Chapter 3

Mom left my old skating dress on my bed at seven the next morning.

White velvet. Silver crystals. A costume made for a girl whose bones still belonged to her.

Mom gestured to the fabric. "Get dressed."

I stared at the heavy velvet. "I can't skate."

Her expression hardened. "You skated perfectly well before you started using drugs."

"I'm not using drugs."

"Then prove it."

I tried to stand. Pain spread from my knees to my hips, and the room tilted around me.

Yesterday's tap water was the only thing in my stomach. Every joint hurt. Even breathing made my ribs ache.

Mom watched me grip the bedpost.

For one second, I thought she finally understood.

Then her mouth tightened. "Lily has dreamed about this qualifier for years. You will not ruin it with another performance."

"I might fall."

"Then don't."

The rink was packed when we arrived.

Parents crowded the bleachers with flowers and cameras. Children pressed against the glass. A local reporter stood beside the judges' table, ready to film Lily's miraculous return.

The audience applauded when she appeared.

Three weeks ago, Lily had needed help walking to the bathroom.

Today, she wore a blue costume covered in crystals. Dad carried her skate bag while Mom adjusted her hair.

"Our miracle on ice." The announcer's voice echoed through the speakers.

Lily waved to the crowd. Then she looked back at me.

My white dress hung loose around my waist. Mom had sprayed temporary brown color over my silver hair and covered the shadows beneath my eyes.

She had not made me look healthy. Only less embarrassing.

My ankles shook when I stepped onto the ice.

Noah leaned over the barrier. "Try not to make a scene."

Dad zipped Lily's jacket. "Emma is only here to help you warm up."

A warm-up partner. A background figure. Proof that the family addict was healthy enough to compete.

Lily squeezed his hand. "What if she ruins this for me?"

"She won't." Dad looked directly at me.

It was not reassurance. It was a warning.

When the announcer called my name, scattered applause moved through the rink.

I pushed away from the barrier. My legs remembered what my body had forgotten.

Lily and I had trained together since we were five. I taught her to land her first double toe loop. She taught me not to look down before a spin.

Then her heart began to fail.

I stopped competing because Mom said winning in front of Lily would be cruel.

Now Lily was healthy. And I had been brought here to lose beside her.

The music began.

I forced myself through the opening steps. My vision blurred, but muscle memory carried me into the first spin.

A few people clapped.

Mom frowned. She wanted me standing, but ordinary.

Visible, but inferior.

From the bleachers, Lily raised her phone and started recording.

"Smile, Emma!" Her voice drifted over the ice.

A few people laughed.

I prepared for the jump.

It was only a double loop. I had landed it hundreds of times.

Left edge. Bent knee. Takeoff.

For half a second, I was weightless.

Then something cracked inside my leg. The sound came before the pain.

My right skate struck the ice, but my leg folded beneath me. I hit hard and slid across the rink.

When I stopped, my right leg was twisted at an impossible angle.

Blood seeped through my white tights.

At first, it was only a thin red line. Then the broken end of my shin pushed through the skin.

I screamed. Someone in the crowd shouted for an ambulance. A child began crying.

Lily kept filming.

On her phone screen, I saw myself curled on the ice, blood spreading beneath my white dress.

She was smiling.

"Turn that off!" A woman in the front row pointed toward the barrier.

Lily lowered the phone. She did not stop recording.

Dad climbed over the barrier before the rink staff could reach me.

His jaw locked. "Enough."

I held out one shaking hand. "Dad, don't move me."

He grabbed my left arm. "Get up."

"My leg is broken."

"You always do this." He pulled. Something tore in my shoulder and popped out of place.

My scream silenced the entire rink.

A coach slammed his hands against the glass. "Sir, let her go!"

Dad dragged me halfway upright. My broken leg scraped across the ice, painting a dark red streak behind it.

Tears blurred my vision. "Please. Please stop."

He bent over me. "Stop acting like you're dying just to ruin your sister's big day."

The rink had gone completely quiet. Everyone heard him.

A woman in the front row covered her mouth in shock.

Dad looked toward the bleachers. His grip loosened.

For the first time, he seemed to realize that the audience was judging him.

Two rink employees pulled him away. I collapsed onto the ice.

Mom rushed forward.

She ran past me and wrapped her coat around Lily.

"Don't look." She covered Lily's eyes. "You don't need more trauma."

My blood soaked into the white velvet.

Noah stood by the barrier, frozen.

My chest heaved with shallow, agonizing breaths. "Call an ambulance."

He looked at Dad before reaching for his phone.

Not at my exposed bone. Not at the blood. At Dad.

He still needed permission to save me.

The rink medic arrived with a stretcher. Dr. Carter had treated sprains and concussions at our competitions since I was a child.

One look at my leg drained the color from her face. "What happened?"

Dad crossed his arms. "She fell. She's been having behavioral problems."

Dr. Carter didn't look up from my leg. "Behavioral problems don't push a tibia through the skin."

Dr. Carter cut away my tights and stabilized the fracture. When she touched my shoulder, another cry escaped me.

Her fingers probed the joint. "Dislocated. Possibly fractured."

Mom lifted her chin. "She's on meth. That explains her condition."

Dr. Carter stared at her. "It does not explain why no one called emergency services."

While we waited for the ambulance, she checked my blood pressure three times and ran a rapid blood panel.

Her expression worsened with every result.

Mom remained in the doorway with Lily wrapped in her arms.

Lily swallowed nervously. "Can we finish the qualifier?"

Dr. Carter turned toward her.

For the first time all morning, Lily looked ashamed.

Not because I was bleeding. Because someone had heard her ask.

The printer beside the examination table began to hum.

Dr. Carter pulled out the results. She read them once.

Then again. She looked up, her face tight. "What have you done to this girl?"

Mom stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Dr. Carter kept her eyes locked on Mom."Her kidneys are failing. Her liver function is severely impaired. Her blood-cell counts are critically low, and her bone density should be impossible at her age."

Dad glanced at the page. "She's nineteen."

Dr. Carter's voice dropped to a heavy undertone. "I know."

She stepped into the doorway, blocking my family from leaving. "But her body doesn't."

She held up the report with a shaking hand. "These are the biological markers of an eighty-year-old woman."