Chapter 1: Drowned at the Wedding

My mom got remarried. At the wedding, she leaned down, smoothing my stubborn cowlick, her voice all sugary-sweet but tight with nerves. “Come on, Eli, just try it, okay? It’ll make everything easier.” Her perfume—cheap and floral—hung in the air. It was as thick as the summer heat in that rented hall. I glanced up at the man in his stiff tux, his smile never quite reaching his eyes, and forced out the word: “Dad.” Inside, I felt a twist—a cold, sinking feeling that I tried to hide.

I still remember the way she bent to my level, hands fussing with my hair, her voice wobbling between too-bright and desperate. “Come on, Eli, just try it, okay? It’ll make everything easier.” That perfume of hers—cheap and floral—clung to everything, mixing with the sticky summer air in that stuffy hall. I looked up at her new husband, his tux all sharp edges, and saw the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dad,” I said, the word tasting foreign.

She made me call his daughter my big sister, too. I remember the way she nudged me forward, hope shining in her eyes. My stomach twisted. I didn’t want to do it, but I did.

I stood on tiptoe and whispered it—"big sister." The words barely made it out. The girl just rolled her eyes, arms folded, her gaze sharp as broken glass. For a second, the whole room seemed to freeze. I could feel my mom’s smile stretching, brittle and forced. I wanted to shrink into the floor, the lights too bright, everyone watching for me to mess up. My heart thudded in my chest—please, let this be over.

I did it. There was a split second—just a breath—where I thought maybe it would be okay. Then his daughter shoved me straight into the pool. I almost drowned.

One second, I was blinking at the sun, the next I was underwater, arms and legs flailing. My lungs screamed, the world spinning in blue and bubbles. The shock of cold, the taste of chlorine, the sound of laughter muffled above me. I kicked, searching for the bottom, but it wasn’t there. I was going to die at my mom’s wedding. Just like that.

She leaned over the edge and sneered, "Homewrecker’s kid." My chest tightened.

Her voice cut through the air, sharp as a slap. I could see her shadow flickering on the water, her face twisted up with something ugly and proud. The words stung deeper than the scrape of concrete when I finally clawed my way to the edge. Soaking wet, I still felt her glare burning into me. The grown-ups all pretended not to notice, their laughter going stiff, their drinks suddenly fascinating.

I was only seven then. My mom always made it sound good. She promised if I behaved, I could eat as much pizza and burgers as I wanted.

She’d crouch beside me, eyes bright with promises. “Just be good, Eli. This is our chance. No more powdered milk dinners, no more going to bed hungry. Think about all the food you’ll have—real food.” I wanted to believe her so badly, to imagine a life where the next meal wasn’t a question mark. She called it the American Dream, like it was waiting for us right around the corner.

I was desperate for it. Back in our small Midwestern town, we could go months without seeing any meat.

Our old place was a sagging house at the edge of town, paint peeling, the yard wild with weeds. Dinner was canned beans or cold cereal, sometimes nothing. I’d watch TV. Commercials for fast food. My stomach would twist with longing. When Mom said this marriage would change everything, I clung to that hope with both hands.

But instead, I nearly drowned at her wedding.

Even now, the memory sticks with me—how the world tilted, how nobody came running. I coughed up water on the slick pool deck, chest heaving, and searched for my mom. She was already turning away, her hand tucked into her new husband’s arm, her laughter floating back to me, sounding like it belonged to someone else.

When they finally pulled me out, my mom was embarrassed I’d made a scene. She shoved me into a little storage room.

The room was cramped, boxes stacked to the ceiling, air thick with dust and mothballs. My wet clothes clung to my skin as I shivered on a crate. Mom snapped at me, “Why can’t you just behave for once? You’re ruining everything.” Her heels clicked away, leaving me in the dark. The faint thump of music and laughter came muffled through the walls.

She went off to play sweet with her new husband while I sat there dizzy with hunger, crying quietly in the dark.

I pressed my forehead to my knees, trying to swallow the sobs. My stomach growled, sharp and empty. The party was just down the hall. It might as well have been another world. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, listening to the muffled sounds of clinking glasses and distant laughter. Would anyone notice if I just disappeared?

I jumped when the window creaked open. Someone pried it up and tossed in a rock-hard dinner roll.

The roll hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling to my feet. I stared at it, startled, as a beam of light sliced through the dark. A pale hand vanished, and I heard a soft snort—almost a laugh. For a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it. Like a fairy tale, if only the bread wasn’t so stale.

Even starving, I still remembered my manners.

My voice was scratchy. “Thank you!” It came out before I could think. Automatic. Grandma drilled it into me—always say thank you, no matter what. I clutched the roll, tearing off a chunk with my teeth. It tasted like cardboard, but it was food.

The person outside snorted. "It's for the dog."

That stung. I pretended not to care. I chewed anyway, letting the crumbs stick to my tongue. The window slammed shut. I was alone again. At least I wasn’t hungry. Not that night.

It was only later that I learned the truth.

I overheard bits of conversation. Snippets, whispers, sideways glances. The Harringtons were practically royalty in this city, their name on half the buildings downtown. I was the outsider, the charity case nobody wanted.

The Harrington family was filthy rich, and the girl who pushed me was Lauren Harrington, their eldest daughter.

Lauren was the kind of girl you saw in magazines—blonde, tall, always looked perfect. She had a way of looking at people like she was both bored and amused. Everyone called her “Miss Harrington” like she was some kind of celebrity. Me? I was just an afterthought in her world.

Her mother was dead. Some people said my mom killed her.

The rumor mill never stopped. Some said my mom broke up the perfect family, that she was the reason Mrs. Harrington was gone. I’d hear the maids whispering in the kitchen, voices sharp and low. I didn’t know what was true. But I felt it every day.

Lauren hated me. She wanted me gone.

She made it clear in every look. Every cold shoulder. I’d catch her watching me from across the room, eyes narrowed, daring me to breathe wrong. I started walking on eggshells, afraid to even exist in the same space as her.

After that, I did everything I could to avoid her.

I’d duck behind furniture. Slip down side halls. Anything to stay out of her way. My heart would race whenever I heard her voice. Sometimes I’d hide in the laundry room, pretending to help the maids just so I wouldn’t cross her path.

Every time I saw her, that same terror hit me. Like I was drowning all over again.

That moment in the pool haunted me.

But living together, I couldn’t really avoid her.

Big house. Not big enough. We bumped into each other in the kitchen, the foyer, the backyard. No escape. I started to dread coming home from school, never knowing what kind of mood Lauren would be in, what new way she’d find to remind me I didn’t belong.

One rainy day, I’d just walked in. I hadn’t even kicked off my sneakers when Lauren’s car pulled up.

The storm was pounding. Thunder rattled the windows. I stood dripping in the entryway, mud on my shoes, backpack heavy and soaked. Lauren’s silver SUV glided up the drive, headlights slicing through the rain. I froze, wishing I could vanish.

The staff rushed over, fussing over her.

They hurried with umbrellas, coats, towels. Voices overlapping—“Miss Lauren, watch your step! Miss Lauren, let me get that for you!” It was like watching a queen come home. I pressed myself into the corner, hoping to disappear.

Please, just walk past. I pressed into the corner, head down, praying she’d keep moving.

My sneakers squeaked on the tile. I tried to make myself small, eyes on the floor. I counted seconds, praying she’d walk past. The smell of rain and leather filled the air, my heart pounding in my chest.

I froze. Instead, she stopped at the doorway and said, "My shoes are dirty."

Everyone scrambled. Practically fell over themselves. But she looked right at me, chin lifted.

She pointed. Her gaze locked onto mine.

"You. Come wipe them."

My stomach dropped. I had no choice. I stepped forward. Took the towel from a maid. Crouched down.

Don’t let her see you shake. My hands trembled as I took the towel, the fabric rough and damp.

"Kneel."

She wanted me to kneel, so I did.

The word hung in the air, heavy and final.

I knelt. She kicked me aside.

Her foot shot out, catching me in the shoulder. Pain flared, sharp and sudden. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to cry out.

"Spineless."

The word landed like a slap. I pressed my palm to my shoulder, staring at the floor.

Hard bones snap. Better to bend than break.

My mom adapted fast. She picked up the mannerisms and airs of the rich.

She learned the right jokes, the right clothes, the clipped way of talking. She was always at Mr. Harrington’s side, always smiling.

But me? I got nothing.

While she basked in her new life, I stayed in the background. I was a shadow. The other kids at school wore new sneakers, had the latest phones. I wore hand-me-downs and kept my head down.

Designer brands. Luxury cars. She spent without a care.

I’d watch her sweep through the house, arms full of shopping bags, laughter echoing. She’d wave off my questions about dinner money. “Make do,” she’d say, or “grab something from the kitchen.” Her world was all glitz and glamour. I was invisible in it.

I worked like a dog alongside the maids.

Tiny room off the laundry. Barely enough space for a cot and a dresser.

I was always run-down.

The staff bullied me. Joked I’d blow over in a stiff breeze. Said I wasn’t manly. Still gave me the dirtiest jobs.

Sometimes I’d hear them betting on how long I’d last before collapsing.

After that, things got worse.

Lauren’s friends joined in. Left messes for me to clean. “Accidentally” spilled drinks in my path.

I took it, because school was all I had.

Books were my escape. Sometimes I’d close my eyes and just breathe, picturing a world where I belonged. I’d sneak into the library after everyone was asleep, reading by flashlight until my eyes burned.

I didn’t want to go back to that little town, where meat was a rare treat.

Staying with the Harringtons was the only way I could keep going to school.

They paid my tuition. Kept me enrolled in the best schools.

If I toughed it out for ten years, I’d make it. Take the SATs. Start a new life.