Chapter 1
“It’s a terrible idea. What you’re thinking of doing now—it comes with consequences.” Christi’s voice is sharp, dramatic, and far too sure of herself. She’s famous in the family for overthinking everything, like a walking prophecy of doom.
Her father, Melkam, is irritated as usual. Mornings aren’t his thing. Especially not when he’s stuck chauffeuring three teenage girls through bumper-to-bumper traffic while worrying.
“You girls took forever getting ready,” he snaps. “I don’t even know what you were doing. It’s school, not a fashion show.”
“Only one person to blame,” Luwam mutters, looking in Tarik’s direction.
“It’s worth it,” Tarik mutters, smirking at her freshly polished nails. She’s the type who never lets anyone see her sweat. If being late means showing up flawless, so be it.
“Hit the gas, Uncle.” Luwam leans forward from the backseat, eyes glinting with mischief. She’s the opposite of Christi—always chasing the thrill, rules be damned. “I’m with you on this.”
“Oh no,” Christi groans while covering her ears. “I have a terrible feeling about this.” Then, to seal the omen, she belts out a tragic tune, O Fortuna, that she once heard in a movie.
“Seriously?” Tarik rolls her eyes as Melkam proceeds with his plan, driving through overlapping cars that are ahead of him. “That song is a magnet for bad luck.”
“Here goes nothing.” Melkam smiles. He is late for work and is willing to do anything to get there on time.
“Oh no, Dad!” Christi shrugs, staring mortified at the traffic officer approaching their car on his motorbike from the opposite direction.
“Shit!” He hits the wheel hard with his hands. “That’s it, girls, you’re on your own.” He winks to his daughter, and Christy purses a sad smile, shaking her head.
“You’re my hero, Uncle Melkam.” Luwam plants a quick kiss on his head before bailing out of the car.
“Love you, Uncle!” Tarik blows him a kiss as she follows.
“Hello,” the traffic officer knocks on the driver seat window twice, and Melkam presses his lips, shrugging his shoulders up.
Christi hesitates, eyebrows pinched. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“Trust me,” he says with a grin. “No guardian angel required.” She kisses his cheek and joins her cousins on the sidewalk.
“I can’t believe Uncle Melkam’s overprotective conscience lets us walk fifteen minutes to school,” Tarik mutters, throwing her arms up in exasperation.
“Not like you hate it,” Christi teases, giggling.
“Oh, we can do a lot in fifteen minutes,” Luwam says, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her mind is already sparking with trouble.
“Like running a marathon?” Tarik tosses her long curls back, exasperated. She’s always against Luwam’s ideas—until she somehow ends up part of them anyway.
“Here comes the drama queen,” Luwam sighs. “Christi, put your phone down. I’m trying to plot here.”
“Aron’s nagging me,” Christi says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“That stupid boy.” Tarik sprints ahead, ignoring honking cars and curses from drivers. She just smiles at their rage and waits on the opposite curb. Luwam crosses calmly. Christi, still glued to her phone, runs to catch up.
“Christi!” Tarik yells, panic breaking her perfect composure.
“Watch out!” Luwam screams, dropping her backpack.
A black Mercedes barrels toward Christi, tires screeching as the driver slams the brakes. Time slows. Her messy ponytail whips through the air, her backpack flies off her shoulder—
—and the world shatters around her.
