Chapter 1
Jade
A leaf blowing in the wind has no choice where it lands. Often, it’s crushed beneath a boot or left to rot in the dirt. As I watch autumn leaves fall from the withered trees, I feel a kinship with them. The rickety bench beneath me is cold, the chill seeping into my bones. My battered old puffer coat, flat and threadbare, offers little protection. It was already worn when I found it two years ago, and now it’s on its last legs.
But I don’t mind the cold too much. There’s a strange reliability to it, always there, like an old childhood friend. We’re not close anymore, but its presence is familiar, almost comforting. I am cold, and I am alive.
My attention shifts from the falling leaves to the streetlights flickering on. I exhale slowly. I’d hoped to get inside before dark, but Mum’s in no rush today. If only I still had my house key. She confiscated it after I walked in on her and her ex in some… creative naked yoga positions.
I shudder, more from disgust than cold, grateful that man is no longer in the picture. I’d prayed she’d realise we were better off alone, but judging by her late nights and new wardrobe, my hopes have gone unanswered. Again.
My phone’s off to save battery, so I don’t know the time, but it’s late enough to consider my options. Too cold to sleep in the garden. I could walk an hour to Dahlia’s; her mum would take me in without question. Or try a women’s shelter, forty minutes in the wrong direction. I’m sixteen now; would they call social services? Or is that only if you’re younger? I should really check.
Dahlia’s is the obvious choice, but Mum hates her family. Calls them rich, stuck-up snobs. I don’t get why; they’re the kindest people I know.
I decide to wait until full dark before moving. Tucking my knees to my chest, I try to conserve warmth. I must’ve dozed off because a blaring car alarm jolts me awake. Stupid. Falling asleep out here is dangerous, but exhaustion’s been gnawing at me. Since Mum’s car died, I’ve been waking early to clean and walk to school. It’s starting to wear me down.
At least the nap killed time. My limbs protest as I unfold from the bench, stiff and aching. My feet carry me automatically while I turn on my phone. No texts or calls from Mum, not that I expected any. Too cold to type, I call Dahlia as I pass rows of identical terraced houses.
She answers after one ring. “Girl, why are you calling so late?”
“How late is it?” I hadn’t thought to check.
“After nine. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Jade,” she presses, drawing out my name like she can tug the truth free.
“I promise, Dahlia,” I smile. “But… can I crash at yours?”
“Ugh, she’s not back with that asshole, is she? I’ll call the police!” Her outrage is almost cute, but I don’t have the energy for this tonight.
“No, she’s just… not back at all,” I sigh. “Pretty please?”
“You know you don’t have to ask, Boo.” She drops it, like always. “Should we come get you?”
“No, I’m already on my way.”
She hums in disapproval but knows how stubborn I am. Just like I know how expensive gas is.
“See you soon. Thanks, Dahlia.”
“Bye, Boo.”
As I walk, my mind drifts to the world my three-year-old self invented, one where I’m not Jade, but Jayda. Jayda has a mum, dad, and big brother who adore her. They have Sunday lunches at the table and a golden retriever. Jayda’s brother has cool friends who all have crushes on her. They live in a big house with soft beds and game consoles.
Sometimes, it’s easier to be Jayda for a while.
By the time I reach Dahlia’s doorstep, the door swings open before I can knock. A wave of strawberry-scented blonde hair engulfs me as she pulls me into a hug.
“You’re freezing!” she scolds. “Come inside.”
Within minutes, I’m in her fluffy pyjamas, my school clothes already in the wash. Her parents are asleep, but her mum left me a cheese and Marmite sandwich, my favourite, with water and fruit. The kindness stings my eyes, but I swallow the emotion down. I don’t cry often, and I’m not starting now.
I’d love a shower, but sleep wins. In the bathroom, I scrub off my makeup, avoiding the mirror. Still, I catch my reflection, gaunt face, dull curls, bloodshot eyes.
“I’d kill for that ass,” Dahlia says behind me.
“And I’d kill for those boobs,” I shoot back. We’ve had this exchange a hundred times, but the normalcy warms me.
“Come on, snugglebuddy.” She tugs me toward her queen-sized bed. My spine practically sings in relief; my bed at home is a mattress on the living room floor.
There’s a guest room, but I’ve always slept in Dahlia’s bed. With her arms around me, exhaustion drags me under in seconds. My last thought? No walk to school tomorrow, Dahlia’s mum is giving me a ride.
