Chapter 2

No classes Friday afternoon.

I sat by the window on the third floor of the library, looking up information on Red Creek.

Northwestern Montana. Heavy snowfall in the winter. Roads closed often.

The school had twelve students, pre-K through sixth grade, all in a single mixed classroom.

My phone buzzed on the desk. Dad's name on the screen.

I picked it up and stepped out into the stairwell before answering.

"Claire, it's your sister Sophie's birthday this weekend. A lot of our good friends will be coming over."

He was keeping his voice low. In the background, I could hear cartoons playing and a little girl's laughter.

"Your Aunt Rachel says we just can't fit anyone else in the house. Why don't you stay at school this weekend?"

"Okay."

I stared out the window at the trees.

"Do you have enough money? I can send more if you need."

"I have enough."

"Good, good. You've always been such a mature kid. I don't have to worry about you."

He hung up.

I looked at the call log on my screen. Fifteen seconds.

Sunday afternoon, wearing my usual black hoodie, I took the bus to the address Mom had sent me.

I pushed through the glass doors into a lively room.

Relatives were crowded around the stroller, telling Mom how much Noah looked just like her.

Mom, in a cream-colored dress, was making her way from table to table with my stepfather, Uncle Mark.

The moment I walked in, the small group nearest the door went quiet.

The smile on Mom's face tightened.

She hurried over and pulled me out into the hallway.

"What are you doing wearing that? Didn't I tell you to put on something nice? Are you trying to embarrass me?"

She kept her voice low, her brows drawn tight.

"I don't have anything else."

"What about the fifty I sent you last week?"

I didn't answer.

Mark came out holding a drink.

"Claire's here—come on in and grab a seat, the food's already out."

He gestured toward a table in the corner.

That table was filled with Mark's cousins and a few kids I didn't know.

I walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Nobody spoke to me.

A plate of grilled chicken wings came around on the lazy Susan.

I'd just picked up my fork when the woman next to me reached out and spun the tray away.

The wings landed squarely in front of her grandson.

"He just loves these."

She stabbed two of them onto the boy's plate.

I pulled my hand back and quietly ate the greens in front of me.

A little while later, Mom stood up and clapped her hands for attention.

She pulled out a small dark-blue velvet box, opened it, and took out a fine silver chain with a tiny gold cross. She said it had been passed down from her grandmother, and now it was going to Noah.

"May it keep our Noah safe and healthy as he grows."

The cross caught the ceiling light and glinted.

I found myself reaching up to touch my collarbone.

There used to be a thin silver chain there, with a tiny silver star pendant. Mom had given it to me the year I turned nine.

She'd said:

"Stars keep you safe. Wear this, Claire, and Mommy will always be with you."

The chain broke last year.

The little silver star slipped down the bathroom drain. I never got it back.

Just like me—unwanted by either side.

I picked up my water glass and took a long drink.

The banquet ended.

Guests began drifting out.

Mom came over carrying a few takeout containers and pressed them into my hands.

"Some leftovers. Take them back to school. Don't let them go to waste."

I took them. The plastic handles cut into my knuckles.

"Mom."

I called after her.

She was busy directing a waiter to box up the leftover drinks and didn't turn around.

"What is it?"

"I'm not coming back anymore."

She didn't stop what she was doing. Didn't even look at me.

"All right, school's busy. Focus on graduating. Let me know if you need money."

I carried the bag of leftovers and walked out through the doors of the banquet hall.

The sunlight outside was beautiful.