Page 2 of Entangled

As I shift, my eyes catch on the unicorn band-aid on my knee. There’s a red patch of blood on it.

The sound of a car draws my attention.

Mrs. Reid’s Volvo parks in the driveway.

“Mom,” Chloe calls out, waving as Mrs. Reid steps out and shoulders her bag. She’s beautiful, with her hazel brown hair tied back and her knee-length skirt. Chloe’s mom is always immaculately dressed and smiling. Unlike my mom, who rarely smiles and is always in a bad mood. Even at ten, I know Chloe and I are from different worlds.

Mr. Reid steps out of the house, embracing his wife. In that moment, I’m jealous of Chloe and her perfect life. My Barbie will never get her Ken and the Dreamhouse.

CHAPTER1

WILLOW

OCTOBER 27TH, 2015

7 YEARS LATER

“Mom?”I call out, emerging from my bedroom. The house is quiet except for the grandfather clock in the hallway. My heart sinks, which is stupid. Even after all this time, I wish she would be here to say good morning. To give a damn about her daughter. But she doesn’t. Some things never change.

I eat breakfast alone in the kitchen. The radio is on to help me feel less empty inside. The silence is the worst. It’s loud, and if I let it sneak in, it soon starts to scream.

I’m taking the last bite of my sandwich when the doorbell rings.

As Chloe enters, my face spreads in a smile.

“Where’s my favorite bitch?”

Sliding my chair back, I join her in the hallway. She eyes my Chucks with distaste as I put them on.

“What?” I laugh.

“We need to get you a new wardrobe.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes this time?”

Chloe is very girly, and I’m not. She likes colors and heels while I prefer to dress in denim skirts and T-shirts. Sometimes I wear something colorful if I’m adventurous, but I don’t venture away from my Chucks. Heels are off the table. I’d break my ankle.

“What does the quote say on your T-shirt today?”

I look down. “‘The answer is no.’”

With an eye roll and a soft laugh, she walks out. I lock up, dropping the key in my bag. We’re neighbors. I live next door, and Dylan’s house is across the street from us.

When we’re buckled up in her car, she lowers the roof and attempts a smile.

“How are you holding up?” I ask.

Today is the five-year anniversary of when her mother disappeared without a trace. She went to work one day and never came home. Chloe was never the same again. Beneath her convincing smile is the ghost of the girl I once knew.

Drawing in a deep sigh, she reverses out of the driveway. It’s not until we’re on the main road that she replies in a choked voice, “It would be so much easier if they had found a body, you know?”

“That way, you could have closure.”

She nods, wringing the steering wheel. “Yeah.”

I feel like that with my mom sometimes. I wish she would either make an effort or disappear for good. To come home after school and see the evidence of her presence: the sloshing sound of the dishwasher, the new air freshener installed in the hallway as you enter, an open magazine on the coffee table—it hurts more than it would if she just disappeared. At least then, I could move on and not hold out for her to change her mind and decide she wants a relationship with me.

“I’m sorry.”

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