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Mal lay back on the bed. “I dunno. I kinda like it.”

“I kinda get that, but it’s half the reason Mom cries all the time, and I’m worried about you and that makes me sad.”

“I’m not doing anything terrible, Len. I’m not fucking around or shooting up or snorting anything. I’m angry with Dad and Mom and you and Easton and my dead-to-me shithead ex-friends for dumping me. I hate this new school, and I just want things to go back the way they were, but I know that can’t happen.”

Lenny nodded, watching her own face in the mirror. It was her ordinary everyday face. It didn’t look sad to her. “No, it’s not ever going to be the same. We’re not going to be deceived like that again, and we have to work together if we don’t want to end up being sad and angry forever.”

“I want to get a tattoo.”

Lenny almost bit the tip of her tongue off.

“Don’t freak out. I haven’t done it yet.” Mallory jostled the bed.

“A tattoo is a really permanent thing.”

“Like having a father in prison.”

In spite of herself, Lenny laughed. “He’ll get out eventually.” By

the time Dad was allowed out, the world would be a different place, and the family he left behind would’ve long moved on from what he did to them. “I know you can have a tattoo removed, but it’s not the kind of thing you should have done when you’re angry.”

She studied Mal’s face in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, the lime-green hypercolor in her hair fading. Her nails were bitten. And covered by makeup, her skin was bumpy with a breakout. Under all that, Mal was beautiful like Mom. More so than Lenny had been at her age.

Mallory leaned her head on Lenny’s shoulder. “I never used to be angry. I could try to be less angry if you try to be less sad.

“Deal. Can you try to be kinder to Mom?”

Mallory breathed out against Lenny’s neck. “I can’t believe she didn’t know about Dad, and I hate how useless she is.”

“Shouting at her doesn’t help. And she’s trying. She went to the market.”

“She bought dumb things and forgot the toilet paper.”

Lenny laughed. “Baby steps. Now where are you going?”

“Would you believe the library?”

She pulled on a strand of Mallory’s hair. “Just go to school, okay. You only have this year and then you can change your life, make it something bigger and braver and louder and far away from us. College, a gap year, those plans don’t have to stop because of Dad.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll learn to knit. I’ll go to more galas and dance with more handsome men and make D4D a success and I’ll stop feeling sad.”

“I was going to see a movie with Ginny.”

It was a school night and Mallory might be lying. Lenny had at least met Ginny with her gloriously wild afro, her armload of leather bracelets, and ability to speak four languages. The worst that could happen was an ill-conceived tattoo. And not trusting Mallory had only made for more anger and sadness. “So go.”

“I won’t skip school anymore, and you’ll make it up with Fin.”

“When she gets back, we’ll sort things out.”

“And call that guy you danced with.”

“Right after I get a string of birds inked on my shoulder with the word ‘family.’”

She didn’t plan on calling Halsey; the closest she’d get would be reading his email. When Mal left, she made dinner and settled down with her tablet. An hour later, she recognized the emotion she felt wasn’t sadness, it was suspicion.

If one-tenth of what Halsey’s dossier on Cookie Jar said was true, she had some questions the United Heroes League needed to answer—faster than she could learn to cast a line of stitches.

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