DEDICATION

FOR SCOTT

YOU ARE THE SUNLIGHT THAT

MAKES THE RAINBOW POSSIBLE.

PROLOGUE

THE DOOR SEEMED flimsy. She probably could have kicked it in if she wanted to. And, at the moment, she really, really wanted to. She wanted to kick in everything in sight. She wanted to kick in the world. She had lost, and if there was one thing she could not stand, it was losing. If she kicked in the world, she could let everyone know—she had lost for now, but she would win in the end. Make no mistake about it.

She followed him through the flimsy door and dropped her bag on the carpet just inside, then peered around. Tacky, tacky, cheap, tacky, common, tasteless.

“I’m already bored,” she said.

“Don’t be like that. Give it a chance.” He hurried across the room and threw open the curtains, revealing a window almost the length of the whole wall. Sunlight flooded into her, causing her to squint, a small stab of pain lighting up in her temples. She cursed, but he ignored her. “What do you think?”

She followed him to the window, pressed her hand against it. It was warm. Her heels sank into the carpet, so she kicked them off and curled her toes into its fiber. At least the carpet was plush. Still tacky, but plush. A gull swooped past the window and winged into the distance, until it was a tiny, squawking dot. She turned, pressing her back against the toasty window, and faced him. “I’m not doing this forever.”

“Of course not,” he said. “There’s no intention of that.”

She paced through the living room, testing the cushion of the sofa with her palm. Plush, just like the carpet.

Okay, so maybe not quite as cheap as she’d originally thought.

“Let me show you the rest,” he said. He’d somehow gotten back over by the door—this place was way too small—and grabbed her bag.

She sank onto the sofa, propped her bare feet up on the coffee table, and closed her eyes. “I don’t feel like it.”

“At least let me show you your room. You can freshen up. I’ll make us some sandwiches.”

Her lip curled in disgust. Sandwiches? She didn’t eat sandwiches. Sandwiches made people fat. Sandwiches made people ordinary. She didn’t know why she kept having to prove it over and over again, but she was not ordinary. She was special. She was meant for better than this. She was meant for better than anything she’d ever been given in her life. How was it fair that she’d been gifted with so many talents and not one person—not one!—who could truly appreciate them?

“Well? You hungry?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We can talk.”

She opened one eye. “And what exactly is it you think I want to talk about?”