I want to wince when I hear myself say, "Sure, sounds like fun."

Mom lets out a breath while the girls suck in theirs.

"Can you pick her up?" Mom asks my cousin.

"Sure, Aunt Linda," Sabrina says.

Seriously, I feel like a little kid having my mommy make a playdate for me. Especially when I hear my mom ask, "What time?"

"I guess around eight."

"Grrreat!" Mom says like that tiger in the cereal commercial.

How am I going to get out of this without my mom finding out? There's no way I'm going to a party and have people stare and gawk at me. It's bad enough I'll have to deal with the ridicule in school on Monday.

After Mom brings their side salads and leaves us alone for two minutes, Brianne flashes me a sly smile. "Do you know the big news?"

News? Um, I haven't exactly been in the gossip loop lately. "That Mr. Meyer wears a toupee?" I heard that about our school principal a while ago.

Brianne laughs. "No, that's totally old news. I'm talking about Caleb Becker being released tomorrow."

What?

Danielle dips her fork in her dressing and stabs a piece of lettuce. "Mrs. Becker called my mom today and told her. Early release. I wonder if they'll let him back in school."

Early release? He was supposed to be away for at least six more months. I had the perfect plan--to leave for Spain before he got back. A deep, sharp pain in my chest jabs me when I take a breath, and my fingers are shaking. I'm having a mini-panic attack, but trying not to let everyone else know.

"Maggie, are you okay?" Sabrina asks as I push the pie away from me.

No. I'm definitely not okay.

THREE

Caleb

As if having my dad stare at me throughout the entire drive from St. Charles to Paradise wasn't torture enough, my mom has been wringing her hands together since I was discharged from the DOC this afternoon. I don't even think she's looked in my direction once.

What the hell am I supposed to say? Stop being nervous, Ma. Yeah, I'm sure that'll go over well. Her son is a convicted felon. I just wish she would stop constantly reminding me of it.

Okay, so it'll take some time. She never excelled at being the doting mother to begin with.

When we turn down Masey Avenue, Paradise Park is in front of us. I got my front two teeth knocked out at the Paradise Park playground when I was five and had my first fist fight on the basketball court there when I was nine. Those were the good old days. I can't believe I'm seventeen and thinking about the good old days.

A block later we reach the familiar two-story brick house with four white pillars flanking the front door. I step out of the car and take a deep breath.

I'm home.

"Well ..." Dad says as he opens the door. "Welcome to Paradise."

I nod instead of laughing at the most common greeting to visitors in this town. I lurk in the foyer. The decorating hasn't changed in the past year--I can see that right off the bat.

Strangely enough, it doesn't feel like home.

It smells familiar, though. Like apple spice. I haven't smelled this sweet, tangy scent in what seems like forever.

"I'll, uh, be in my room," I tell them, although I say it like I'm asking permission. Why, I have no clue. It used to be my room, it still is my room. So why am I acting like this place is just a pit stop?

I step up the familiar staircase, but this feeling of claustrophobia overcomes me and I start to sweat. I venture farther up the stairs and scan the hallway. My eyes rest on a black vision leaning against the door frame of my sister's room.

Wait.

That black vision is my twin sister, Leah. She's not just a silhouette of my sister, that's her in the flesh. And she's wearing nothing but black.

Black hair, black makeup. Damn, she even has black painted nails. Goth to the core. A shiver runs up my spine. It's hard to believe this is my sister. She resembles a corpse.

Before I let out another breath, Leah throws herself into my arms. Then these huge sobbing noises come out of her mouth and nose, reminding me of my cellmate.

Even when Judge Farkus eyed me with disgust and told me I was going to be locked up for almost a year for my gross negligence and stupidity for driving drunk, I didn't let out a peep. Man, when they made me strip and did a full cavity search, I was humiliated beyond comprehension. And when Dino Alvarez, a gang member from the south side of Chicago, came up to me during exercise hour and cornered me my second day in the DOC I almost shit my pants. But I never once in all that time cried.

I pat my sister's head, not knowing what else to do. I've hardly had any physical contact in the past year, and craved it when I sat in my cell for over three hundred days and nights. But now, when I'm getting some from my own sister, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.

"I need to lie down for a while," I say, then gently push her away. What I really need is a break from this old/ new barrage of family in my life.

As I walk into my room, the dark wood floor beneath my feet creaks, the sound reverberating in my ears.

It's a kid's room, I think to myself. Sports trophies and my Star Wars Anakin Skywalker lightsaber are still on my bookshelf where I left them, and a Paradise High School pennant is nailed above my bed. Hell, even the picture of Kendra in her cheerleading uniform is taped to my headboard as if we're still a couple.

I cut all ties with her when I got arrested. Kendra is a girl used to being pampered by her parents and would be grossed out by the people I've been living with for the past year. I could just imagine her snubbing Dino Alvarez's girlfriend during weekly visiting hours. The last thing I needed in the DOC was other inmates kicking my ass because I have a girlfriend who wears designer clothes and carries a two-hundred-dollar purse.

Visiting day for me consisted of Mom wringing her hands nervously and staring at me like I was someone else's kid, and Dad rambling on about weather and nothing in particular just to fill in the silence.

Walking to my bedroom closet, I finger all the new clothes Mom must have bought for me. What was she thinking? My t-shirts and jerseys are gone. In their place are geeky, button-down plaid shirts hanging like soldiers. On the shelves, all folded up like in a Gap store, are different shades of pleated pants.

I pick up a pair and hold them in front of me. They're way too small. When should I break the news to her I'm not the skinny kid who used to live here? I worked out every day for the past year to blow off steam and fend off guys like Alvarez. Muscles don't just weigh more, they change the entire structure of your body.

Sitting at my desk, I look out the window and glance at the Armstrongs' house. My window faces Maggie's bedroom.

Maggie Armstrong.

The girl I was convicted of maiming.

Okay, I know it's unfair. But it's hard not to want to blame her. If it wasn't for her I wouldn't have been locked up. I've thought about Maggie and the events leading up to the accident more times in the past year than I want to admit.

"Caleb, you there?" Dad asks, then knocks.

Gotta love it when people knock. I haven't heard a knock in a year. I open the door and gesture for him to come inside.

My dad walks in and I close the door behind him. He's still got a full head of dark hair and a tailored mustache. He's okay as a dad, but a total wimp when it comes to standing up to my mom.

"Your mom's invited a few of her friends over after dinner." He hesitates, then adds, "For, um, a homecoming party."

A knot on the back of my neck starts to form. I rub it. A homecoming party for a guy who just got out of the slammer? Unbelievable. "Cancel it," I say.

The veins in his neck tense up and start turning a strange shade of purple. "Listen, it's what your mother wants. She's been through a lot this year with you in jail.

Just ... do what she wants and put on a show for her friends. It'll be easier for everyone if you play along."

"A show?"

"Yeah, plaster a smile on your face and humor the women in her social club. I do it all the time," he says, then leaves the room as quickly as he entered.

It takes a second to register what he just said. Smile? Show? I feel like I've been transported to some Hollywood movie set. But it's not a movie, it's my life.

Taking the lightsaber in my hand, I turn it on. Laser sounds fill the room when I wave the saber like a great Jedi warrior. God, how I used to spend hours dueling imaginary demons with this thing when I was a kid.

Now I've got new demons to fight.

Ones I can't make disappear with a wave of a toy.

FOUR

Maggie

"Maggie, look at what I bought for you." My mom

stands at my bedroom door in the evening, holding up a pair of pink velour pants and a zippered jacket. "The saleswoman said all the teenagers are wearing

"Nobody says hip anymore."

"Cool?"

I take the outfit from her. It's a Juicy Couture set, totally soft and nothing like my Wal-Mart clothes. "Mom, this must have cost over a hundred dollars. It's very cool, but we can't afford it."

"Don't worry about the money," she says, waving my concern away. "I put in some overtime at the diner and these. They're very, very hip. have a little extra this month. Besides, school starts Monday and I wanted you to have something hip, cool, whatever. Try it on." Mom does a little excited dance as she waits.

I wanted her to leave for work so I could call Sabrina and tell her I'm not going to the party. "Mom, it's seven thirty. Don't you think Mr. Reynolds will be upset if you're a half hour late?"

She smiles, her excitement hasn't waned. "Sweetie, I'm waiting for Sabrina to pick you up."

My stomach sinks to my knees. "Why?"

"Because it'll make me so happy to finally see you go out and have fun."

I feel the pressure building up and entering my lungs.

I dress in the velour outfit, and as soon as my mom sees me she's beaming. "Oh, sweetheart, you look gorgeous. Pink goes so well with your olive complexion."

I have to admit, the outfit is gorgeous. But I'm not. Although the pants hide my hideous scars, no amount of money can make an outfit hide the awkward tilt in my stride. After Mom watches me brush my stringy, dull brown hair and lends me makeup to wear, I find myself standing at the door waiting for Sabrina.

"Now, if you have any problems, I wrote down some emergency numbers for you." She hands me her cell and a piece of paper. "The first one is the number to the diner, the second is Aunt Pam's, the third is Dr. Gerrard's emergency line, and the fourth is 911."

Images of Spain race across my mind. She treats me like my head is as messed up as my knee. "Come on, Mom, 911? It's been ingrained in my head since preschool."

"People forget numbers all the time when they're under stress, Maggie."

I open my Wal-Mart purse and shove the paper inside. "I'll be fine," I assure her, although I'm not so sure myself.

"I know. I just want you to be happy. And safe. But if your leg hurts or you want to come home early, I'll leave work and come get you."

Suddenly it hits me. Why she's giving me the attention she'd give to a newborn baby. "You know Caleb is coming back today, don't you?"

Her deer-in-headlights look doesn't go unnoticed. "Someone might have mentioned it at the diner yesterday."

I moan and groan, "Moommm."

"Sweetie, don't think about it. Just look the other way and pretend the Beckers don't exist."