Page 13

Chapter Twelve

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BABY FACE

Amber, age fourteen

Cincinnati, Ohio

“I’m too old for this,” I protested again, tugging on the hem of the dress. Last year it had grazed my knees, but thanks to a recent growth spurt, it had more of a baby-doll fit now. “No one is going to believe I’m ten years old.”

“With that face?” my mother said, grabbing my chin and turning my head from side to side to inspect her handiwork. “You can still pull it off, kiddo. Thanks to my genes, you’ll be able to play young for a long, long time.”

I scratched at the Ace bandage binding my chest under the dress; it was pulled so taut I could hardly breathe. “I don’t get why I can’t just be my own age.”

“Because people hate teenagers,” my mother said. Off my expression, she sat back and said, “What? I’m just telling you how it is. A teenager, they might feel a little sorry for. But a ten-year-old with a bad heart? Now that’s tragic.”

“Almost ready?” my dad asked, poking his head into the bedroom. The only thing in it besides us was a twin mattress on the floor and a suitcase whose contents spilled out the top. Which rendered it indistinguishable from every other bedroom I’d had, of which there had literally been too many to count.

“Daddy, this dress is too small for me,” I said, appealing to him with my best little girl voice. “Can I please not do this?”

“Never try to bullshit a bullshitter, sweetheart,” he said, tweaking his nose at me.

“That voice is perfect!” my mom exclaimed. “Say the lines just like that.”

“What, now?”

“No time like the present!” my dad agreed.

I crossed my arms over my chest. Glowering at them, I mewled, “The doctors say that with one more surgery, I might be able to go back to school. But it’s so expensive.”

“Perfect!” my dad said, clapping his hands.

In spite of everything, I felt a rush of pride at his approval.

“Leukemia would still be better,” my mom said.

“I am not shaving my head again!” I shouted, stamping my foot.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Oof, what did I ever do to deserve such an ungrateful child? At least let me put another layer of powder on your cheeks, they’re still just too damn pink.”

“Maybe a little more shadow under the eyes, too?” my father offered, eyeing me critically.

“Definitely,” my mother agreed.

I stood mutely while she finished working on me, a wave of rage thundering through my head. Someday, they’d be sorry they put me through all this. I’d grow up and do something amazing, and when they asked me for help, I’d tell them to go to hell.

“Ready, princess?” my dad said. “We pull this off, I promise we’ll finally go to Disney World, okay?”

“I’m too old for that now,” I grumbled. Pulling on the stringy wig and adjusting it by feel, I said, “Let’s just get it over with.”