Page 1 of Deranged Imposter

ChapterOne

Isabella

“I’m an Aquarius and blood type O, meaning I’m a natural caretaker.”

I did not endure a tempestuous two-hour flight from Arkansas to Massachusetts and a bumpy car ride back to my dorm just to hear someone scream out their romantic compatibility while barreling toward me.

“Mikah is a Gemini with B-positive blood, so if he needs a blood transfer, I can do it.”

I act like she has the wrong person because what am I supposed to do with that? The woman in twin braids shakes her head, stubbornness fuming from her ears as she roughly shoves the accordion folder into my arms.

“Inside lie my secrets,” she says, nostrils widening with pride. “Once he reads the letters, he’ll understand my feelings for him are nothing like a fifth-grade crush. Unlike some disingenuous people.”

I’m sure that jab is aimed at those who shot their chances with Mikah and were coldly ignored. But I can’t help but feel she’s looping me in with them.

I have not confessed to him, nor have I ever presented myself as a competitor for Mikah.

“You can give it to him yourself,” I mumble, sidestepping her and rushing toward the dormitory’s entrance.

It’s still bright outside, heat fluctuating as the trees’ shadows waltz on my scratchy skin. Late April showers have awful timing, coming too suddenly for annoyingly brief minutes. But early May is not going to be any better.

“You’re his friend.” The emphasis in her tone has a disgustingly sweet chirp to it, and I would’ve missed it if I didn’t have experience dealing with his admirers.

There is a more fitting way to describe these women. But that would offend all teen girls across the globe.

“I’m—”

She’s introducing herself, dropping her family name and their contributions to society as bonus points, but I’m too busy glaring at the two goofballs walking past me. One of them steps on cracked concrete and nearly takes out his kneecap from the fall.

Serves him right.

They have too much energy for people who woke up at five in the morning to finish last night’s report summary. They didn’t sleep during the flight or the car ride, opting to mouth upbeat music from noise-canceling headphones.

“As you can see,” the woman intones, brushing her airy bangs from her eyes. “We are a match made in heaven.”

And I’m a marriage agency.

I fix the strap of my backpack and sigh, grudgingly remembering the times people wanted me to lure Mikah out for them. The first time it happened, on a detestably humid day in July, I had to deal with his silent treatment for a week.

A week for a twelve-year-old is a lifetime of boredom.

“I don’t talk to him anymore,” I almost victoriously shout when her expectancy falls from her face.

Growing up with Mikah, who was an extraordinarily pretty boy and is a terribly handsome young man, I can confidently say my ability to lie has skyrocketed.

“I don’t know” is a common answer to his whereabouts. “You’ll have to ask him” is used to handle the prying questions.

A lot of people think Mikah is walking perfection, and it helps that his family name yields plenty of power. They see how he presents himself in public, but it’s only one side of him.

In private, he’s a different person. However, he doesn’t let anyone close enough to see it.

Though, if someone were to pay attention to his days, they’d notice some things.

He orders an iced Americano every single Thursday, something he inadvertently made a habit of because his jaw has phantom pain. I wouldn’t say it’s my fault, but I did contribute to it.

I was seven when my parents were hired by his family to upkeep the house, and Mrs. Masini was gracious enough to offer me the use of her home until it was time to clock out for the night.

One gorgeous day, I met ten-year-old Mikah and socked him across the jaw after he tapped on my shoulder.

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