I start reading, but she snatches it back before I’m halfway through and says, “So you want to be a star, Jessica?”

Mrs. Bradley is the school principal at St. Anthony’s. She’s stiff and serious with a face like a warning sign. I’ve never seen her smile.

She spends most of her time in her office. When she does come into a classroom, the temperature drops.

“I thought it would be good to put on my personal statement,” I say, and she sits down and gestures for me to do the same.

“You realize I’m going to have to send a letter to the parents of every child in the school if I agree to this?” she says. “We can’t have anyone on film without their permission.”

“I know.”

“What does your father think?”

“He’s cool with it.”

“I’d like to meet with him,” Mrs. Bradley says. “Why are you doing this, Jessica?”

She has the power to stop this before it’s even started, and I’m annoyed at myself for not realizing it earlier, for not trying to sweet-talk her.

“You know about my mom,” I say, and she nods. “She always wanted to be famous.” This is a lie. Everything I’m about to say is. “She dreamed of being an actress, but when I came along, well, she put it off. And then…”

Never underestimate the power of a pause.

Mrs. Bradley sighs, and I see the sympathy that used to follow me everywhere, her nods now sincere, her lips pushed into an understanding half smile.

“I’m not talented in that way,” I say. “I don’t do drama. I can’t sing. But I can do this.”

I stare at her until she says, “You don’t have to. Your mother would be proud of you anyway.”

People say that a lot. Strangers think pride is a universal feeling in dead parents. But if Mom is looking down on me, she’s probably a little disappointed. I haven’t done anything since she was killed, but I can change that now.

The daughter of the Magpie Man’s first victim is going online every week for a month, and if he’s as messed up as I think, he’ll want to see how I turned out. In some sick way, I’m as much his achievement as I am Mom and Dad’s, so if you’re talking about pride, the Magpie Man is most likely to feel it.

I am his fucked-up creation after all.

Chapter 15

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Nan comes over to clean the house and make sure we’re eating healthily. Dad used to love cooking but not now.

On Friday nights, my parents would go through their cookbooks, ensuring we always had two completely new meals every week. They filled our cupboards and our stomachs with things I’d never heard of that nearly always tasted great.