Page 20

“Oh, yes. I remember. Pointed hats, broomsticks, black cats.”

“You remember? Why would you have to… never mind.” I couldn’t make head or tails of him, and he only confused me more by the second. “Anyway, explain yourself. My mother is a lot of things, I admit, and I don’t like many of those things. But she isn’t a witch. I mean, I would know.” I swallowed hard. “Wouldn’t I?”

“The woman you’re speaking of is not your mother. Not your biological mother, at any rate.” His face didn’t move. He didn’t even blink his freaky eyes.

Nothing.

Like he was telling me it would be hot again tomorrow.

No big deal, your mom’s not your mom.

It was like a bomb going off inside my head. Wiping out everything I ever knew and putting everything into place at the same time.

Could bombs do that?

I didn’t think so, but this bomb did. I tried to take a deep breath, but my throat was closing. I couldn’t get even a little bit of air in there.

“You’re going to faint.” He took control instantly, sitting me down, placing one strong hand on the back of my neck and forcing my head between my knees.

I couldn’t fight him off or even tell him to keep his hands to himself. I would have to be able to breathe to do that.

“Focus on breathing. As deep as you can. Count to four, then release for four.”

“Shut… up…” I wheezed, even though I was trying to do as he said because it made sense.

He was crazy, but he made sense.

I focused like he told me to and did what I could to count slowly, steadily. It was easier than thinking about what he’d just told me.

Mom wasn’t my mother. Not really.

It made so much sense. My whole life, I had never understood why I couldn’t just fit in. Why couldn’t I be like Jimmy, like Mom and Dad, like the children of their friends? She was always holding them up in my face, comparing me to them, wondering why I wasn’t as serious as them, why I couldn’t do as well in school or letter in sports or be a cheerleader. Why I didn’t have serious career plans. Why I couldn’t marry some dickhead who went to Yale or Columbia or something, whose daddy ran a hedge fund.

Why I never, ever felt like I was one of them.

It wasn’t me. It was them all along. They weren’t like me. I wasn’t wrong. I was just different. And they were normal, boring, pathetic. Just like I had always told myself.

“That’s why,” I whispered. I noticed I was shaking. Shock?

“What’s why?” he asked.

“Why she doesn’t like me.” I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was too late. Tears dripped onto the carpet before I sat up.

“The woman who raised you?”

“Yes.” I covered my face. “Why did she adopt me if she didn’t want me?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say, anyway. It’s a rhetorical question.”

“Pardon me if I’m overstepping my boundaries… but I’m sure your adoptive mother wanted you.”

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter.” I wiped my eyes. “That’s all over. The past. Thank you for helping me make sense of it, anyway.”

He crouched down at my side, watching me. Like I was an animal, something to be observed.

“You never questioned what I just told you. About your adoption.”