Chapter One

Carina

Ten years old

THE LINES AND IMPERFECTIONS in the wood surrounding me are my closest companions. There’s a big black swirl directly over my head—right in the center of the roof. It’s a long oval and solid black, with tiny lines that splinter away from it. The shape reminds me of a screaming mouth. I’ve told that mark since I was five years old, screaming doesn’t work. We’ll never escape. Not until he’s ready to release us. I’ve dreamed about it, though—fleeing, running, finding something new outside of these all too familiar wooden walls.

The shed is nice compared to the dilapidated shed my friend Jenna has in her backyard. My stepfather, Greg, says I should be thankful. He’s made it nice for me. He locks me in here when I’m bad, or so he says. I was a good girl today, but he still dragged me out of the warm house, through the yard, and sealed me in my playhouse. I asked for another cookie. One is always my limit when I’m lucky, but the house smelled so good, like sugar and chocolate, and my mouth was watering. I wanted one more small taste. My mother hushed me, but Greg still heard.

“She’s fine, Greg. Leave her be. No need to bring her out there,” Mama says, slurring. She takes a sip out of the straw dangling out of her Big Gulp cup. She won’t say anything else to Greg. That’s her fourth cup this afternoon. I start to cry, wrapping my arms around my body.

He doesn’t say anything while he leads me out the back door. The long grass is still wet and it gets the ruffles on my white socks damp. My tears don’t stop, and my quiet sobs make me hiccup and lose my breath. It’s uncomfortable. I wish I had my teddy bear to hug.

“Shut your sniveling pie hole, Carina. Maybe next time you’ll be happy with one cookie. You’re such a disgraceful, disobedient child. It’s no wonder your mother is so depressed. She has you as her daughter. I’m so sick of your shit. You’re just like your deadbeat father.” He tosses me in using one arm.

I try not to think about the words he says. I try to think about how it will be better once he leaves. Who will stop Mama from filling her cup again if I’m not there?

“Please!” I beg. Greg’s smile is cruel. “I’ll be good. I want Mama. Please. Let me be inside. I won’t talk for the rest of the day. I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll be good. I’m good. Please. I’m sorry.” I hug my knees against me. The pretty dress I picked out this morning will have black grease on the back. It has tiny pink and yellow flowers and green leaves. My grandma sewed it for me when I visited last summer. I went with her to the shop and picked the fabric out myself. It barely fits now. The arms are tight and the hem is a touch too short, but it’s my favorite.

Greg shifts his weight from one foot to the other and shakes his head. I pray he doesn’t come in here with me. I can tell he’s thinking about it. Not again. I’ve been a good girl. I back myself into the corner next to the bucket that I use for my bathroom. It smells, but I won’t ask him to empty it. Greg will get upset. Like last time.

I pull my dress down as far as it will go, tucking it under my legs. I look down at the pretty pattern on the fabric and a tear falls against one of the pink, round flowers. It turns it a different shade of pink. A hot pink—like my Barbie doll’s dress. I wish I had her right now. I could braid her hair and tell her a story. I hear Greg’s breath. He’s still standing on the step. He’s not inside my playhouse. Moving my head to the left a tiny bit, I let another tear fall off my nose onto a yellow flower. The wetness doesn’t change the color as much as it did the pink. Please. I think. Just leave me. Leave me. Please. All of the muscles in my body stiffen, and I can’t count my heartbeats anymore. It’s beating too fast.

With a sigh, he slams the door, and I hear him lock it. He keeps the key in his pocket. I breathe out a big, long sigh and let a few more tears fall. Happy tears, though. It’s over now. I lick my finger because it still shines from the oily cookie and I hum when the sugar hits my tongue. Crawling over to the loose wooden floorboard, I pull out my book. I could read it when I was six, so it’s meant for children younger than I am, but it’s the only one I’ve been able to sneak in. It’s about a dirty, white kitten that no one wants. He lives in a beautiful candy shop. All of his siblings get adopted, but not him. One day, a sad girl enters the shop and the candy man gives the dirty, white kitten to her. It cheers her up. You know what happens when she takes the kitten home? Her mama accidently dyes his hair blue! It washes out, of course, but that kitten is the talk of the town. The girl isn’t sad anymore, and the white kitten looks beautiful.

Ever since I read the story, I’ve wanted my very own white kitten. A kitten no one loves. I would love that kitten more than any kitten on the planet. The edges of the book are folded and the pages are turning brown from being in here. I try to smooth the bends down and place it back in its hiding spot. Greg would be angry if he knew it was in here. He says I don’t deserve anything. I guess I am a bad girl.

This is the part I hate the most. I don’t have anyone to talk to. All my toys are inside.

There’s a tiny window in the corner of my playhouse. I slide a wooden apple crate over and stand on my tiptoes to see outside. I watch and watch. There’s an oversized gardenia bush that covers half of the rectangular window. If I press my nose close to the glass I can almost smell the sweet flowers. Sometimes I’ll pretend I’m a florist and my specialty is gardenias. I spread them around the wooden playhouse and the scent fills the air. My bathroom doesn’t smell bad when I play that game.

I’m not scared when the sun goes down. I know what to expect. He never comes back at nighttime. He’ll fall asleep in the living room, on his reclining chair, a cigarette in between his fingers and a brown bottle between his legs. He won’t come back until morning, and Mama will be happy then. Her Big Gulp cup will still be in the dishwasher. No fills yet.

I smile at the white flowers scraping against my window as the world darkens. The back of my dress isn’t too dirty. I scrub some of the black off of my dress using spit. I’m clean. The lines and swirls in the natural wood change now. They turn into different characters. I can stay up as late as I want, talking to them. I lie right in the center of the floor, folding the dark gray sheet in half twice so it’s thick enough to keep me warm. I like to wait for the world to turn black and white before finally closing my eyes.

Black and white is safe.