Heart's Desire by Laura Pedersen Read Free Book Online Page A

Plastered across the walls are posters of scantily clad teen rock stars, male and female, and beer ads. Dad, who won’t even let his daughters wear belly shirts, must
love
this.
    “Hey, Hallie.” Louise comes over and we give each other a sisterly hug. Darlene is still downstairs fighting with her twin brother, Davy, and so I fall onto my old bed, which is now covered with a Barbie comforter weighted down by ten tons of stuffed animals.
    I nod toward a poster of a well-oiled hunk leaning against a surfboard. “You’ve redecorated.”
    “You are
so
lucky to be
out of here
!” She throws an evil look in the direction of Mom and Dad’s room that I assume is meant for them.
    So much for hello and how are you, the point in the conversation where I get to respond that I’m basically living my dream— going into monumental debt and unable to keep a boyfriend for more than two weeks. Make that two days, more often than not.
    “Why’s that?” I try to sound casual. “Are you the next one to slide down the drainpipe?” That’s how I made my getaway. But then, I wasn’t wearing the shoes Louise has on—black designer sandals with skinny three-inch heels.
    “I wish!” says Louise, and gives a combination sigh and eye roll that only fifteen-year-olds have the lung capacity and muscle elasticity to perform. “You always had money, or were able to make some easily enough.”
    Yeah,
I think,
the good old bad old days back when I was flush.
    It feels as if I haven’t seen Louise for five years rather than only five months. She’s transformed from an angular girl to a young woman with soft curves and a strikingly beautiful face, deep-set hazel eyes, and perfect bone structure. Her golden chestnut-colored hair falls into soft curls around her face. Only, what happened to the cute cheerleader with the pigtails and pink lip gloss? Now she’s wearing Visigoth makeup—thick black eyeliner, maroon mascara, and reddish-brown lipstick. With her scoop-neck black jersey, push-up bra, and the silky strap of a thong peeking above skintight low-rise jeans, she looks closer to twenty. A stunning and slutty twenty. About one trip to the mall away from “Excuse me while I powder my nose ring.”
    Louise has always been the great beauty in the family, ever since she was a baby. When we were little Mom was twice approached to have Louise model children’s clothing for catalogues and be in TV commercials. People tried not to come right out and say how extraordinarily pretty she was when I was around, or if they accidentally did, they’d immediately try to follow up with some compliment for me, too, such as, “And you have such nice . . . you’re so good in math.” Math gene, beauty queen. Not a hard choice. Except you don’t get a choice.
    No, there’s nothing in fashion magazines about apricot, which is what I am, from tip to toe. My hair is sometimes described as “strawberry blond,” but you can tell it’s more of a question than an expression of admiration. Beauty is about the dramatic splendor of nature—having yellow sun-drenched locks or a cascade of hair as dark as night, rose red lips, and blue eyes the color of forget-me-nots or deep green like the ocean. It is
not
about nature’s fruit. Not strawberries, and especially not apricots. Or freckles the color of Granny Smith apples.
    “Hey!” Louise’s eyes widen so much that I can actually detect patches of white through all the eyeliner and mascara. “Maybe you can teach
me
how to play poker. All I get is a few bucks for baby-sitting and Dad even begrudges me that. He says that I should do it for free because they’re my own brothers and sisters. As if!”
    “Actually, I have a few things you can add to your list of grievances. Mom doesn’t like your friends, she’s worried about your grades, says you have to attend summer school, and that you came home drunk.”
    “That’s
such
bullshit!”
    “And she’s sent me on a mission to turn you back into the