Bracing herself against the sink, she says goodbye to the girl who always does what she’s told. She runs her fingers through her long blond hair—her mother’s pride and joy. No doubt Heather will be grounded—she’s been grounded for a lot less, like leaving her clothes on the floor and for getting a B in Spanish freshman year.

This will be worth it.

Setting her phone on top of the toilet tank, she clicks on the playlist she created for this moment and hits shuffle. She opens her bag and empties the contents onto the vanity: conditioner, a plastic bowl, a croc clip, gloves, cobalt-blue semi-permanent hair dye, and the brush applicator. Thanks to several YouTube videos, she knows exactly what to do to get the best results.

After brushing out her long blond hair, she takes a before selfie, then strips off her shirt and puts on latex gloves. She mixes the conditioner and color and begins the transformation.

Forty-five minutes later, she spins around and sings along with Cindy Lauper’s True Colors. The blue-haired Heather in the mirror looks badass-awesome. She takes an after selfie, posts both photos on Instagram. Within seconds, her friends respond:

“Gorgeous!!!”

“Omg I want!”

“Smokin’ hot!”

“Damn, you’re sexy, girl”

Emboldened from all the compliments, Heather emails Mr. Bartley, requesting the alternative assignment.

Chapter 31: Cade

I follow Mom to the farthest guest room from our apartment. The second I cross the threshold and she shuts the door, I blurt out, “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry?” she huffs. “For what, Cade? Because from what I see, you didn’t just happen to speak with a reporter. That was deliberate.”

I slump against the wall. “I’m sorry we lost Mrs. Stoke’s business.” Tears glisten in Mom’s eyes. I had told myself to stay calm, to explain, but the devastation on her face guts me. “Mom, you have to understand. Logan and I had to speak to the reporter. We did the right thing.”

“The right thing? What was right about keeping this from us?”

“I tried to tell you. But you’ve been so stressed and busy—”

Mom cuts me off. “Not once did you say that you had an urgent matter to discuss about an assignment. Not once did you—”

I jump in. “I was going to tell you. If you think back, you’ll remember I came to find you and Dad. You were in the basement freaking out over the busted furnace.”

Mom grabs onto a bedpost. “There were plenty of other times you could have said something. You and Logan were working on an assignment, went to school early to discuss it with Mr. Bartley. You shared that much. Wouldn’t that have been the time to tell us?”