I let Mom buy me a terrible pink backpack so that she’ll let us leave the store. When we get home, I run upstairs with my bags of books and clothes and throw them all in a heap onto my bed. Boomer has followed me, hoping that I’ll take him for a walk.

“Just a minute, boy,” I say, patting him hastily on the head.

Then I open up my laptop, search for “white spots on skin,” and click on the first result. I skim through the text, which seems to be describing exactly what’s happening to me. Then I come to the pictures.

I scroll down, only letting my eyes rest on each image for a second before I close my laptop.

I don’t have what the people in those pictures have. I can’t. I just have a couple of white spots that are probably there because Mom switched detergents or something. They’ll be gone in a day or two.

Trying to shake the images from my mind, I scurry down the hall to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me and turn on the bath tap.

When the water finally gets hot, I slip in and I stare at the blobs of white on my feet.

Then I grab Lily’s loofah, pour soap over it until it’s good and foamy, and begin to scrub at my toes. I scrub the spot on my right foot for at least a minute, but when I splash water over it, the spot is still there, so pale it almost glows. I scrub the left one next.

After a few minutes, the doorknob begins to rattle.

“Emma!” Lily calls, rapping on the door. “Emma, let me in. I need to get my straightener.”

“Go away!”

“Seriously, Emma. Open the door!”

She pounds harder.

“Just give me a few minutes!”

I scrub harder.

“I’m getting Mom!”

She stomps off down the hall, and I look at my feet.

The spots are still there.

I pull myself out of the bath, shivering, wrap a towel around me, and open the door just as Lily is marching back down the hall, Mom behind her.

“Girls,” Mom says, “we’ve talked about—”

But she stops short, glancing from my face down to my feet. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “You’re bleeding!”

I look down. I’ve scrubbed my toes so hard that little droplets of blood have started to bead between them.

“Nothing,” I mumble. “I just—”

But Mom has already leaned down to examine them. “What are these spots?” she asks. “These places where your skin is white?”

Lily scowls back and forth from me to Mom, like she’s disappointed that I’m not getting the scolding I deserve.

“I don’t know, Mom,” I say. I put my palms to my face and I begin to cry. Then Mom is there, wrapping me up in her arms and making calming noises.