I give myself one last look in the mirror, checking out my makeup and hair before squaring my shoulders and starting for the hallway. Another good thing about these pills: in about half an hour, I’m going to feel happier than I have any right to feel. Kinder, friendlier. I’m sure Mom will be pleased once I’m feeling social.

Everybody is waiting by the front door. Instantly, I know I’ve made a mistake. Colt and Nix are wearing dark suits, like their father, while my mother is dressed in a white gown not unlike the one she’ll be wearing tomorrow. They could be headed out for some red-carpet event, and I’m wearing a dress I bought from Target a couple of years ago. Sure, it’s the nicest thing I own, but compared to them?

My mother doesn’t seem to notice, so at least she’s not going to berate me. “Finally. We can get out of here and not be seen as rude for keeping hungry people waiting.”

“You’re too hard on her sometimes, sweetheart.” James offers a wink that I appreciate, even if I don’t love what I know will be my mother’s reaction. When he sticks up for me like that, it only makes her angry with me. She’ll find some way to take it out on me when we’re alone.

It’s no secret the guys think I look like crap. If the glance they exchange when I fall in step with them is any indication. “Nice dress,” Nix mutters while his brother snickers.

“Thanks,” I say flatly.

“Where did you get it? Goodwill?” Nix murmurs as we get into the car. Of course, we’re only taking one car, meaning I have to sit in the back between the two worst people I know. Now I wish I was wearing pants since they both insist on rubbing their legs against mine as James pulls away from the house.

This is like one of those nightmares where I show up for school without shoes on, or in my underwear, or something like that. Only there’s no waking up from it. I’m an afterthought, and now everybody will know it when they see me standing alongside the rest of my so-called family. For somebody so concerned about appearances, You’d think Mom would have mentioned the dress code for tonight. I could have figured out a way to dress up a little more if I’d had warning.

“Are you feeling cold?” Colt asks, his hand brushing my thigh. “You have goose bumps.”

“Stop,” I whisper, smacking his hand away while our parents are oblivious in the front seat. Mom won’t stop talking about tomorrow, and all the little last-minute details she hopes don’t fall to pieces. Meanwhile, her daughter is getting groped in the back seat.