one had come to find her.

Alice doubted anyone would. Not Mother, certainly, and not her triplet ten-year-old brothers, who were more interested in turning their socks into slingshots than wondering where their sister had gone for the day.

She was bitter, it was true.

Alice had half hoped a search party would come looking for her. Maybe the village would’ve come together in a show of support for the ugliest girl in Ferenwood.

She’d half hoped Mother would worry.

But Alice had so often slept in trees and woods and fields and sheds that Mother already knew she’d be just fine; in fact, Mother was probably relieved she wouldn’t have to deal with her daughter until later. In any case, Alice hadn’t collected any new ferenberries today, but she’d collected enough yesterday, so she figured she had plenty of time to throw a fit and dispense with any practicalities planned for the afternoon.

She sighed.

Being alive, she realized, was very tiresome.

Alice let her legs dangle from a branch and leaned forward to listen, to see, to take in her world. She could see all of Ferenwood from here: the rolling hills, the endless explosion of color cascading down and across the lush landscape. Reds and blues; maroons and ceruleans. Greens and pinks; shamrocks and peaches. Yellow and tangerine and violet and aquamarine. Every hue held a flavor, a heartbeat, a life. She took a deep breath and drew it all in.

There were rows upon rows of little homes, windows glowing gold in the fading rainlight. Chimneys puffed and birds fell in love and blooms let their scents sweeten the sky. The rainlight was almost gone, and with it, the sun. Sundance was nearly done for the year, and that meant no rainlight for another twelve months. A part of Alice mourned the loss of Sundance; the weeklong showers of rainlight, the way the glow gave dignity to everything it touched. But she couldn’t be too sad; not this year.

Tomorrow was her day. The first day of spring.

In the wake of Father’s leaving, the Surrender was all she’d ever looked forward to, and now the day was nearly upon her. Tomorrow the clouds would break open with a promise and a purpose. Tomorrow she would dance her way to fame. To a future that needed her, expected her, required her. Winning the Surrender would mean she’d finally proven herself as a true Ferenwood citizen—and it would be her one chance to escape the life that no longer included Father.

Her heart nearly burst in anticipation of it all.

She got to her feet, carefully balancing herself on a branch, and jumped, catching more branches to slow her fall on the way down. Her bare feet touched the grass and she tumbled into a seated position, out of breath and exhilarated. There were only a couple of hours of rainlight left, and now that she’d had enough time to sulk, Alice felt ready to be optimistic again.

She was hungry, she realized.

Alice plucked flowers as she went, pocketing them gently. Flowers were just about her favorite things to snack on. She liked some nuts, some berries, and some plants (they tasted best when cooked into a soup), but flowers—oh, flowers were her favorite.

Alice bit down on petals and stems, savoring the flavors but stuffing herself all the same. She found a brook and took a deep drink, stopping just long enough to dip her toes in, and once all was said and done, she felt refreshed and ready to finish the day. She should’ve headed home then. Apologized to Mother. Heard what Mother had wanted to tell her. I should be mature, Alice scolded herself.

Still, she hesitated.

Alice had no room of her own at home. No place, no real sense of belonging. She needed to belong somewhere. But a girl like her—a daughter who looked nothing like her mother, a sister who looked nothing like her brothers—was low on options. She felt most comfortable in nature, where things weren’t required to look like the other in order to live together peacefully.

Anyway, it wasn’t that she needed anyone to like her.

It was just that she already liked herself so much and found herself so very interesting (and smart and creative and nice and funny and friendly and genuine) that she really couldn’t understand why it wasn’t easier for her to fit in.

And besides, Alice thought she was very pretty.

Her hair didn’t have any color or shape to it, but there wasn’t anything wrong with it. It didn’t talk or spit on people or accidentally kick small children in the toes.

And her skin had no color or luster to it, but it covered all her inside parts, and it wasn’t foul or sticky or covered in fur.