Dreamers Often Lie by Jacqueline West Read Free Book Online Page B

already have.”
    We both stared into the dressing table’s wide mirror.
    “We could get you a wig,” Sadie suggested, after a second. “Or a cute hat.”
    “I’m not really a hat person.”
    “How about a helmet? We could paint ‘I shouldn’t have gone skiing without this’ on the sides.”
    “How about just ‘I shouldn’t have gone skiing’? Of course, then I wouldn’t have needed the helmet in the first place.”
    In the reflection, Sadie’s face tightened.
    “What?”
    “Do you think Mom and I don’t feel bad enough for making you go with us?” she demanded. “Do you think I don’t feel terrible for even suggesting it in the first place?”
    “No.” I made my tone milder. “I know you feel bad.”
    For a beat, we studied our reflections. My tanned, shiny-haired sister. Softer, paler, shorter me, now with a giant zipper of scar tissue on my forehead.
    Sadie shook her head. “I really thought you would have gotten over it by now.”
    “Over what?”
    “The little-kid, drama-queen stuff. The way you’d pitch a fit any time we did something
you
didn’t want to do.”
    I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
    “Camping. Waterskiing. Hiking. Ski trips—”
    I pulled away from her so that our arms no longer touched. “I was genuinely scared.”
    Sadie gave a skeptical head tilt.
    “I was terrible at those things,” I lunged on. “I thought I would get tangled in the tow rope and drown, or fall off a mountain, or crash into something . . .” I gestured to my head, my voice rising in false surprise. “And look!”
    “Oh my
god.
” Sadie leaned away from me. “Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”
    The pain in my head was thumping like a giant drum now, but I wasn’t going to back down. “It’s proof that I
wasn’t
just being dramatic. I knew, and you all still pushed me. That’s why I hated it. And Dad—”
    There. The word was out, dangling between us.
    Keep going.
    “Dad was so
mean
about it.” My throat filled. My voice started to wobble. “I still remember all the . . .”
    “Jaye.” Sadie whirled toward me. “He was trying to
encourage
you. He was pushing you to try harder. To do your best. That’s what he did to everybody.”
    I swallowed. “This was different.”
    “Jaye . . .” She let out a long, irritated sigh. A second later, she threw both arms around me, jostling my skull. I fought back a wince. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should be humoring you. You’re supposed to stay super-quiet and calm, not have a meltdown an hour after getting home.”
    “I’m not having a meltdown.” I snuffled. I glanced at the mirror again. Now the paler, smaller, injured one of us also had watery red eyes. “God. I look horrible.”
    Sadie squeezed my shoulder. “Remember what the nurses said about not looking at yourself until you feel back to normal.”
    “The nurses said that?”
    “Several times.”
    I touched the ridge of the scar again. It felt rubbery and dead, almost like it had been made of putty and stagemakeup. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m going to go back to school and rehearsal, and then everybody
else
will look at me, and then Mr. Hall will replace me—”
    “Replace you?”
    “Have you ever seen a fairy queen with staples in her head?”
    Sadie shrugged. “I’ve never seen a fairy queen. Maybe they all have staples in their heads.” I snorted, but Sadie squeezed me tighter. “You’ll heal. You already look much better.”
    “You mean I looked
worse?
”
    “Well, in the hospital, when they first let us in to see you . . . Yeah, you looked worse.” Sadie’s voice was suddenly small. “Head wounds bleed a lot, you know.”
    “I know.”
    I could practically feel Sadie’s thoughts seeping through her shoulder into mine. Our constantly-in-motion father lying so still in that narrow white bed. His bruised eyelids. The tube wedging his lips apart. The bandages wrapped around his head, where the blood from flying