Chapter 3

I let go of his collar, shove him away, and run.

When we first moved to the city, none of the kids would play with me.

They made fun of my clothes and called me a hick.

Vivian was the only one who'd sit next to me at lunch.

For years, I thought she cared about me like a sister.

I never thought one stupid photo contest would cost me my stepsister, my fiancé, and my dog.

Behind me, Vivian's voice drifts up, low and giddy.

"Thank God you were there. Her reaction in the exam room was way too flat. And just now, she barely even panicked—"

Something clicks.

Every other time I've come home, Buddy starts barking the second I hit the hallway.

Earlier today, I stood outside that door for a full minute. Nothing. Just their voices.

And when I walked in, Buddy didn't come running. No paws skidding on hardwood, no golden hair on the couch cushions.

I run the last two blocks and burst through the front door.

The soup pot is already on the table, its lid half off, with bones poking out of the steaming broth.

The tears come before I can stop them.

My hand shakes as I reach for the lid, and a blur of fur shoots out from behind the couch and latches onto my pant leg.

"Buddy!"

I drop to my knees, grab him, and sob into his back.

He's okay. Oh God, he's okay.

Then something clamps down on my shoulder.

Pain rips through me, and I shove him off on instinct.

The dog snarls. Teeth bared. Eyes wild.

That's not Buddy.

That's Tommy. Vivian's dog.

"Mom." My voice is barely there. "Where's Buddy?"

Mom won't meet my eyes.

"Vivian's got the engagement party coming up. She can't watch Tommy. He's staying with us for a few days."

"Mom, I asked you where Buddy is."

She goes quiet, and her eyes flick to the pot.

I feel sick.

Then Richard strolls in from the kitchen. "Oh, Buddy? Yeah, that dog got aggressive. Bit Tommy the second Vivian brought him over. Took me forever to get him out the door."

Buddy has never bitten another dog in his life.

And if you were just going to lock him outside, why take off his tag first?

I stare at them, my own mom and stepdad, and finally say it.

"You threw him out, didn't you?"

They glance at each other. Silence.

"Why?" I'm shouting now. "You couldn't even let him stay?"

I turn to Mom. "I'm your daughter. How could you do this to me?"

Mom slaps me hard enough to leave my cheek burning.

"We put a roof over your head, and this is how you repay us? Screaming at us over a dog? You ungrateful little brat."

I stare at her, cheek stinging, blood pounding.

"You knew what Buddy meant to me. And you all used him against me. Fine, I get that you love Vivian more than me. So her dog gets to stay, and mine gets thrown out?"

"Don't you dare talk back to me!"

Mom raises her hand again.

Richard steps between us.

"Gardi. Come on. Don't act like we're the only ones at fault here."

"Vivian treats your mom like her own mother. She hugs us. You barely speak to either of us. You just lock yourself in that bedroom doing God knows what."

"Viv's sweet, she's gorgeous, she's got real talent. And you? What do you even have going for you?"

I stop.

Vivian is sweet when she wants something.

And those clothes and all that makeup they keep admiring? Jasper's been paying for them for three years.

And talented? Talented at photography? That's the punchline.

I taught myself photography in that room they always complain about me hiding in. It was the only thing that ever made me feel like a person.

Vivian saw my shots, begged me to teach her, then sweet-talked me into handing over my whole camera setup.

I look at Mom, waiting for her to defend me. She says nothing.

I should’ve known. Whatever Vivian does, Mom thinks it’s wonderful.

I give a bitter smile.

“So photography’s impressive now? Fine. Then I’ll show you what I can do—”