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1
HAZEL
“Environmental law?” Dad repeated the words I had just said. He gave a look like he was mildly surprised, mildly interested. Which meant that he was actually completely displeased.
I hate disappointing him.
“It excites me,” I tried to sound reasonable. Although I am the first to admit that I’m a daddy’s girl through and through, I knew this would be one idea he couldn’t immediately get on board with.
In time, maybe he will.
“It’s only her second year of law school. She has time to change her mind,” Mom cut in.
“I won’t change my mind.”
I won’t. I want to help people like Dad does. But not exactly like Dad does. I might have followed his footsteps going to law school but I can’t imagine running for public office someday. The constant scrutiny, the liars and cheats who try and get close, the security threats—it’s a lot. I’m not as keen to be just like him as my brother Roman, who works at Dad’s law firm and is striving to make partner.
I can’t explain why I’m so drawn to environmental causes. I am well-traveled but I have always lived in a concrete jungle. Even my bedroom has floor-to-ceiling windows with views for days of the city. I love Seattle. It’s home. But in another life, I’d almost swear I was raised on a farm. Or at least someplace out in the country.
Those colorful rolling hills…they call to me.
Oh you should have seen my three older brothers’ faces four years ago, when I first told the family that I wanted to major in environmental science. They pretty much scoffed like they did when I first started dabbling in plus-size teen modeling the year before. My oldest brother, Grant, got discovered through me and now his pretty mug is everywhere, so who’s laughing now?
They were underestimating me then, and they’re underestimating me now.
One day after I’ve done a whole heck of a lot of good in the world, maybe then they’ll understand…
I flip back one page. ‘In another life,’ I re-read the words in my head, ‘I’d almost swear I was raised on a farm.’
I smack my journal shut. My throat constricting around a feeling…I’m not sure what. Fear, hope? Some in-between?
No, no. I know that girl was full of shit. But the coincidence is almost alarming. I wrote those words just yesterday, a couple of hours before receiving an eerie phone call from some country bumpkin who lives out in the Palouse. Claiming that I am actually living her life.
According to her, we were “accidentally” given to each other’s families after being born in the same hospital.
Uh-huh. Sure. That’s rich.
Then again…what if it’s true? It would explain why I look nothing like my older brothers, who are all perfect carbon-copied blends of half Mom, half Dad. All my life there’ve even been jokes that I’m the milkman’s baby. With my fair skin and blonde hair, I stand out from my family like a highlighter run through a black-and-white page.
A knock on my bedroom door knocks my senses back into me. That must be Tess. My best friend. Outside my room. In the house I share with my family. My real fucking family.
I gulp a swallow, compelling my voice to come out evenly. “Hi, come in!”
“Heeey,” she greets, elongating the word as she pokes her head in my room. She’s forcing a smile.
“Don’t do that sympathy thing, please.”
Slowly closing the door behind her, Tess holds up a thin rectangular red box. “I come bearing gifts?”
“Tell me that’s chocolate.”
“With all the peanuts, so your brothers can’t steal them.”
“Nice!” I brighten up. “Seriously though, careful. I’m not even supposed to bring nuts into our home.”
“You invite me over all the time!”
“Ha-ha, very funny.”
