Chapter 2

Mom' s anger faded as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that unsettlingly sweet smile again.

"Now, come on, honey. Pancakes are getting cold. We want you to go in there with a full stomach and a clear head."

She patted my cheek, a gesture that usually felt comforting, but now it just felt strange, almost rehearsed.

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and followed her out of the room, my mind racing. "They aren't who you think."

Downstairs, Dad was at the table, reading the newspaper, or pretending to.

"Morning, Sarah-bear! Ready to conquer those SATs?" he said, folding the paper.

He sounded normal, like the Dad I knew, but as he reached for his coffee cup, I noticed it.

His wedding ring, it was on his right hand.

Dad always wore his wedding ring on his left hand, always. I'd fidgeted with it as a kid countless times.

I blinked, maybe I was just tired, stressed.

But then he spoke again, "You' re gonna knock 'em dead, kiddo. Just like your mother says, you' re a chip off the old block."

"Chip off the old block?" He' d never said that phrase in his life, his go-to was always "apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

It was small, tiny even, but combined with the ring, a cold knot formed in my stomach.

Mom came in with a plate of pancakes, her smile unwavering.

As she leaned over to place them in front of me, the light from the window caught her face.

There was a scar, faint but definitely there, just above her left eyebrow.

I froze.

My mom had a scar, a childhood scar from a kitchen accident, a burn mark.

But it was above her right eyebrow. I knew that scar, I'd traced it with my finger when I was little, asking her the story over and over.

This scar was on the wrong side.

"Mom," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Your scar..."

She touched her left eyebrow, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "Oh, this old thing? You know I' ve always had it, sweetie."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "It' s... it' s on the other side."

Her eyes narrowed. "Sarah, don't be ridiculous. You're just nervous about the exam. Eat your breakfast."

Her voice was sharp again, that same coldness I' d heard upstairs.

"But I know..."

"Sarah Elizabeth!" Dad' s voice boomed, startling me. "Your mother is right. You're letting your nerves get the best of you. Now eat, we need to leave soon."

He was angry, genuinely angry. His face was flushed.

The man with the wedding ring on the wrong hand, using phrases he never used, was now yelling at me for noticing something was wrong with Mom' s face.

I looked from one to the other, their expressions a mixture of feigned concern and barely concealed irritation.

The pancakes suddenly looked disgusting.

I picked up my fork, pretending to eat, my mind a whirlwind.

These weren't my parents.

Or, if they were, something was terribly, terribly wrong with them.

I had to get my phone, I had to see if Michael had texted again.

I took a bite of pancake, it tasted like ash. "Delicious, Mom," I forced myself to say.

She beamed, the tension easing slightly. "See? I told you."

I needed a plan. I couldn't take the exam, not now. Not with these... people.