chapter one
Anaya
Anaya woke up, blind.
With a sigh, she touched her fingertips to her eyelids. Glued shut. She sat up in bed and sneezed seven times in a row. The inside of her nose was granular with dried snot. She stood and expertly felt her way to the bathroom. She found the stack of washcloths by the sink, and turned on the hot water. The first few times she d woken up like this, she d freaked out. By now she was used to it, especially at the height of spring allergy season. Patiently she held the moist, warm cloth against each eyelid in turn, melting away the gunk. She slowly pried her eyes open and stared blearily into the mirror.
Where have you been all my life, you thing of beauty? she said to her reflection.
Her face was puffy around her eyes. Normally, she thought her eyes were one of her best features, but right now they looked piggy. The end of her nose was chafed and flaky from blowing it all the time. To jazz things up just a little more, a new bouquet of pimples had blossomed across her skin.
The fading echo of a headache pulsed in her skull, and reminded her of last night s dream. It was one she d had many times. She d been running really fast, and it was exhilarating, even if it did always seem to leave her with a headache.
She opened the crammed medicine cabinet. Special cleansers and ointments for her acne, extra puffers for asthma, plastic vials of monster pills for her allergies. She slugged back two. This was definitely a two-pill day.
Anaya started to wash her face, then stopped. What was she doing? She wanted to look as rough as possible. She should ve left at least one eye glued shut.
She dragged herself down to the kitchen, trying to shamble like a hunchback. With her nose plugged up, it was pretty hard to smell anything--but she could definitely smell the toast. She imagined a piece of thin, crisp bread with just a swipe of butter, and some marmalade soaking into the glistening surface. She loved toast--before she became allergic to practically half the food on earth.
Mom was already in her uniform, loading her breakfast things into the dishwasher.
I can t go to school, Anaya said.
Her mom turned. Sweetie . . .
Can you please just call the school?
We let you skip two days last week. Technically, you re not even sick.
Anaya pointed at her face. If I walked into a hospital, they d have me in the ICU in two seconds.
Mom laughed softly, then came close and brushed Anaya s long, wavy hair away from her face. You re lovely.
My skin s volcanic!
They don t see your acne, they see you.
Only if they have X-ray vision!
Mom had no idea. She d always been beautiful, and she was still the most glamorous mom Anaya had ever seen. Just look at her, tall, slim, raven hair spilling over the crisp collar of her white shirt with the epaulets: four stripes, the only female captain flying for Island Air. Lilah Dara--even her name was pretty. When she put on her sunglasses and bomber jacket, she made a pilot s uniform look like Paris fashion.
Meanwhile, Anaya was shorter; she definitely had Dad s sturdier body type. She didn t mind that--what she minded was her acne, and not being able to make it through class without having an asthma attack, and feeling generally feeble.
Are you using the acne cream? Mom asked.
At night.
You re supposed to do it during the day, too.
It smells so bad!
The doctor said it was important.
&ldqu