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Prologue: Lottie
I skidaround the corner of the house, trying to find a hiding spot from my mom. My foot catches on a stone as my body goes airborne and I land with a grunt on the gravel of the drive. Pain stings the skin of my knees and hands from trying to save myself, and tears prick my eyes, but I shake it off and swallow down the pain as I jump to my feet and race off.
I can’t be found here, I need to hide. I have homework to do and it’s stupid. I don’t want to do reading, it’s too hard and I hate it. I round the wall that leads to my favorite part of the grounds and sigh with relief. Everything about the rose garden makes me happy. The pretty colors, the sweet smell, even the harsh thorns fascinate me, but it’s the peace I get here that I love the most.
Dipping beneath the arch of trailing roses, I head towards the back, where the potting sheds are, and slump down in the fragrant grass. It’s wet beneath my bottom, but I don’t care. I’m safe here, free to daydream, free to be me without having to prove anything.
I examine my hands seeing the broken, scuffed skin and then tentatively glance at my knees. I hate blood, it makes me feel all funny inside, like I might be sick, and my head gets all funny, like my brain is trying to fall asleep. I abandon the idea of cleaning myself up after a glance and hope it will just scab over.
My nose wrinkles and stings and my chest feels heavy as I think about what my teacher said today. That I was stupid and it was a waste of time trying to teach an idiot. I hate that school; it’s full of rich kids with fancy clothes and toys. Rich people can be mean and nasty. Mr. Coldwell is mean; he never says anything to me, but I see it in the way he looks at me, as if I’m a nuisance, as if I’m a fly he wishes he could swat away.
Mrs. Coldwell is nice though, but she always seems sad, as if she might cry. Maybe her teacher was mean to her too. But she can read, I see her in the library sometimes and I envy her. She can see the words my mother insists are there in the books, but I’m dumb and the letters move every time I try.
The gate that leads down to the lake on the other side of the rose garden creaks, and I tuck my body closer to the side of the wall, hoping whoever is there won’t see me. I listen as the steps get closer and closer and close my eyes. If I can’t see them, maybe they can’t see me. The sound moves closer until I know they are near to me, and I open one eye and look up and into the eyes of Lincoln Coldwell.
“Lottie, what are you doing?”
Lincoln is three years older than me at nine and everyone loves him, even the teachers. They all talk about him, the girls giggle around him, and the boys are all his friends and laugh at everything he says or does. I wish I could hate him for it, but he’s nice to me and always takes the time to wait for me when we’re dropped off at school. He hunkers down on his haunches and I see his dark brown hair fall over his brow as he pushes it back with a sweep of his hand.
“Lottie!”
I jump at the sound of his shout and he immediately looks contrite as he sinks onto the grass beside me. His knees are bent up as he rests his elbows on them. “Are you going to talk to me and tell me why you’re crying and bleeding?”
“I fell over.” I sniff and try to sound brave.
“How?”
“I was running and trying to hide.”
He offers me a hanky from his pocket and I take it, wiping my face and I grimace when I see the dirt I’ve left behind. “Sorry.”
His handsome face creases into a warm grin. “It’s meant for boogers and tears, Lottie. It hardly matters if it’s dirt.”
I giggle, some of the lightness returning to my heart. “You said boogers.”
Lincoln rolls his eyes at me, but he smiles. He looks so much older than his brother, Clark. He’s my friend too. We’re the same age, but we aren’t in the same class, he’s really, really clever and I’m just stupid. My mood sours as I think about earlier at school and how everyone laughed when the teacher said those things to me. It makes me want to cry and I choke it back, not wanting Lincoln to see me cry and think I’m a baby.
“Hey, why the long face?”
I shrug, not wanting to tell Linc what they said. “Nothin’.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing if it’s made you cry.”
“I hate school.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m stupid.”
I hear his indrawn breath and angle my head to see his face. His brows are slashed low over his blue eyes, his lips pinched. “Don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s true. My teacher said so today. I wish I could leave that school and become an astronaut.”
“An astronaut?”
“Yeah, then I can see the stars up close and find out if the moon is really made of cheese. I love cheese.”
“That would be a cool job.”
