Pretending to be someone else has its difficulties. Seventeen-year-old Prism Chase thought it would be fun until the game turns deadly. She has exactly forty-eight hours to stop her charades and come clean about who she really is or people will die.
After she witnesses the murder of a government official, Prism goes into the witness protection program. Still scared that she isn’t safe, she comes up with a brilliant plan. She secretly switches places with another girl in the program who is on the run from a crazed bounty hunter. Instead of hiding, though, Prism steps right into the hands of the man who murdered the official.
As hours dwindle, Prism must figure out how to escape from the enemy, who is playing the part of protector and thinks she is someone else. Deeper secrets surface when Prism discovers her fake hideout is the battlegrounds for a pending war and the girl she swapped places with is the reason for the battle. Now, Prism must prove she’s not the girl she’s pretending to be, but in doing so, she risks not only her life, but the life of the girl she traded identities with, who has secrets of her own.
Kallie Jenson’s obit brought tears to my eyes. The funeral was closed casket and the family recited a poem Kallie wrote the day she died. My tears were fake, though. Not because I’m cold-hearted, but because I was Kallie Jenson. Before her, I was Kimberly Jones. Now, I go by Prism Chase. No one knows me, the real me. I’ve been someone else for so long, I’m not sure I’d recognize myself.
This meant I was moving again.I folded the newspaper and slid it into my carryon bag. The dark clouds hinted at rain, and I snuck glances over my shoulder while I crossed the street.
I couldn’t tell people my real name. I haven’t gone by that name since junior high when I was freshly introduced to the witness protection program. I thought it would be fun and exciting. An adventure, my mama told me. I‘d be a new person. New clothes, new friends, new home, new identity. A new me.
A lot of new me’s.
The airport doors slid open and I paused. Maybe I could just stop running and be me again. An older man swinging a closed umbrella mumbled something under his breath, but I couldn’t hear him and I didn’t answer.
Over time, I’ve learned never to talk to strangers, never trust anyone, especially friends, and to be suspicious of my neighbor, the librarian, and the bus driver. I couldn’t give my number to my boyfriend. Heck. I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend.