Heather is not the “disappointment” in the family. That title belongs to her older sister, Holly. Holly decided a long time ago to live up to her plant name, embracing the prickly and poisonous instead of the holiday cheer. After a stint in juvie for selling drugs, Holly dropped out of high school, stole from her family, shoplifted, and continued to use any drug she could get her hands on. A year ago Christmas, on her eighteenth birthday, Holly left with her twenty-four-year-old boyfriend, but not before she smashed every ornament on the tree, hauled off every present like the Grinch, and not only packed up her belongings but dinner as well.

Because of her sister, Heather’s been the “good girl,” and paying the price for Holly’s actions. Her parents are super strict. They pushed both daughters to excel and strive for perfection. Holly had enough.

No matter how hard Heather works to be their perfect daughter, she has never been able to live up to their expectations. “Only a ninety-three on your chemistry test? Clearly, you didn’t study enough,” her dad accused.

Isn’t an A an A? Not in her father’s book.

Heather would never do what her sister did. Where is her sister? Heather worries, but she’s bone-tired of it, tired of being afraid, tired of not knowing who the real Heather is supposed to be.

She meant every word she said to Jesse, from liking him (past tense) to reporting him to Principal McNeil if he ever touches her again without her permission.

Standing in front of the vanity, Heather talks to the girl in the mirror. “You are not doing this because of Jesse.” Although, she concedes, he did give her motivation. “You can do this.” She laughs a little as she fights back tears that cloud her sky-blue eyes. She leans in close, whispers, “If you go through with this, people will see you. They’ll notice you. You’ll stand out. Do you really want to stand out?”

No, not really. But didn’t Mr. Bartley do that to her by having her stand up in class? Remembering the smug look in Jesse’s eyes, the way he laughed, fortifies her. She lifts her chin. “One day. That’s all you need. That’s all you’ll get,” she says, resigned, thinking of her father’s wrath to come. If all goes according to plan, her parents won’t know until tomorrow night. At dinner, she told them that she’ll be leaving extra early tomorrow morning for an AP Lit and Composition study session. As long as they don’t break their pattern, Heather will be out of the house long before they wake up. This one day will have to be enough. A full day to make her statement: Heather Jameson is no Aryan. Heather Jameson has a mind of her own.