Adelaide is an expert liar. To survive in a world of scandal and secrets, Adelaide is forced to cover up for her popular older brother who uses her as a personal punching bag.
My excuses get weaker and weaker, to the point that I’m not sure anyone believes me. I’m not even sure I believe me. Stuttering halfway through sentences only makes the story even less believable than it might have been in the first place.
I fling open the top drawer of my bathroom cabinet and pull out a bottle of foundation. I’ll cake it on until you can’t see a single bruise, despite the fact my skin will look eight shades darker when I’m done.
“Let’s go loser,” my brother shouts from outside my room.
I throw the foundation on the counter, silently cursing as the glass bottle chips the edge of my sink, a small porcelain triangle falling down the drain.
Glancing back in the mirror, I try carefully not to let my eyes fall to my ribs, to the pancake-sized bruises right underneath my fading violet bra. It’s a relief clothes are a school requirement. No one would believe I got these bruises from a not-so-graceful fall to the ground. They’re clearly in the shape of a fist.
“Adelaide, let’s go!” he shouts and hits my door hard.