I bury my head in my arms.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I hiss, “because this might be all fun and games for you, but this is my life, might I remind you.”
I bury my face deeper.
What an idiot I was. Jasper? Getting close to Jasper … like this? I don’t need to peek down at my disguised form to know this will lead nowhere but misery. Jasper, Heath, and Beck might be monsters, but at least they’re honest about it.
Me? I’m just an imposter.
If I’m not careful to keep my distance, then one of them is going to figure it out before it’s too late. And the day that happens is the day I have to leave Bleakwood for good.
I’m so glad mid-term break is coming up soon.
I need a break from this, and more importantly, from them.
Chapter Nineteen
I have no idea what my parents are going to say about my stupid hair, let alone my brothers. I’m not even sure I want to be heading home for the break.
But it’s too late to turn back now.
I stare out the window of the plane as we start heading for the runway in Columbus, Ohio, flattening my hair nervously when I catch myself reflected back. God, I look stupid. Maybe Mom will take me to a salon. Do something, anything, with this butchered mess that remains of my hair.
I’m thankful, though, for my brief layover in Chicago. I at least got to change into some more form-fitting clothes, trading in my oversized hoodie and boy pants for some skinny jeans and a T-shirt that actually fits. My hair’s grown out a bit since I left home, too, so my head looks a little less small. I mean, my head’s still tiny and my hair’s still choppy, but it definitely looks better than when I left that bodega in Zurich.
A sudden feeling overwhelms me, a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia. Has it really been months since I arrived at Bleakwood? Sometimes it feels like I’ve still only just arrived.
And sometimes, still, it feels like I’ve always been there.
Jasper didn’t spring for anything better than economy class. Not like I blame him, a $2,000 charge on his credit card probably doesn’t look suspicious at all to his parent as opposed to whatever first class costs. Plus, it’s not like we’re friends.
This might even be his way of punishing me.
The plane lands without incident and I spill out into the airport with the other passengers. The woman who checks my passport says, “Welcome home,” with such gravitas that I feel like I’ve returned from some sort of international mission. I just nod and scurry past her.
My dad is supposed to pick me up from the airport. I wander out with just my carry-on, peeking into the little overpriced airport shops that seem to think people want to buy glass ornaments every time they’re about to board a plane. I didn’t need to check a bag, since I’ll just be going straight back to school before I know it. It’s dark out and definitely cold—but I’ve gotten used to the cold in Switzerland.
Just as I’m digging my oversized hoodie back out of my carry-on, I hear someone call my name across the crowd, and I turn to see my dad, Jeff Trevellian, in his khakis and button-up. He looks the same as ever; brown hair, brown eyes, tall, slim build. I actually got my frame from him, not my mom, who’s much stockier.
I always hated the gangly arms and legs that took me years to grow into. Who knew I’d come to be thankful for those genes, for the ability to pass as a boy—a basically prepubescent boy, but a boy still.
“Dad!” I call out, surprising myself as a rush of emotion wells up in my chest, forming a lump in my throat. I clutch my backpack to my chest as I rush over to him.
He smiles a bit as I come to a stop in front of him.
“Hey, kiddo. Lemme take your bag.”
I hand it to him and follow as he turns and heads out of the airport. Dad’s never been a hugging kind of guy, so I don’t expect any physical affection. The stupid grin that spreads across his face as we silently head to his car is enough to let me know he’s glad I’m home.
“So,” he says as we reach his sedan, “a friend of yours bought your ticket, huh?”
“Yup.” That’s the easiest explanation, and for once, it’s actually the truth. Or at the very least as close as I can get to it without explaining everything.
The quiet car ride from the airport to home takes about an hour. Dad and I barely say two words to each other. It’s nice to just sit in silence with someone I actually know after being surrounded by strangers for months.
“Home sweet home,” Dad says as he turns the car into the driveway, the exact same way he says it any other time he drives home. As he says it, I know those three words are likely the highlight of any conversation between us for the duration of my stay.
Our house is okay. It’s nothing special, a two-story suburban-type deal; vinyl siding, dormers, square windows. There’s the beginnings of a garden out front. My mother starts one almost every spring but she never keeps up with it. Dead plants line the front of our porch, little wilted reminders of dreams past. Footprints litter the snow in our small front yard, and the Christmas lights we never take down from our porch railings are lit up despite the fact that the holiday is still far off.