He’d attached some pictures from Daniel’s talk at Waterstones in Trafalgar Square. There was a wall covered in copies of their latest book, Don’t Look in the Mirror. It still thrilled her to walk into a bookstore and see their books prominently displayed up front. She never took that for granted. For as long as she could remember, she’d written. Short stories, poems, novellas. No matter what was going on in her home life, she could escape into the worlds she had created. She loved being the one to control everything, to decide who lived and who died, who stayed and who left. She was in seventh grade when she decided that she was going to be a published author one day. She’d talked to the school librarian, who helped her find a writing contest to enter. She read through the instructions on the bus ride home, eager to get her father to help her and mail it off right away.

She would never forget the look on his face when she showed him the entry form. She had expected him to be excited about it. He’d always complimented her writing and taken pride in her good grades. But when she handed him the story she wanted to submit, he pushed her hand away, not bothering to even look at it.

“You sound just like your mother.” He said it like that was the worst thing in the world. “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Do you know how hard it is to get published? Don’t go setting your sights too high. You’re a smart girl. You’ll go to college, get a good job. Forget about all this writing stuff.”

She’d run to her room before he could see the tears streaming down her face. For the first time since her mother left, she almost sympathized with her. Maybe if her father wasn’t such a quasher of dreams, her mother would have stayed. It looked like he preferred someone boring and stupid like Enid. But Blaire wasn’t going to let him hold her back. The next day she took the application back to school, and with the help of the librarian filled it out and sent it in. Three months later she received the letter that told her she’d come in second place, and that it would be published in the magazine. When she showed her father that night, he’d given it a cursory look, and an absentminded “That’s nice, honey.” Actually, even Enid had shown more enthusiasm, but Blaire didn’t want Enid’s approval. Her father’s tepid support for her writing made it that much easier to say goodbye later, when they decided to send her to Mayfield.