Chapter 1
“What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?”
Clutching my small wooden box to my chest, I glance down at my friend Claudette. Her large blue eyes shine, and a single tear falls down her cheek.
“Hey, don’t worry about me.” I force a carefree grin, even though my stomach tightens with another wave of fear. “You know how much I love a good adventure.”
She chews on her lower lip, clearly doubtful.
“Why don’t you wait until tomorrow? Stay here just one more night, where it’s safe.”
“If you could call it that,” I mutter under my breath, shifting the box under my arm and wrapping my free arm around the one person who’s shown me kindness in the past fifteen years.
“I will miss you. So much. I’ll call and check on you, okay? I will write every day. But I have to go tonight. I’ve got to do this on my own terms. Understand?”
“No! I don’t understand.” She sniffs and wipes her nose with the end of her sleeve. “What’s the rush to be homeless?”
Another spasm in my stomach.
Of course, she doesn’t understand. My sweet, naïve, younger friend Claudette. She’s only fourteen, and she came to this orphanage when she was nine, just after I had turned twelve.
Seeing how innocent she was, I vowed to protect her as best I could—and I think I did a good job.
Maybe too good.
She doesn’t know the rumors about what happens when you turn eighteen around here.
Not only do they kick you out, but there have been whispers about girls who go missing—never to be heard from again.
Of course, it could just be that no one ever wants to look back or remember this place. Once they leave, they disappear completely, and part of me can’t blame them for that. But there were friends, family members, who promised to check in—and not one single girl who left has ever done so. At least, not since I had arrived at three years old.
Shaking my head, I give her one last smile.
“Promise me you’ll stick up for yourself.”
Tears fall from her eyes as she nods.
The fear that clenches my stomach isn’t for me anymore, but for her—my sweet, frail friend left to fend for herself in a house full of cruel bullies.
“I’ll come back for you, okay? I promise I’ll call as soon as I can, too.”
More nodding.
“Please be safe out there.”
“Of course. You know me. I always play it safe.”
She gives a half-sob, half-laugh through her sniffling.
“Now, get back into bed before they notice you’re up.”
Claudette hesitates. I smile widely in reassurance and wave her toward her room.
“Bye, Lissy. Love you.”
“Love you too, Te-te.”
She raises her hand in a final wave and runs quietly down the hallway to the room I’d shared with her and eight other girls for the last fifteen years.
Okay… time to go.
Moving through the long, dark corridor, I don’t feel as brave as I wish I did.
A part of me wants to run back to my room and tell Claudette I changed my mind. But that wouldn’t be brave. Or smart.
Kara had always told me I was stupid for asking about the girls who left and never called, for pestering Ms. Ferret about what happens when you leave. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Ms. Ferret—behind her shifty eyes—was hiding something. She knew exactly what happened to Anna, Tiffany, Sarah, and Bethany, but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell us.
Then Kara left. And even though she’d rolled her eyes and said, “Fine, Lissy. I’ll call you and tell you nothing bad happens to the girls who leave in three days,” she never did.
Never heard from her again.
When I brought it up to Ms. Ferret and said something was wrong, she brushed me off again. But I swear I saw a smirk on her lips.
Something wasn’t right.
And I’m not going to wait to find out what it is. I’m leaving the day before my eighteenth birthday.
With newfound determination, I quicken my pace and take a left into the kitchen.
The doors are locked every night for “our safety,” apparently, but they can’t be opened without a key—one that’s always worn on chains around Ms. Ferret’s, Ms. Croper’s, and Madam Lucine’s necks.
It’s impossible to get out—except through the small window above the kitchen sink.
It’s narrow, but it still slides open because, unknown to the others, the lock is loose. I discovered that months ago while doing dishes. My eyes had been fixated on the small window, wondering what lay beyond the thick forest of trees, when the rusty clasp caught my attention. Absently, I lifted it, and the whole thing fell out of the wall.
After glancing around to make sure no one had noticed, I slipped it back in place. That night, a plan started forming.
Now, leaning over the kitchen sink, my trembling fingers touch the clasp. It immediately drops onto the counter with the loudest clang I’ve ever heard.
Freezing, I hold my breath, waiting for someone to burst in.
But no one comes.
Exhaling, I set my box on the counter, slip my backpack off, and place it next to the box. Carefully, I climb up beside them.
Looking over my shoulder every few seconds, I slowly push the window open, holding my breath each time the old, creaky piece of junk catches and pops as it releases. My heart pounds in my chest.
The cool night air rushes past me, lifting my loose hair around my face, getting caught in my mouth as I shove it out of the way. The window isn’t wide enough for me to fit through easily, even after I’ve skipped meals for the last two days, hiding them in my backpack instead.
Not that I’m a big person—no one at this orphanage could ever get fat from what they feed us.
Carefully, I maneuver the backpack through the window, extending my arm as far as I can before letting it drop with a small thud onto the grass below.
Clutching my wooden box, I take a deep breath.
“Here goes nothing, Lissy…”
Hands first, I squeeze myself through the narrow space, not an easy feat, especially while holding onto something so precious.
By the time my torso is through, I find myself dangling upside down. With one free hand, I have no choice but to drop, since I’m not letting go of the box.
It’s the only thing I have left from my past life.
It’s my first memory.
Arriving at this terrible orphanage and Madam Lucine immediately confiscating the box, locking it away in her office.
I never forgot about it. When I turned six, I broke into her office, using a bobby pin I’d stolen from Ms. Ferret’s desk, and retrieved my box. I hid it under a loose floorboard beneath my bed all these years.
That would be the first of many break-ins.
I got good at it. Helped a lot of my fellow orphans retrieve lost personal items.
With one final heave and a wiggle of my hips, I drop the rest of the way from the window, breaking my fall with one hand and doing a slightly awkward tuck and roll.
Ah ha! I did it!
Grinning to myself, I throw my backpack on and glance around in the dark.
The plan was to follow the road from the house along the tree line. That way, I could see if anyone was coming, but also avoid getting lost in the woods.
Feeling a sense of accomplishment and freedom that I’ve never felt before, I take three steps forward—then freeze.
Shit.
Are those headlights?
In a panic, I swivel and sprint in the opposite direction, nearly tripping over my own feet.
Who the hell is coming to an orphanage at midnight?
Reaching the tree line, I pause, leaning against a thick tree trunk as I watch headlights pull up in front of the old, white house.
Squinting, I see a tall, dark figure marching toward the car.
Even from this distance, there’s no mistaking the stiff march of Madam Lucine as she moves toward the driver’s side.
Torn between curiosity and the desire to run, I stay frozen, strumming my fingers against the bark.
This could be the answer to the missing girls, whoever’s in that car.
But if it is... it means the person in that car is here for me. And if that’s true, then I should be putting as much distance between us as possible.
Still frozen, undecided, I watch as the car door swings open.
My body is pressed against the tree, straining to see, when a hand suddenly clasps over my mouth.
“Shh, don’t scream. You’re in danger here. Come with me.”
