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Chapters (34)
  1. Cover
  2. undone
  3. Dedication
  4. one
  5. two
  6. three
  7. four
  8. five
  9. six
  10. seven
  11. eight
  12. nine
  13. ten
  14. eleven
  15. twelve
  16. thirteen
  17. fourteen
  18. fifteen
  19. sixteen
  20. seventeen
  21. eighteen
  22. nineteen
  23. twenty
  24. twenty-one
  25. twenty-two
  26. twenty-three
  27. twenty-four
  28. twenty-five
  29. twenty-six
  30. twenty-seven
  31. twenty-eight
  32. twenty-nine
  33. thirty
  34. Acknowledgments

The truth about the key is that I wear it so everyone will know I’m a latchkey kid. I don’t know if people still use that term, but I guess they used to, because that’s what my neighbor Mrs. Patterson calls me, and she’s older than fossilized dinosaur dung.

Anyway, people should know that my mom leaves me alone, every day, all day long. The authorities should be contacted. The record should state that Destiny Moore is not the perfect mother everyone thinks she is!

Unfortunately, she has everyone snowed, including my friends. They seem to think my having the house to myself all the time sounds like a pretty freaking sweet setup. They have this whole fantasy concocted that I spend my afternoons smoking pot, drinking Colt 45s, watching porn, and hooking up with cute boys. But the truth is much more pathetic than that.

That’s right—Destiny’s child is all alone. Boo-hoo. Where is my violin music? Where are my harps?!

My mom’s name is Destiny, even though she goes by Desi these days. I don’t really remember my grandparents, so I couldn’t say, but I guess when you live in a town called Kismet and boom! you end up pregnant after your supposed menopause, you might think to name your child Destiny.

Mom says it was destiny that I was born too. She got pregnant with me when she was still in high school, which pretty much means I was a total mistake. When I ask her if she’s had any regrets, she always says, “Having my beautiful baby girl was fated in the stars.”

Fated in the stars? Please. I puke a tiny Disney-colored rainbow in my mouth every time I think about it. Besides, somehow I doubt that little claim would work if I turned up pregnant. “Oops, Mom.” Big sarcastic shrug. “I guess it was just fate.” Yeah, I’m pretty confident she would pitch a major hiss.

That’s Destiny Moore, hypocrite, for you, and I’m Serena. At least that’s the name on my birth certificate and the one I’m going with. Truth is my mother was too drugged up to speak or write legibly. She intended to name me Serenity, which, in addition to being representative of an emotion I don’t possess, is the name brand of choice for adult diapers. All I can say is thank God for human error and Demerol.

“You’re late!”

Okay. Honesty time here. I’m not really home alone. I kind of have a self-appointed babysitter.