He was running his hand through his hair again. Did that mean that he was nervous? Was I making him nervous?

“So, are you doing anything over Thanksgiving break next week?” Alex asked, apropos of nothing. He also seemed to be very interested in his shoes. While they were cute - some well worn Adidas Gazelles - they were far from fascinating.

“I have to go to Washington to spend the holiday with Senator and Mrs. Harper.”

“Senate Majority Leader Senator Harper? Why?”

Because my life sucked. “Heʼs my bio momʼs father.”

“Senator Harper is your grandfather?” Alex sounded impressed.

“Technically.”

I only see my motherʼs parents once a year. They always fly me into DC for Thanksgiving break. For four days I get attacked by stylist and posed in different activities with the Harpers to ensure there are enough pictures of their All-American Family for the next campaign.

The eyebrow plucking and itchy sweaters are nothing compared to the painful conversations I have to endure. Mrs. Harper can wax on for hours about how I am nowhere near as pretty as my mother, while the Senator likes to lecture me on the responsibilities that came with being a politicianʼs granddaughter and the necessity of applying myself. The whole thing made me a little wrist-slitty.

My distaste for the whole situation must have shown on my face.

“You arenʼt exactly fond of your grandparents, are you?”

“My grandparents blame my motherʼs death on my father. They see him as a murderer, and me as his weapon of choice. They have never acknowledged my birthday or sent me so much as a Christmas card. The only time they contact me is when it benefits them in some fashion.

So, no, Iʼm not fond of them. Itʼs hard to like someone that hates you for being born.” Alex studied my face as I tried to appear nonchalant about the whole ordeal. “So, why do you go see them over Thanksgiving? Iʼm sure there are better things you could be doing.” There were about a million better things I could be doing. I could go see Dadʼs mom, who makes the best Derby Pie on the planet, or his dad, whose Derby Pie comes in a close second. I could go to Rebeccaʼs familyʼs Thanksgiving where everyone played cards and board games until the wee hours of the morning. I could go down to the Base and have Thanksgiving with Jaseʼs bio dadʼs parents, who have always treated me like family. That one was extra tempting because it involved seeing Charlie.

But I wasnʼt going to do any of those things. I couldnʼt.

“I go because she would want me to.”

Somehow Alex managed to get the whole story out of me. I told him about how the doctors had realized there was a problem in her second trimester and suggested she terminate the pregnancy for her own well-being; about how she decided that my life was worth risking her own; about how she held my tiny body and told me she knew she made the right decision; and about how she died with me in her arms. I told him how I found it necessary to excel in everything I do so she will be proud of me. I confessed to worrying I would never be worthy of her sacrifice.

I spilled my guts in a way I never had before. Iʼm not sure what compelled me to do it. He just kept asking questions, and I kept answering them, a bit too honestly.

So much for my business only relationship.

“And thatʼs my sad story,” I said. I had run out of steam and was feeling slightly embarrassed and exposed, not unlike those dreams where you show up to school without your shirt on. “Now, whatʼs yours?”

“What makes you think that I have a sad story?” Alex started picking at the threads sticking out from a hole in his jeans.

“You live with your brother, right? So, where are your parents?”

“Car accident. I was eleven. I donʼt like talking about it.” He continued picking at his jeans, never looking up in my direction.

I had the urge to smack his hand away from those stupid threads. I had just bared my soul to him and he was going to brush me off with an I donʼt like to talk about it? I was about to explain the unfairness of the situation when the bell rang. Alex was up and out of the door before I could even collect my thoughts.

I didnʼt see him at lunch that day, and I didnʼt have a chance to talk to him in Mrs. Soleʼs class. When he disappeared before the end of day announcements, I was certain he was avoiding me.

I felt utterly humiliated. First, I had spewed out a fountain of Ashley Johnson hatred that even the most clueless guy would recognize as a jealous fit. Then, I prattled on endlessly about my dead mother, dysfunctional grandparents, and insecurities. Worst of all, I had managed to convince myself he was interested in me. He probably picked up on that. Of course he was avoiding me. He probably felt bad for leading on the freakish, emotionally unstable girl.

Talley tried to cheer me up that afternoon with a generous helping of french fries and milkshakes, but it didnʼt work. I was embarrassed, my ego severely wounded. The only thing I was certain of was that I never wanted to see Alex Cole again.

Chapter 6

The best part of holiday breaks, other than the absence of Calculus, is that people tend to come back to school in a happier, less neurotic mood. At least, that was the case for Alex and me. The days before Thanksgiving were strained and awkward, partially due to my habit of running away every time he got anywhere near me. Monday, however, saw the return of our comfortable, if somewhat unsatisfying, friendship.

“So, youʼre kind of orange,” Alex said as I pulled up recent articles on immigration laws.

“Holy crap,” I exclaimed, examining my arms. “How did that happen? Thank you so much for pointing that out. I never would have noticed it on my own.” I had returned from my DC trip looking like a Fraggle. Mrs. Harper, in her latest attempt at making me a bit more photogenic, drug me to an exclusive salon in Virginia where I was forced to strip naked inside a space-age capsule that sprayed a sickly sweet smelling powder onto my entire body. They had promised that I would emerge a sun-kissed beach blanket beauty.

They were liars.

Mrs. Harper got a full refund and an apology. I got the honor of looking even more bizarre normal. Fortunately, it was fading rather quickly. I figured another week of taking a morning, afternoon, and evening shower would have me back to my normal shade of freak.

“Scout got a really fancy tan because she gets to be in commercials on TV. Her grandpa is famous,” Angel said, looking up from her coloring. Although she and Emma were on speaking terms again, Angel preferred to stay close to me on the afternoon Alex joined us at the library.