“How would you know, virgin?”

“I’m not a virgin.” I rolled my eyes as we made our way to Trish’s black 300S parked along the busy street.

“Oh, right. I forgot about your precious Brock,” she joked, as she smiled over the roof of her car. I opened the passenger door and slid in, ready to call this whole thing off.

“Brock is a completely different situation.” I tried to hide the anger in my voice. Trish didn’t know about my past. I knew I looked like a love‐sick puppy to her.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Trish pushed the button on the dash to start the car, and we pulled out into traffic as she sighed loudly, her brow furrowed.

“What?” I asked her.

“I just wish you’d open up to me more. I told you about Ian. That’s not exactly something to be proud of—I know. Anyway, I’m here for you.”

I’d like to think that a friend offering to listen to my problems wasn’t shocking, but Trish was as deep as a frying pan. I knew, under all that mascara and bleach, that she cared, but she never let that side of her slip out. I envied the way she could lock her real self away from others.

“Besides, you know how I love to gossip.” She actually giggled. My faith in humanity was lost again.

I never expected a deep, meaningful friendship with Trish. In fact I loved her for her lack of empathy. I didn’t want anyone to care, to ask me too many questions. I wanted to start my life over and become a new person.

We drove through Orlando and sat in traffic until the sun sank below the hotels as I let my mind wander to the past.

I picked at the tattered shoelace of my white Chucks, wishing I knew how long my mother was going to keep me locked in this dump. It was a joke. They treated us like prison inmates, and just three floors below was a YMCA. Did the people down there know that dozens of teenagers were being held against their will right above them? The boys were housed on the third floor, but they came up to the fourth with the girls to eat, learn, and hang out throughout the day.

“Keep looking sad, and they’ll take those shoes from you,” a thick, familiar accent called from above me. I glanced up to see Brock standing over me, his lips turned up in a grin.

“Why would they take my shoes? Can’t they let me have anything that distracts me?”

“They’ll think you’re a runner, and I’m here to distract you.” He winked as he sat next to me, his back pressed against the pea‐green wall, and nodded across the room. “See that douche bag over on the couch with the fucked‐up hair? They took his shoes the day I got here. Said he shoved one of the guys who guards the door and threatened to burn this place down.”

“How would he burn it down?” I asked, as my eyes scanned the lanky boy who sat quietly by himself across the room.

Brock shrugged as he brought his knees up and rested his arms across them. “Fuck if I know. This place doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Do you know when they’ll let you out?”

He turned to look me in the eye, the playful smirk gone and no hint of humor in his voice. “This is much better than what’s waiting for me out there, and they say it’s up to our parents. How fucked up is that? My dad would let me live here until I turned eighteen if he could.”

“Better than being in school.” I focused on my shoes again, and Brock was quiet beside me for a moment. “What about your mom?”

He shook his head, and the muscles in his jaw jumped as he clenched it tightly. “She does whatever Dad says. Kind of how it works in my house. You go to Natchez High?”

I nodded as I glanced up at one of the workers, who was watching me play with my shoe. I dropped the lace and pulled my legs underneath me.

“Good. It’ll be nice to know someone when I start.”

For the first time since I could remember, I was looking forward to going to school, and I beamed at the thought.

“So why don’t you like school?” Brock asked me.

“Does anyone actually like school?” I retorted, but I knew he wasn’t going to drop it. He had opened up to me, and now it was my turn.

“Nah, I guess you’re right.” He laughed and shook his head. “I always skipped.”

“I wish I could, but it’s nice to have a meal in the middle of the day.”

“You call that food? I should cook for you sometime. I make a mean spaghetti.”

“You’re kidding? You cook?” I made all my food for myself, but we never had anything that wasn’t microwavable.

Brock shrugged. “Not really, but I can teach you how to make spaghetti.” We both laughed, and my shoulder bumped against him. “Everyone in here is pissed off at the world. It’s nice to see you smile. Gives me hope.”

“It’s nice to be happy for once.” I ran my teeth over my lower lip, and he used his thumb to pull it free.

“Careful. I’ll tell one of the guys in charge that you’re trying to hurt yourself. Now tell me why you hate school.”

I sighed as I looked at all the throwaway kids who surrounded us. We’d all been tossed aside for one reason or another. We all struggled to find a place. But it wasn’t so bad here, especially with Brock by my side. “People kind of hate me there.”

“You?” he said with genuine shock in his voice.

“Yes. Me. I’ve never cared about being one of the cool kids, and I’ve always been miserable at home, so of course I’m a ball of sunshine at school. When I we hit middle school, all the girls were curling their hair and starting to use makeup.”

“Makeup?” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand why girls like to spread that dirt on their faces.” I glared at him, and he held his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Continue,” he said with a laugh.

“As I was saying, all the girls were starting to wear makeup, and my mom never really cared about that kind of stuff when it came to me. She didn’t teach me how to use it and all that fun stuff.”

“So what did you do?”

I glanced at Brock, who looked genuinely interested in my story. “I stole her makeup bag one morning before school and flipped through a magazine to try to figure out how to use it. I thought I did pretty well.” I laughed at how stupid I’d been. “I went to school with my head held high. I thought for sure the other girls would look at me like I was one of them. But instead…” I cleared my throat as I picked at my shoe. “Instead they laughed at me. Said I was practicing to be a whore like my mother.”

“Why did they think that about your mom?” he asked, as I tried to wipe away my tears discreetly.

“Because my mom was raped at fifteen by a family friend. She didn’t want to have me, but my grandparents shamed her into keeping me. She used to try to come to school events and parent conferences, but the other parents made her feel like she didn’t belong because she was so much younger than them. So she eventually stopped trying.”

“Jesus…”

“It was better that she stopped coming, but the damage was done. The parents talked, and it didn’t take long for the kids to start talking too. Even though my mom never really cared, I tried to stand up for her, but that made everyone hate me more.” The tears flowed freely now, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. “So…the makeup was a disaster, and by the end of the day, I looked like a raccoon from crying off my mascara and eyeliner. That was the last day I tried, and everything got much worse.”

“Those days are over, Bird. Now we have each other, and I won’t let them make you cry anymore.”

“You promise?” I asked, as Brock used the palm of his hand to brush the sadness from my cheeks.

“I promise.”

“Fucking tourists!” Trish ran her hand through her hair angrily.

“We can’t all be born and raised in sunny Florida.” I reached out and turned up the radio as the car inched toward our exit.

The party would have long been swinging, and I was thankful. I wasn’t a people person, but the new Lie liked to go out and have fun. The new Lie loved to dance and party and give the world hell.

We pulled up in front of an older house I was sure would have passed for a mansion back when it was built. It had since become run‐down, separated into apartments then converted back to a single‐ family home. I gave Trish an unsure look, but she grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the door as she pushed the alarm button on her key chain.

The sun had disappeared, and in the moonlight, the building looked like a haunted house surrounded by woods. The steps to the front door actually creaked under the weight of our bodies. Trish didn’t bother knocking; she just pushed open the door. I expected loud music and bodies everywhere, but the music was faint, and I vaguely heard people’s voices. That’s when I realized there were only a few cars outside.

I stopped walking, and Trish turned around to glare at me. “Don’t be such a baby. It’s fine. This is an exclusive gathering.” The corner of her pouty pink lips turned up in a smirk. I shook my head but let her pull me farther inside.

The house wasn’t as run‐down as I’d thought, but it definitely could stand a new coat of pain and a heavy cleaning.

“In here,” a deep voice called out, and we walked through the entryway into the living room.

The walls were a deep olive, and there were two matching green couches along the walls.

“We’re ready to party.” Trish released my hand as she walked over to one of the couches and sat between two college‐age guys. One leaned back and put his arm behind her then stretched out his long legs. I glanced at the love seat, which had only one guy sitting on it. My heart sped up double time as I took in his dirty‐blond hair and light stubble over his jaw. He patted the cushion next to him, and I reluctantly walked over and took a seat alongside him, careful to keep my leg from touching his.

I recognized one of the guys who sat next to Trish; he was in my lit class. His name was Adam, and he was built like a football player, his hair dark and thick but cut short. The boy who had his arm around Trish was a stranger to me, as was the guy I sat next to.

“I won’t bite,” the guy next to me said, and I realized I was practically clinging to the arm of the love seat to keep my distance. I relaxed back in my seat, but I didn’t feel comfortable in this situation.

“So you got us in your rape den. Where’s the goods?” Trish obviously wasn’t worried about these guys.

Adam chuckled as he leaned back and dug into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a small medicine bottle, unscrewed the child‐safety cap, and dumped the contents into his hand. Trish eagerly held out her palm, with an anxious grin plastered on her plastic face. I wished I were back at our apartment. I’d only known her about a year, and she’d gotten me into more sticky situations than I could count—the worst of which being the time she’d passed out in the middle of the library, and I had to lie to a teacher’s aide to help me get her to her car. I was rewarded by Trish vomiting on me in front of everyone. The good thing about Trish was that she didn’t care about my past—who I was or why I needed to be someone else. All she cared about was herself, which was both sad and relieving. Picking at my thumbnail, I sank back into my seat as guy number one fed his drugs to Trish and the other two guys as if they were baby birds.

The guy next to me reached to the small stand beside the love seat and grabbed a mint tin. The back of his hand bumped my leg, and he motioned with his chin for me to follow him. I was the dumb blonde in every scary movie I’d ever seen, but I stood from the couch and followed him around the corner and up a flight of stairs.

“You didn’t look like you wanted to party,” he said, as he glanced over his shoulder. His teeth flashed brilliantly white against his sun‐kissed skin. No killer could be that beautiful, so I followed. Some people never learn.