“Jesus Christ.” I can’t help it; I start to laugh and have to squeeze my lips together to keep the sound from bursting out of my mouth into the night. “Kitty, you scared me half to death, no joke.” I reach out and run a hand along the side of its fur, only realizing after that I’ve left a faint red line all the way down its back. I glance at my arm and see that it’s streaked with paint from fingers to elbow. I must have sprayed myself when the cat freaked me out.

This last part of the night is not going as planned. I’m definitely going to give Lucy shit for abandoning me. Tired, my ass.

Whatever, the cat will just have to deal with its new color. A little red paint never killed anyone, right? (I actually have no idea if that’s true, but I’m going to go ahead and believe it for the time being, otherwise I could potentially end up washing a cat in the dark.)

I’m still lying here in the driveway with a cat nudging at my face when the spotlight goes out, leaving me in dark.

Chapter Two

BITCH.

That word, still slightly wet, dripping red paint onto the asphalt of our driveway, is the first thing I see as I leave the house to head to school. First day back after winter break—what a great way to start the semester.

The letters are huge—massive, in fact—tearing their way across the garage door.

When I see them, I stop in my tracks.

Gwenie slams into my back and screeches, “Zach, what the hell?” Her curly blond hair is a mess, all unruly and tangled, and I make a mental note to find her a better brush. File under yet another thing a parent should do for their daughter that I’ll be doing instead.

My sister thinks she’s so grown-up this year, what with her cursing and the belly-button piercing she got without permission at some shady place down near the Venice Boardwalk. She’s convinced that entering high school has made her a full-fledged grown-up. What she doesn’t know is how little she still is. How much she should always want to be little. Playing on her swing set in the backyard, ignorant of messages like the one that’s been spray-painted on our house, yet again.

Instead she’s standing behind me, glowering at my back.

“Gwenie, go inside.” I turn and try to shove her back through the front door so she doesn’t see, but she’s too quick. She darts under my arm and stops at the corner of the porch.