I’d never realized it could hurt to smile. It had always been a required, quick expression, usually accompanied by a muttered thanks for some cheap present or basic gesture.

  But my cheeks ached. I tried to stop but I just couldn’t. I grinned while I took out the trash. When I was doing my homework. I even smiled when I had to pick up Buster’s poop on walks.

  They’d started the process for adoption, just some extra paperwork everyone assured me. But soon, the name Griffin would be struck from my records. The only thing left of my mother would be red hair and freckles. Maybe I’d dye my hair.

  Either way, I would be a Murray.

  The very idea had me skipping, actually skipping down the sidewalk as I brought Buster home.

  Home.

  I’d never had one of those. Just places I slept and maybe ate.

  The chilly autumn air felt warm on my face and I swear the sky was actually bluer than the day before. This had to wear off, right?

  Something else was always around the corner. That other shoe was bound to flop down. The Murrays would laugh and say Gotcha as they dropped me back off at the group home. Or the state would insist on keeping me as their charge for my safety.

  But it had been weeks now, several interviews with social workers and big men from the government. The Murrays kept assuring me this was normal, that they’d been warned about this.

  But I didn’t want normal.

  My normal was a crowded room with twenty other girls stealing my best stuff. Normal had been a trash bag for my stuff and every kid at school knowing I was a foster on sight. And before that, normal had beaten me any night she was too sober to sleep.

  Normal had never made me hot chocolate on Sunday with homemade whipped cream and a splash of cinnamon. Normal had never taken me shopping and asked me to pick out my own backpack, forbidding me from looking at the price tags. Normal didn’t race me down the block on a bicycle then pout the whole way home after she lost. And normal certainly didn’t crawl into bed and cover me with slobbery kisses after a nightmare.

  So I embraced the strange and the unusual. I grew comfortable in the weirdness of everyday routines and wondered if this could really be my life. Could I really have all this?

  Buster and I finally made it home, the leash tangling around my legs in a complex knot before I finally got him to settle down and unclipped him, scratching him behind the ears. “Good boy.”

  It took a couple minutes to get my legs out of the leash trap before I could finally go into the kitchen. Would this really be my kitchen? No. It would be my parent’s kitchen. The idea sent a warm shiver up my back.

  I kept trying to convince myself this wasn’t real, but I was failing miserably.

  Maybe a sandwich would help me be more practical. Low blood sugar always makes for poor thinking, right?

  The fridge was overstuffed, but I was still grinning as I tossed out expired lunch meat and moldy cheese. After a little more digging, I had all my fixings acquired on the counter. I found myself humming an old Taylor Swift song that I didn’t even like.

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  I was just reaching for the pickles when it happened the second time. There was no excuse, I knew I had to be careful just in case. Everyone knew I wasn’t into hugs and didn’t like being touched. All true, but it gave me a safety zone to avoid injuring anyone. If the other girls bullied me, I’d keep my hands to myself and run. Being labeled a coward beat getting locked up in some lab any day.

  I guess happiness makes you stupid or something. At least I hope that’s a good enough excuse.

  “Tell me you’re not singing Love Story!” Lucy’s shrill giggle made me jump.

  I squashed the pickle jar in my hands while Lucy was pointing her camera phone at me.

  The glass shattered as pickles and juice splashed all over the floor. Buster ran in and Lucy barely remembered to grab his collar and pull the dumb dog away from the shards. All the while, still staring at me, still pointing her camera with her free hand. Her mouth gaped open and closed several times…

  I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. I could hear it now. Freak!

  I waited, unsure what Lucy was going to do. Scream. Call 9-1-1. Maybe run away with Buster and barricade the door to her room.

  “Oh. My. God.” Her tone made my pop eyelids open. “Molly, you’re bleeding!”

  She tossed Buster out the sliding glass door into the backyard and dropped her phone on the counter, grabbing a roll of paper towels and tending to my hands.

  “Oh my God, oh my God. Are you okay!?” That last word came out in a higher pitch. Her whole body quivered as she shoved the wad into my still-open hands. The vinegar stung under her pressure and shards of glass crunched under her shoes.

  “Careful,” I said in a measured tone. “The floor.”

  She laughed, but it came out wrong. Hysterical. “Seriously, you’re bleeding all over and you still make time to worry about my shoes?”

  “I’ll be okay.” I swallowed. “I heal kind of fast.” The scrapes were deep, but they’d be gone in a day or two.

  “Oh, I guess you can leap tall buildings, too?” She met my eyes for only a moment before tossing the now-red paper towels in the trash.

  I sniffed, unable to hold it in much longer. “Please don’t tell.”

  Lucy looked up from her second wad and stared. “Huh?”

  “I’ll leave. I promise. You’ll never see me again. Just please don’t tell anyone.” I hated the pathetic tremble in my tone, but I didn’t know what else to do. She had a video. I couldn’t hurt her. I was at her complete mercy.

  “Jesus, Molly.” Lucy shoved the wad into my hands and wrapped her arms around my still-shaking shoulders. “I just got used to you and now you’re trying to run off?”

  “But, I mean…” The tears were openly flowing now, I couldn’t stop them.

  “Who wouldn’t want a superhero for a sister!?” She backed up with a giant grin. “Do you even realize how incredibly cool this is?”

  I snorted, a tear sputtering off my lip with the breath. “Superheroes aren’t named Molly.”

  “Spiderman is Peter. Batman is Bruce.” Lucy went back to tending to my hands.

  I scrutinized her face, but all I could see was the reflection of her work on my hands in her glasses. She finally got the bleeding to stop before applying Neosporin and bandages from under the kitchen sink.

  “I told you, it’ll heal.”

  She ignored this comment as she finished wrapping my hands. “We need to clean this up before Mom and Dad get home. We can tell ‘em you dropped the jar then cut yourself pulling Buster away. They won’t think about it too much.”

  My mind slugged along, slow and confused. This had to be a trick. “You’ve thought about this?”

  “Nah.” She shook her head and smiled. “I’ve got a lot of practice pulling one over on ‘em. Go change, I’ll clean up.”.

  When we were done cleaning, she made me watch her delete the video. “It was only funny when you were singing Taylor Swift, of all things.”

  Then she had me scroll through all her photos and albums, just to prove there wasn’t a copy. I didn’t ask for any of it. I was still too stunned to think.

  There was no way Lucy still wanted me as a sister. That other shoe had just become a steel toed boot.