Extraits

CHAPTER ONE

Bang! Bang! Bang! My door rattles from the pounding coming from the other side.

“Cassandra! It’s time to get up. You have thirty minutes to get ready, or we’ll be late,” Simon yells through the door.

Ugh. I roll over, glance at my clock, and blink several times to clear my vision. Five in the morning mocks me. Last night, I laid in bed and stared at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling for hours. Now that movement’s required, I regret not making myself go to sleep earlier. My brain function wakes up after nine o’clock, but with the lack of sleep that might be P.M. and not A.M.

Why did I agree to be shipped off to Camp Odysseus after only four months of living with my newest foster family? Granted, they limited my options to camp or spending the summer working at Simon’s store. My foster parents, Simon and Jeannie, seem nice enough. Bouncing between homes for the last three years provides me with tremendous respect for how I’m treated by foster parents. Both Simon and Jeannie leave me with space to be myself, so when they told me about this camp, the need to accept their request weighed heavily on me. After my time with them—which I can only describe as a normal life—they decided to ship me off to Camp Odysseus for gifted children. Based on how people treat me most of the time, a camp for troubled teens sounds more accurate.

I haven’t always been the best foster child, but since reviewing my path up to this moment hinders my ability to be on time, I drag myself out of bed. I’m going, regardless of the place or reason. I might be a total screw up, but I hate being late. My bag sits by my bedroom door, already packed except for what I need this morning.

The hardwood floors chill my feet as I rush down the hall to the bathroom and shower quickly, trying to be quiet so I don’t wake the twins.

After I get out, I towel dry my hair, then flip my head upside down to gather my wet hair into a loose bun on top of my head. Slightly curly, brown tendrils fall around my cheeks and neck, but as long as my hair stays out of my eyes, I’m good.

One of these days, I’ll cut it all off, which would make showering faster, and I wouldn’t have to worry about pulling it up. There might be scissors under the counter. My mind wanders into all sorts of strange places from a single word or idea, and I force myself focus instead of searching for sharp objects.

Wiping condensation from the mirror, I check my face as I brush my teeth. Blessed with clear skin eliminated one of the typical teen harassment options for me, but kids being picked on because of their acne irritates me. Last year, a freshman picked on one of the girls from his class, so my foot connected with his knee, knocking him into his locker and breaking his nose. The principal suspended me for a week, and I moved back to the orphanage until they found Simon and Jeannie to take me in.

This morning, my eyes appear too bright. The red around them from lack of sleep mocks me as much as the alarm clock numbers. The cornflower blue stands out against the crimson. Because of the stark contrast with my dark-brown hair, my eyes receive a lot of attention. I tend to avoid eye contact. The less people who notice me, the better. Putting on dark eye shadow causes them stand out more, so I go without makeup, which allows me to go unnoticed most of the time.

After I finish in the bathroom and dress in jeans and a navy blue t-shirt, I pack my bathroom supplies into my bag. Simon checked the bag last night to make sure I didn’t have any contraband in there. Little does he know I added a secret compartment to the suitcase. He hasn’t been with me long enough to know some of my tricks. There are some things a girl cannot live without.